Best Kept Secret
Trying to conceal anything from Sherlock Holmes, particularly when you lived with him, was a losing proposition. That was why John hadn't bothered. He had instead taken a completely different tack. On any given day, John's routine wasn't worth Sherlock's observation, so as long as John maintained his routine, his hidden agenda would remain just that: hidden.
The trick, of course, was then completing the task he'd set himself without upsetting that routine. It had meant several shortened lunch breaks and a fortunately-timed tube closure of which he had taken full advantage. But he'd managed it. Or hoped he had.
The other trick, of course, was keeping mum. Any little slip would blow the gaff for sure. Yet, at the same time, neither could he afford to lie. Sherlock would have detected any falsehood the moment it came out of John's mouth.
So, he'd spoken to no one on the subject.
This was the hardest part because he really could have used some help. He'd considered letting Greg in on it, but decided he couldn't risk it. Anyone he trusted to ask was known to Sherlock. A secret shared was a secret blown with Sherlock around to suss it out.
It was for the best that he'd kept quiet. The last thing he needed was folks making a fuss. Sherlock wouldn't have liked it, and truth be told, his own instincts cried out against any sort of public spectacle. Not that he intended to present their friends with a fait accompli. It was only the lead-up that was best kept private. He hadn't even made any special arrangements around the event. Anything he might have come up with would only have been a clue for Sherlock to gnaw on. He only hoped his plan didn't backfire in some unexpected way.
Naturally he ended up having to tweak the timing. Wouldn't you know that was the day Sherlock took a juicy new case involving a stolen race horse and its murdered trainer? John didn't really mind, though, because it gave Sherlock something to engage his mind for a few days, and John an excuse to suggest a nice dinner afterwards. A double-win because it meant getting much needed nourishment into Sherlock while also providing a quiet yet celebratory atmosphere.
They ordered take-away from the Italian restaurant where they'd--well, John had--dined on their first case together. He liked the symmetry.
Keeping silent and waiting were the lesser agonies. The most painful part had been choosing the ring. He'd eventually opted for a design that was classic, elegant, and simple: titanium with a double band of rose gold in the centre and squared edges. It had the added advantage of being durable.
John drained his Chianti and reached into his pocket. Figuring romantic declarations would be at best wasted, at worst mocked, he set the box down on the table and slid it towards Sherlock.
Sherlock finished his tiramisu and opened the box with a knowing, unsurprised look. He smiled.