It was a cold autumn night, and it was as wet as you'd expect London to be. About a dozen or so assorted police officers and rubberneckers were gathering around the home of Morgan Greer in honor of his ongoing arrest. People watched and phone cameras flashed, the majority of those cameras directed at one Mr. Sherlock Holmes who was currently riding the usual post-case thrill.
"I am on fire today, John." He laughed excitedly. "It was obvious really, Morgan covering for his twin after all Jason Greer is a construction worker but Morgan could never pass as such because of his hands! They were flawless, clean and nails unbroken clearly a pencil pusher hasn't worked with his hands a day in his life..."
"Alright, alright I get it! You're oh so clever, now shut up, you sod." John couldn't keep from chuckling though, Sherlock's energy was infectious. The pale thin detective was quivering with excitement and happiness, though John suspected the shaking also had something to do with the fact that Sherlock had gone without sleep or food for three days. That was his usual case procedure, much to John's disapproval.
"Oh, that was fun." Sherlock sighed contently and set out for home with John close at his side.
John was trying to imagine how he could convince Sherlock to actually eat something when a cold wind started biting at the back of his neck. John shivered, regretting forgoing a heavier jacket that morning. He stared at Sherlock's warm trench coat with envy. God what he wouldn't give for a coat like that right now.
"So I've been experimenting with the inciendiary properties of..." Sherlock began, but John didn't even bother listening to the rant seeing as what he didn't know couldn't get him in trouble with Mrs. Hudson, not to mention being too busy listening to the sound of his teeth chattering. Finally he could take it no longer, Baker Street was too close to get a cab but still too far to put up with the cold. So while Sherlock was still droning on about his dubious experiments John grabbed his coat and slipped inside of it. The detective froze mid-sentence, his hands still in the air halfway through some wild gesture.
"J-John?" Sherlock stuttered, staring down at the army doctor that was currently making himself at home in the lining of his trench coat.
"S'cold." John muttered, pressing his face against Sherlock's chest. Sherlock's cheeks heated up, and he stood there silently, unsure of what to do. He could feel John shivering, and even he had to admit that it felt nice having John's form pressed up against him. His arms seemed to move on their own, pulling John in to warm him up. They stood there for awhile, just sharing body heat, John with a coy smile on his face and Sherlock blushing bright red, until suddenly Sherlock slipped out of his coat and secured it around John's shoulders.
"Well come on, don't stand around all night." Sherlock sighed, avoiding John's gaze. The doctor laughed and grabbed the detective's hand, the two of them walking off into the night.