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John sighed, index finger occasionally tapping against his laptop. He was looking at the screen, but honestly he wasn't actually paying much attention to what was on it. The patreon's discord server was going nuts, but he opted to just let them all do... whatever they were doing. He'd already done whatever work Mariana had needed from him, and there was no case to research at the moment, so John was basically just passing the time staring at his computer while sitting on the (burnt) couch.
Sherlock was in the living room with him, sat on the floor and staring intently at a small pile of leaves he had collected from outside for... reasons. They were now set on the coffee table, about five in total, arranged from left to right in front of the consulting detective. Occasionally, Sherlock would pick one up and turn it over in his hands before putting it back down in either its original place or switching it with another one. He had been doing this for about fifteen minutes and, at this point, John had decided he didn't need to know what exactly his flatmate was doing.
But that didn't mean he didn't want to know.
"Okay, what's with the leaves?" he asked finally, closing his laptop and being careful not to let it shut too sharply.
"I'm measuring them."
John frowned a bit at that before leaning over to examine the contents of Sherlock's newest experiment. They all looked about the same size, even with the few torn bits.
"Don't you need a ruler to measure things?"
"Yes," Sherlock hummed. "If I were measuring their length or width, but I'm not doing that."
"Then..." John drew out the word, setting the laptop aside and sliding off the couch. He sat on the opposite side of the coffee table from Sherlock and rested an arm on it. "What are you measuring?"
"How they make me feel."
"What?"
"How they make me—"
"No, I heard—" John stopped himself and sighed. He needed to get better at how he asked for clarification. "What do you mean by 'measuring how they make you feel?' Like a Marie Kondo sort of thing?"
"Who is that?" Sherlock asked, looking up from the leaves for the first time since John had started this line of questioning.
There were a lot of amazing things about Sherlock Holmes, especially if you asked John, but his eyes still caught the doctor off guard more than he'd like to admit. It wasn't necessarily their color, a simple pale gray that seemed to dim and lighten with his mood, but the way they... watched everything.
It had taken a bit before John really noticed this, but when Sherlock became curious about something—which was a lot —his eyes got a flash of intensity to them. They almost seemed to burn for an answer, gently flicking between points to find relevant details no one else seemed capable of finding. Not in the way Sherlock was, at least. Now, those eyes watched John.
"She's a... writer I think?" John managed. "She... teaches people how to organize their stuff and their, uh... lives I guess? My mum got into her for a bit there— point is... she has this thing about checking out something you're thinking of getting rid of and if it 'sparks joy' then you can keep it but if not, then throw it away." He looked back at Sherlock after explaining, trying to decipher the other's furrowed brow. "Are you collecting leaves now?"
"No," Sherlock answered. "I've heard some people like crunching leaves, so I'm seeing if there may be other factors to leaves that may... well, I suppose 'spark joy' is the way you would put it."
" I didn't put it that way— anyway," John said. "Seems not as scientific as your usual experiments, did you run out of vitriol?"
"Perhaps."
John hummed back in response, fingers tapping on the table for a moment as he watched his flatmate. Sherlock was looking at one with a tear in its side, turning it upside down before replacing it with one a bit more pristine-looking. He set that one back down and seemed to consider them all before letting out a groan.
"Doesn't sound like those leaves are sparking much joy, mate," John laughed. He stood, stretching an arm over his head before doing the same with the other. "Why don't we go down to the Volunteer? Bet we could find a case if we people watch."
"Too much going on," Sherlock said as he shook his head. "I need something to focus on. Something..."
"Criminal, I assume?"
"It would help, but it doesn't have to be." Sherlock stood as well, but his eyes remained on the leaves. He tilted his head and that flash appeared again in his eyes, if just for a moment. They almost reminded John of a camera lens, the way they adjusted between extreme intensity and vague unfocus. He was clearly trying really hard to find something to keep his attention.
"So..." John said, pulling himself away from Sherlock's eyes. "Leaves, then."
"Leaves."
"Right..."
Silence hung for a bit, Sherlock staring at the leaves and John staring at Sherlock. If it had been anyone else then John would have felt awkward in that silence, but not with him. He filled the air with the way his eyes flickered from leaf to leaf, one arm crossed with the other elbow sat on it, thumb gently resting against his lip. How could one person be so fascinating in just the way he thought about leaves? It was almost funny to him—
"What's funny?" Sherlock asked, gray eyes moving back to a stunned John. Did he just read his mind again?! "You chuckled." Oh.
"Ah, just..." He trailed off as he tried to think of the least weird way to explain he was, well, admiring Sherlock. "Not many people seem this into leaves, I guess? That... sounds like I mean it in a bad way, I don't— I mean, well I mean it in a... you're just fun to watch, is all."
Sherlock nodded at that, going back to the silence after but keeping his eyes on John. His fingers twitched in the way they did when he had questions but was still formulating how to ask them. When did John realize he did that?
"Do I spark joy?" Sherlock asked. Again, John simply blinked before he could manage to form a response.
"What? What do you mean?"
" Well ..." Sherlock said, voice pressing but not harsh or angry. "You said some things are supposed to 'spark joy,' that's how you know they're worth keeping around. Moments like that, where I clearly amused you in some way, are those moments of 'sparking joy?'" John smiled a bit, knowing this was finally something that had caught Sherlock's proper curiosity. Before he could answer, though, the detective continued. "You've never seemed particularly keen on my experiments and examinations, yet I have noticed the times where you are indeed impressed by my deductions. If those times are also 'sparking joy,' and this ability means the focus of attention is worthy of keeping around, would you say I 'spark' more 'joy' than I cause discomfort?"
John waited a moment, making sure the other was done before asking his own question. "Are you... asking if I like having you around?"
"Indeed," Sherlock hummed. "I want to understand this concept better."
The detective stood up a bit straighter, abandoning the leaves on the coffee table to focus on John. Those sharp, curious eyes crept into him, finding a cozy place in the back of John's mind to nestle in. He thought about Sherlock's question for a moment, smiling a bit at how nice it felt when Sherlock watched him like this.
"Yes, Sherlock," he said. "I'd say you do spark joy."
Now, it was Sherlock's turn to blink, though John wasn't sure why he seemed so caught off guard. He had asked, hadn't he? What had Sherlock expected him to say?
"You spark joy for me as well, Watson," Sherlock said softly.
"Thanks."