It was obvious.

His memory technique, deletion, must remain disused until the end of the case.

Sherlock was not sure what it was that was deleted, but he deduced that it had some type of emotional value. He would not have made such a reckless mistake, if his reasoning hadn't been clouded.

This was unusual, if not frightening.

Clouded reasoning was not typical of Sherlock Holmes.

The very though of it induced goose bumps on the back of his neck. He unconsciously tightened his blue scarf, preventing his pale skin from coming into contact with the chilly, winter air. Not that it was ever warm in London.

Was it the cold or fear?

Tedious mysteries Sherlock would usually...delete.

No sentiment, focus.

Scarf - blue.

Blue.

Evoked by light with a predominant wavelength of 440-490nm.

Considered one of the additive primary colors.

The science of pigments and the reflection distracted Sherlock for a few minutes, that is...until...

John spoke.

"Sherlock, the cab's here. Hey, Sherlock!"

He could hear mild panic and aggravation in his voice, but Sherlock could only see blue.

"You know, standing out on the sidewalk isn't the best time to use your mind palace. Sherlock? Oh, this is ridiculous. Come on."

He felt contact on his left hand, and the sting of air on his cheeks. Moving.

A car door opening.

Then silence and warmth.

Sherlock sighed with relief and continued with his cataloging of the qualities of certain pigments.

He was finally composed.

When Sherlock opened his eyes, he was assaulted with an increased heart rate and shaking fingers.

Blue.

A million shades, from the lightest pastels to the darkest hues.

Dark oceans, crashing and pulsing, nerve endings splitting.

John's eyes were full of pigments science had never prepared him for.

"You've been in your mind palace for twenty minutes."

Deduction time.

His face first.

John had a visible frown, the sides of his lips turned down a little. His eyebrows were furrowed, but not significantly. His eyes, searching, wandering. Shaved, yesterday evening - the scruff. His hair was growing longer than the length it would normally be retained at, he would mention a haircut soon. Nose - scrunched slightly.

Emotional evaluation verdict: Annoyed, but curious.

His clothing was clean and had folding creases, but the shirt was one he did not particularly prefer. It was one his sister had gotten him years ago, plaid with blue and green shades. He had to do laundry soon, he must have packed some already worn clothing.

He did not realize that his shirt made his eyes look like small gemstones.

Irrelevant.

"Sherlock?"

He had to search through socially acceptable phrases, it would not be acceptable to have John in a passive aggressive state during this case. Especially such a trying one as this.

He spoke, calmly and clearly. Breaking the pattern of John's slow, leveled breathing and the sound of rubber on asphalt. Light humming near the driver's seat.

"I'm sorry John."

His expression changed almost instantly, he now harbored a smile and crinkles at the edges of his eyes.

He said: "No, Sherlock. Really, It's fine."

There was a pause before he continued.

"So, do you have a plan for this case? Any more details?" John's voice was a cheery hum.

Sherlock smiled lightly in return, John's expression of contentment would best be preserved if he was not the only one smiling.

"Yes. We will be sharing a double bedroom. I have already planned this portion out, you are taking the bed. I will not be sleeping, I do not need it. Do not argue. We have two therapy appointments daily, and reconnection activities throughout the rest of the day. For that, we will be assigned a group. They also provide meals for us, including breakfast, lunch and dinner. You will not have to worry about the trip financially, I had Mycroft pay for it."

John nodded, looking thoughtfully out of the window.

Sherlock slyly and slowly wove is hand through John's.

This would be interesting.

John gasped, almost inaudibly, and turned to look at their interlocked hands.

"Why..."

"John, they are going to expect us to touch affectionately. I can't afford you to have a less than satisfactory reaction to this when we are in public. They will be watching us, we can't let them become suspicious. Especially since our therapist is a suspected serial killer. He must not have any inclination to believe that we are not who we say we are."

"Sherlock, how far will we have to go?" John said cautiously, assessing Sherlock's reaction.

No emotion. Distance.

"As far as they expect us to, and don't address me as Sherlock anymore. We must become used to our false identities. Call me Leo."

John scoffed.

"Well, Leo, I'm not sure why I even agreed to this. It's not as if people aren't already talking about our "secret relationship". And won't the therapist recognize us from the papers?"

Sherlock smirked.

"Don't be obtuse, Joseph. Do you really think I would be so ignorant to travel here without disguises?"

He pulled a small box out of his left coat pocket and held it up for John to see.

"Colored contact lenses. We can't afford a slip up with wigs, or anything of that sort. We will be subtle. If you haven't noticed, I have been growing my beard out past it's normal length. I will continue to let it grow, so will you."

He imagined John in a ginger, curly wig. He imagined him trying to execute an Irish accent.

"A poor disguise is worse than none at all. Much more suspicious."

The cabbie spoke up.

"We're about ten minutes away from Still Waters!"

John said: "Yes, thank you!"

He sighed, the lines in his face becoming more visible.

Sherlock brushed his thumb over John's, assessing his reaction.

He seemed comforted by this, responding with a weak smile as he squeezed back.

"Joseph...I...I couldn't have chosen a more qualified partner to work undercover with."

Sherlock fumbled with his words, compliments weren't something he was used to. He just needed John to smile, for unexplainable reasons.

Irrelevant.

John looked up at him in awe, a grin almost playing on his lips.

"Thank you..."

Sherlock awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Lay your head on my shoulder."

John's eyes widened and his mouth popped open, forming a lazy "o".

"Sherlock, I-"

"Leo."

"Leo, I don't see why this is necessary. Aren't we supposed to be a failing couple?"

"Yes, but we are also supposed to be an improving couple. After a few days, we must show some signs of improvement. I will be distracted with the case, so this is the time I have set aside to practice acts of physical affection. I would not request this if it was not necessary to the case. Lay your head on my shoulder."

John reluctantly shuffled over to Sherlock's seat, unbuckling his seatbelt. Sherlock unclasped their hands and wrapped his arm around John's shoulder, pulling his head to his shoulder. John laid his head down softly, and Sherlock rested his head on top of John's, inhaling the sent of his hair.

There was something oddly comforting about the whole experience, a mixture of calm and fire.

So warm.

The consulting detective was not used to this kind of contact, certainly not this much of it.

It was like John had let go, all the stress and tension from his body faded. His doctor melted into him, his eyelids began to droop and it was obvious what was coming next.

So obvious.