Chapter 10

John's hair was as soft as it looked.

This had been a previous point of great interest and something that Sherlock wanted to confirm since he first noticed it, but a chance hadn't presented itself until now. This chance being John falling asleep pressed against his side, his head on Sherlock's shoulder, and a book clasped loosely in his hand. Sherlock turned his head to his side and breathed deeply, and ran his fingers gently through John's hair again. John stirred a bit at this and Sherlock immediately stilled and only relaxed when John settled down once more. He didn't want to wake John up; he wanted to stay here as long as he could. This was the first time John had fallen asleep against him, and as he had no way of telling if this would happen again in the future, he wanted to prolong the experience as much as possible.

Or perhaps there was a way he could recreate the circumstances that led to this event.

Earlier that day Lestrade had come in for a visit, which was really unnecessary at this point, Sherlock thought. It wasn't as if he gave any information about the case that couldn't be conveyed via email, and it wasn't as if he needed to "visit" John. Nevertheless, the detective inspector was at their flat this afternoon, asking his opinion on a case that he was working on.

While Sherlock was looking over the files, Lestrade had dragged John to the kitchen for some tea-making, which was a move that Sherlock did not appreciate one bit. He thought that the least Lestrade could do was stay within earshot if he wasn't going to provide him more details on the case.

Lestrade more or less crowded John into the kitchen, making the excuse of wanting some tea. John obligingly walked ahead and got started on it. He put the kettle on and then he turned to look expectantly at Lestrade. There was a certain air of smugness about him.

"Now you're looking at him the same way," Lestrade stated without preamble.

"I don't-…" John began immediately. He looked again at Lestrade's smug smile. "I do, don't I?" he said with a grimace.

"Yeah, you do."

"Well, if he noticed, he hasn't said anything."

"Who knows what he makes of it," Lestrade said with a shrug. "He probably doesn't know what it means."

"That's…actually very possible," John agreed slowly. He gestured around the kitchen which was now littered with all sorts of sweets and pastries.

"Did you buy the whole pastry shop?"

"Not me, him," John said with a sigh. "It seems he interprets it as my 'I want something sweet' look."

"You've got an awful lot of sweets here," Lestrade observed with a grin.

"Oh, just shut it and take a cookie," John said, pushing Lestrade out of the kitchen, who almost bumped into Sherlock, just walking in.

"I…" Sherlock started, looking at Lestrade (huge grin on his face, holding a cookie), John (red, looking embarrassed), the kettle (dutifully boiling water for the tea), "thought that perhaps there was something wrong with the stove. I guess not," he finished.

"No, he just couldn't choose what he wanted to eat," John answered quickly. Sherlock frowned at Lestrade.

"That's for John." Sherlock looked ready to snatch the cookie away. Lestrade promptly took a huge bite out of it. Sherlock now looked ready to murder a certain detective inspector.

"It's fine; I gave it to him," John said exasperatedly. He can't believe he's practically breaking up two grown men over a cookie. Sherlock stepped aside and let Lestrade through, glaring at him the whole time before going to John's side.

"All right?" Sherlock asked.

"It's just a cookie, Sherlock," John answered.

"That's not what I meant. You just seemed a bit…uncomfortable," Sherlock finished with a vague wave of his hand, not entirely sure how to classify John's state as he'd never seen John flustered in this manner before.

"No, uh…we were just talking," John replied. He coughed and looked away from Sherlock's watchful gaze as he recalled his conversation with Lestrade. He wondered if Sherlock heard anything. "Anyway, tea," he said as his eyes lighted on the kettle, hoping to create a distraction. "You just go ahead and talk with Lestrade about the case."

"He said something," Sherlock said, stubbornly refusing to go without at least saying something.

"Yes, as I said, we were talking."

"What about?"

"The pastries." John now had this obstinate look about him. He clearly didn't want to discuss this right now.

Sherlock hesitated before finally going back to the living room and proceeded to make life difficult for Lestrade by giving him obscure hints and asking for ridiculous amounts of data, saying that they are all relevant to solving the case that Lestrade half-suspected Sherlock had already figured out.

Lestrade grumbled, John sighed and gave Sherlock a stern look, which made Sherlock sigh in turn before relenting grudgingly, and in the end Lestrade was promising to bring a box of cookies for John the next time he comes to visit. This brought about a truce between the two detectives. No one was paying attention to John saying that he didn't need another box of cookies.

Things settled down once more in the flat after Lestrade left. However, Sherlock noted that John wasn't in the best of moods at the moment. Perhaps getting Lestrade to promise the cookies wasn't enough.

"Shall we go out for a walk?" Sherlock offered. After their initial walk, Sherlock has discovered a number of things about it: it puts John in a better mood, it helps him think, and he (surprisingly) likes it. John gave him a small smile before he put on his jacket and in a few seconds they were both out of the flat, and in a few minutes, they were once more sitting together on the park bench.

It was late afternoon and the sun shone with a lazy warmth that painted John's skin with a soft glow. As Sherlock expected, the tension around John released and he looked relaxed once more. Sherlock unconsciously shifted closer, half-formed thoughts about how warm John looked and about how soft his hair must be chasing tails around his head. And then John turned and gave him that look he gave him by the pastry shop: a look which he has been receiving more and more often. Not that he was complaining. He didn't even mind that half of his money now goes to purchasing pastry.

As the minutes passed and the warm glow of the sun faded softly into the cooler tones of the evening, they picked themselves up once more and started their way back home. They stopped by the Thai restaurant for some takeaway; John said he wanted to get home to watch some series he was following. Sherlock almost made it inside the pastry shop once they resumed the walk home but was ultimately prevented so by John.

"I thought you wanted something from the pastry shop," Sherlock said, confused.

"No, Sherlock," John said firmly. "Nothing from the pastry shop."

Sherlock conceded only because of the grip John had on his arm. There was no arguing there. But he was positive that he had read John's look correctly earlier.

"It's not the pastries, Sherlock," John relented, figuring he has to say something now or else Sherlock was going to clear out the shop.

"Hm," Sherlock said as his look turned speculative.

"Come on, the food's getting cold and I've got a show to catch."

They made it back to the flat with some time to spare. Sherlock raised his eyebrows as John moved to reposition the TV set. Sherlock realised he wanted to position it so it would be visible from the sofa. He stepped in to help John and moved one of the chairs aside.

"Thanks," John said. Sherlock gave a slight nod.

John took one of the cartons of food and settled in on the sofa. He looked up expectantly at Sherlock who was still standing off to the side.

"Aren't you joining me?"

Sherlock hated repetition so he never had to be asked twice. He went and sat down beside John and obligingly took the other carton of food.

So they sat and ate together. Sherlock or John may have moved closer after they've put down the food. And even after the show was finished, neither of them made any move to get up, instead finding more reasons to stay seated there. John found a book to read, Sherlock took the laptop. Eventually, John had fallen asleep; the combination of food, the late hour, and Sherlock's warmth all working together in a comforting blend that proved irresistible.

At the first touch of John's head against Sherlock's shoulder, he stiffened and called out, "John?" uncertainly. John's deep breaths answered him. He carefully closed the laptop and placed it to his side. He sat there, waiting, not exactly sure what to do in this situation. It was the first time anyone had fallen asleep on him; until John, no one had quite let their guard down enough around Sherlock. Yet here is an ex-army doctor, someone who has been on guard and watchful even in sleep, just resting against him. He feels the weight of John's trust and strangely enough, it grounds him and he supports John more solidly. John let out a contented sigh as Sherlock adjusted himself, leaning a bit more heavily against him.

So, a walk, some takeaway, some crap telly, and a sofa. Sherlock shook his head in some disbelief. Who knew that a combination of these would bring about such contentment? He brushed John's hair away from his forehead once more and finally dared to lean back against him and into his warmth.