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It was fairly typical for John and Sherlock to eat in absolute silence for the first ten minutes of any meal following a case. After devouring his samosas almost whole and moving on to his chicken tikka masala, John was finally losing that sharp edge of hunger and was ready to slow down before he accidently choked.
"That was a nice house." John remarked, taking a sip of his ice cold Cobra beer.
"Hmm?" Sherlock wasn't at the point of slowing down yet, stuffing a large wodge of pashwari naan bread into his mouth that was coated with sauce from John's meal. It was quite common for them to dive into each other's meals when they were famished, they'd both learned to order more than they wanted to evenings such as this one. Especially after Sherlock stabbed John's hand with a fork a little too hard a few months ago.
"The one Everett owned, nicely designed, very modern."
"Apart from the torture dungeon in the cellar."
"It had potential. You could convert it into a lab. It could be quite homey once you took the chains off the walls and the hooks off the ceiling and it's a big space for London."
"I prefer natural light and less blood soaked concrete where I work. Are you considering moving us in? I suppose it will be up for sale, I don't see Everett stepping outside Broadmoor for the rest of his natural life, we could snap up a bargain." Sherlock's sarcasm was clear.
"If they don't knock it down first. I don't want to move, I just liked the house. It was the kind of thing you see on Grand Designs. All modern and clean lines. I like that sort of thing."
"Boring. Dull. Unimaginative. I thought you'd appreciate more flair and detail than that."
"I like the light and airiness, yes it was a bit on the clinical side but you could change that with a bit of paint, some pictures and a cosy furniture. Believe it or not, Sherlock, it is nice to actually be able to see the floors and table tops on occasion."
"There was no artistry, no character!" Sherlock waved his arms suddenly, disturbing the couple next to them who treated Sherlock to a very British glare but no verbal protest. "Four storeys of blandness, Italian marble and bloody spotlights. I abhor spotlights. I'll ban them after the revolution."
"We all look forward to the reign of Sherlock the Deductor." John sardonically retorted before leaning across and cutting himself a piece of Sherlock's extra bhaji. "Mmm, nice."
"It's catchy but not fearsome enough. Maybe Sherlock the Great Deductor, more grandeur." Sherlock takes the opportunity to pinch a piece of John's chicken considering John's knife and fork were busy stealing yet more bhaji.
"So go on then."
"Go on what?"
"Describe your ideal home if you could build it from scratch. I'll be your Kevin McCloud."
"So you can wax lyrical about my use of materials and my eco credentials."
"Of course. I always feel like he should be speaking Shakespeare, he's got the voice for it."
"Yes does have a decent baritone, nothing like my own of course." Sherlock none-too-bashfully adds, subtly lowering his tone.
"You know Shakespeare?" John smiled as Sherlock pretended not to hear him. Of course an understanding of literature wouldn't be practical but Sherlock wasn't going to admit a gap in his knowledge freely. John finished his pint and gestured to the waiter who promptly brought him another.
"You'll be falling down drunk soon."
"Be prepared to carry me then." John smiled smugly as he sipped his fresh one, smacking his lips and sighing a happy sound. "Now, tell me your grandest design. I'm on tenterhooks."
"Fine, given the choice I would either renovate a stone cottage-"
"Wait, where are you hypothetically building?" There weren't too many old stone cottages to renovate in London.
"Somewhere in the countryside, a post-retirement project."
"You plan on retiring?" John pulled a suitable face for his surprise.
"I don't think I'll be chasing down sadists and serial killers when I'm seventy though I'm sure I'll keep appraised. I'll have plenty else to keep me busy."
"Wow, I didn't think you thought that far ahead. Or that you were so optimistic to think that someone won't have shot or stabbed you before then."
"Oh, I'm sure they'll keep trying, no one's succeeded yet and I doubt they will." He smiles.
"If only I'd been so lucky." John smiles back with a roll of his shoulder. It was hard to regret being shot on nights like this though. "Carry on, I won't interrupt again. It has to be something from scratch though, something you'd hire an architect for."
"Restrictive. If not the stone cottage I would choose an oak crux frame design, two floors high and built into the eaves. It would be U-shaped with glass roof on the corners as a design feature but also because I find velux windows a crime against taste and decency."
John stifles a chuckle, he'd never bothered to culture an opinion on velux windows. "You've thought about this before."
"My mind wanders." Sherlock was fairly blasé, he wasn't going to give too much away.
"I had no idea you had such a flair for interior design. I actually like the sound of the glass roof."
"I'm a man of many hidden talents. I would have a courtyard in the centre lending to the gardens and perhaps my own forest, rifle range, some chickens-"
"Chickens? Is that what you're going to shoot?" John scoffs with his mouth half full of said bird.
"May I continue? McCloud doesn't butt in this much."
John waves his hand rather than speaks to show that he will be quiet.
"So where was I? Ah, I too enjoy the airiness so a generous amount of glass for natural light, in particularly my study and laboratory which shall take up one of the wings. The central portion shall consist of the living room, kitchen, bedrooms and a generous bathroom-"
"What about a room for your suits?"
"Oh yes, a room just for my copious amount of suits and your hilarious wit which of course requires so much space and attention." Sherlock gives John a wry look as he gulps down some wine. He already feels a little tipsy but happily so. "And fireplaces, none of this fancy under-floor heating nonsense. Hand-carved or cast iron fireplaces, plus an aga in the kitchen."
"And what about the other wing?"
"That yours, you can do as you wish with it as long as it's in keeping. No glass brick walls or some pretentious staircase that floats."
"My-my wing?"
"Yes. I presume you'll want your own study to write and escape from me, a bedroom or two, a bathroom and room for your hideous jumpers."
"You really think we'll be living together when you retire? What if I'm married, what if I have children even?"
"Then you'll probably want a bigger wing." Sherlock half smiles. "If you're married then I'm sure you'll be happy living in whatever horrid, wood-clad box you can come up with. You can fill it with spotlights, polished concrete and exposed ducting but if not you'll have the Watson wing."
"The Watson wing?" John said all too fondly. "Can I have carpet? I like having bare feet."
"God no, wooden floors and rugs. Why on earth do you have this fascination with wool? The mind boggles."
"Dictator."
"Taste, John. It's called taste."