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Creaky steps and a pleasant, whistled tune announce John's presence. He's in the kitchen working with the kettle before he speaks a word. Sherlock observes the good mood and smiles towards John, a nonverbal hello.
“Sugar.” Sherlock requests. His leg jostles.
John sets a tea cup, brimmed with a murky, floral smelling liquid, upon the saucer next to Sherlock's elbow. He then sits, squeezing a hand on Sherlock's knee as a greeting. “Sugar added.”
“More please,” Sherlock smirks, leaning towards his partner and placing a small kiss on his temple.
“Discover anything new?” John inquires, content.
“The case of the missing heart...” Sherlock taps his index and middle finger on his chest. He then presses the same hand on John's torso. “Solved.”
Sherlock is surprisingly affectionate in his relationship with John. He still doesn't think to ask how John's day was, if it was busy at the surgery, if he needs anything; Sherlock could easily deduce the answers anyway, but it's all fine. This is how they work. John wouldn't want it any other way.
A dull show colours the frame of their telly set. John tries to catch up on the events prior to his return, but quickly loses ambition. His right shoulder gains the comfortable weight of Sherlock's head. His eyes close.
This is home.