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John drizzled honey over his toast, then took a bite. "Oh, God, this honey is incredible."
"Isn't it, though?" said Sherlock, sipping tea that he'd added a generous amount of honey to. "It looks like planting the heather was worth it. It gives the honey a more varied taste than just the clover."
"Hmm," John agreed with a nod. "It's also a bit less... intense. Which is good. It's... subtle." He smiled. "You know, Sherlock, you could probably sell this stuff. You could call it 'Holmes' Honey'."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John. "No."
John snickered. "Well, ok. Not the best name, I admit."
"No, I mean, I don't want to sell it. If it become popular, there'd be demand for it, and I'd have to make more..." Sherlock made a face, "This is supposed to be our retirement; what you're suggesting sounds too much like a job."
"You could hire people to help you out."
"Ugh, people... If I wanted to be around people, John, I, wouldn't have left London. Frankly, at this point in my life, you're about all the 'people' I can tolerate." There was a short pause. "That sounded like an insult, didn't it?"
"A bit of one, yeah." John smiled. "But I know what you mean."
Sherlock smiled back.
They finished breakfast, and Sherlock gathered the dishes together on the table, to make it easier for John to take them to the sink.
"So," John asked as he ran the water to do the dishes, "what are your plans for today?"
"Nothing, really. Reading, mostly. Would you like me to check your e-mail?"
"Yeah, thanks," said John as he took the dishes to the sink.
Nodding, Sherlock got up. Leaning on his forearm cane, he slowly made his way into the living room.
John walked into the living room, and over to where Sherlock was working on the computer. "Anything interesting?"
"Just some e-mails from Lestrade Junior."
"I really don't think she likes you calling her that," John said with a laugh.
Sherlock looked thoughtful. "Lestrade 2.0?"
John just shook his head.
Smiling, Sherlock looked out the window at the gathering clouds. "Hmmm... I think I should take a look at the hives before the storm starts; make sure everything is secure."
"I'll go," John offered.
Sherlock was already up, cane in hand. "I want to go, John. Though I'd love your company."
John sighed and stepped aside to let Sherlock pass, then followed him outside.
Hives secure from the elements, Sherlock and John walked back into their house. Going into the living room, Sherlock headed for the corner sofa. "Could you get me my laptop, John?"
"Sure," he said, getting both Sherlock's and his own.
Sherlock sat at where the two angles of the sofa meet, putting his legs up on it. When John came over and held out his computer, Sherlock smiled and patted his lap. Giving Sherlock his laptop, John walked over and sat on the other part of the sofa, putting his feet up on Sherlock's lap.
"I meant your head, John."
"I know," John replied with a grin.
Sherlock shook his head. Then, setting aside his computer, he slowly took John's shoes and socks off. John sighed as his lover's hand slid slowly down the bottom of his right foot, then gently massaged his heel.
"Nice," John said softly, with a happy smile. Sherlock smiled back and rubbed John's foot for a few more minutes. He then shifted to his left foot, giving it the same care and attention. As he was doing that, they began to hear the soft patter of rain on the roof.
"Ah, there it is," Sherlock said. "It'll probably rain for the rest of the day."
"That'll be nice," replied John. "With this weather, we might not have to water the garden for a few days."
"Hmmm..."
Sherlock finished massaging John's foot and moved John's legs so his calves were on his lap. Then he picked up his laptop and rested it on John's legs.
"Oi," John said softly, taking a pillow from the back of the couch and tossing it to Sherlock. The other man caught it and placed it under his laptop. "Thank you."
With that, John put on his headphones and began to watch a movie on his own laptop. About halfway through, he looked over the top of the monitor to find that Sherlock was listing to one side, his laptop threatening to slide off the pillow. John gently nudged him with his foot.
"Sherlock?"
The detective gave a start, sitting up straight again. As he recovered his escaping computer he furrowed his brow. "Dammit," he muttered.
Were it anyone else, John would have said that it as all right, that given his odd sleeping patterns, falling asleep in the middle of the day was not unexpected. But John held his tongue. Sherlock considered his body "transport"; secondary to his brain, and completely under his control. And while, over the years, he'd learned to enjoy his body's desires, he still hated being subject to its needs. The fact that his leg constantly reminded him of those needs didn't help.
Sitting up, John moved close to Sherlock and rubbed his shoulder. "C'mon, let's go to bed."
Sherlock looked at the clock. "But it's..." he sighed and shook his head, "Dammit," he said again.
Turning Sherlock's head, John kissed him. Taking his laptop, he handed Sherlock his cane.
Sherlock slowly changed into his pyjamas, than stretched out in bed and stared up at the ceiling.
"Still raining," Sherlock mused.
"You said it would be," replied John as he also changed into his pyjamas.
"It's soothing... rhythmic."
"Yeah." John smiled and sat down next to Sherlock. The other man turned on his side and reached out, draping his arm over John's lap. John rubbed Sherlock's arm, then gently brushed his fingers through Sherlock's curly salt-and-pepper hair.
"Get some sleep, sweetie."
"Yes, dear," Sherlock replied. Resting his head against John's thigh, he relaxed and let the rain lull him to sleep again.