He doesn't speak until his breath evens out, and it's more to do with the fact that he can't leave his own mind than anything else. He's awash in this, in Watson, in what they have together, and he needs to absorb it all in his own way.

"I meant it, John," he murmurs, curling his hand around Watson's hip; he squeezes lightly. "Always. There will never be anyone else for me."