Chapter Text
They entered the apartment loudly, one of them giggling from a previous joke and the other shouting goodbye to Mariana. They made their way to the living room, to the couch, where John grabbed the remote and turned on the TV to the last channel they had watched. Well. The last channel Sherlock had watched. Before their latest case, he'd been watching a documentary about bees. Now, it looked like something about penguins.
He sat next to John, and they commented every now and then, about the penguins on TV, and about their outing with Mariana at the Volunteer. And it must've been the alcohol, or the relief that a rather hard case had gone well in the end, but at some point John started laughing about some little thing and slowly but surely slid off the couch, and refused to go down alone.
They ended up lying on the floor, on their backs, arms pressed together. They stopped laughing after a few seconds, and just listened to the documentary. And, in John's case, complained about the cold.
“You dragged us to the floor,” Sherlock said. “Go turn on the heating.”
“Mm, I don't wanna get up,” John protested. Then he turned and threw an arm around Sherlock, and put his head on his chest, and said, “You're warm…”
“Am I?” Sherlock asked, since until then if John brought up temperature after touching him it was always ‘why are you so cold’ and ‘you have terrible circulation’ or ‘you should've worn some gloves’.
“Mm, yes. Pretty warm. A miracle, really.”
“Yes, very amusing.”
He waited for John to retreat after a few seconds, or go back to poking fun at him or the documentary, but John just... stayed there. Let himself relax. As if he was going to sleep right there, on the floor. On Sherlock’s chest.
It was a rare thing.
Sherlock was always too unsure whether or not he was allowed to put his head on John's shoulder, if they sat next to each other for a prolonged period of time. And John was too short to make a proper headrest anyway, if he was being honest. So the few times that they did... cuddle. John was the one initiating.
John didn't move.
Must have been at least thirty seconds.
It didn't seem like he planned on moving too soon.
It was… Nice. Very nice, in fact.
If only they weren't on the hard, cold floor… He could fall asleep like that.
He would like to fall asleep like that. With John hugging him.
He slowly raised his hand and placed it on John’s arm.
John hummed. Sherlock wasn’t sure what exactly that was supposed to convey, but it sounded positive. An agreement, perhaps. ‘Yes, you can touch my arm, I like that.’
Ten more seconds passed.
The narrator of the documentary kept talking about penguins. Archie waddled lazily towards the kitchen. John tried to suppress a yawn.
For some unexplainable reason, Sherlock felt like he would remember this moment in years and years.
This was happiness. This was home. And safety. This was... How it was supposed to be.
Him and his Watson, tired after solving a hard case, cuddling in 221b.
He wished it would always be like that.
He knew it couldn’t, of course.
One day, he’ll be alone again.
“Your heart’s beating fast,” John murmured.
Sherlock wasn’t sure if it was a demand for an explanation or a mere observation.
“You alright?”
Of course. Concern.
His dear, dear Watson.
How could he ever go back to not having him by his side?
His chest felt heavy and his eyes started burning, and he felt he had no choice but to say it, even if he might regret it later.
“I love you.”
It came out unbearably earnest.
John lifted his head and scooted off of him, leaning on an elbow to look at him better.
“I love you too, mate..?” he almost asked, curiosity and concern clear on his face.
An understandable reaction, since Sherlock had never told him that before, not in those exact words at least. To say them seemingly unprompted on a random night after a case and a few drinks… He could see how that might be a tad concerning. He had to add something more.
“I’m gonna miss you so much,” he said, barely managing to get through the sentence as his throat was closing up. Then, as if his voice was not enough, he blinked, and two tears fell quickly across his temples.
Shit.
“Oh,” John said, frowning in concern, “Woa, hey no don’t cry.”
He reached for his face but seemed to change his mind and touched his shoulder instead.
“What do you mean? Why- Whyy are you gonna miss me?”
There was more than concern now. Sherlock could detect a hint of panic.
And not only in John.
Shit. What now? What now?
His friend was looking at him, waiting for an answer.
No. No, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t have this conversation, he shouldn’t have said that, he shouldn’t have let the tears escape.
He shouldn’t still be lying on the floor while John was looking at him from above.
No.
He clambered to his feet as quickly as he could.
“Sherlock?”
Just a moment. He needed to think. He needed to fix this, somehow.
“I’m thirsty,” he said, and hurried to the kitchen.
***
John looked at the kitchen door as if just the act of staring at it would give him some answers.
What could Sherlock have meant? Why would he miss him? He wasn’t going anywhere, so was Sherlock? And if Sherlock was going away, why would he not tell him? Why would he run away from the conversation? (Because, let’s be honest, the being thirsty thing was a bullshit excuse. He didn't have to be a Master Detective to see through that.) It must be something John wouldn’t approve of. Maybe he was offered a very dangerous case, and he didn’t tell his friends for fear they would insist to go with him (they would) and subsequently get hurt.
But Sherlock hadn’t seemed troubled that day. No more than he usually was when on a high-stakes case. And at the Volunteer, he seemed perfectly fine. Proud and happy and relieved that they managed to prevent another death.
Maybe he just… Managed to hide it well.
Maybe he accepted the dangerous case, didn’t tell his friends, didn’t think too much about how it would affect him emotionally, to be away… Oh god, how long would he be away? And why would he be offered a case that would take him away from Baker Street for a long time? It had to be a long time, why else would he be so affected? He cried, for God’s sake, he said ‘I love you’ for the first time in more than two years of friendship.
That must be it. He’d hugged him, for a long time. That must've been what triggered it. His heart had started beating faster - he must have been thinking that he’s not gonna have anyone to hug him while he’s away, he must’ve been anticipating missing home. And… John.
That was it, wasn’t it? That’s why he said it.
I love you. I’m gonna miss you.
Well, John wouldn't have it. There was no way he’d let him leave without him. Especially on a dangerous case. Both or none. Sherlock had said that one time when a client asked that they speak privately. Both or none. That’s what he’ll tell Sherlock. ‘I went and fought and got blown up for people I don’t even know, what makes you think I'm letting you go alone on a dangerous case? A long one, too. No. There’s no way you’re going without me.’ He’ll tell him that. Yes.
“Sherlock?” he called towards the kitchen. “Could you come back, please?”
“One moment!”
Well. At least he didn’t sound like he was crying.
He did come back, with two glasses of water. He gave one to him.
“Thanks, mate,” John said, and put it on the nearest table without drinking. “Um.”
“I tried to locate some crackers, or... peanuts, but it seems like we’re all out.”
“That’s... ok. Um. Listen.”
“Yes! Yes. Terribly sorry if I concerned you Watson, I simply meant…” He hesitated. “I.. like.. your company.”
“Yeah, I know. You’ve told me this. Several times. So-”
“I was a bit... Emotional. I feel better now.”
He was looking at him as if he was silently begging John to drop the subject.
Tough luck.
“Why were you emotional?” he asked, carefully, trying not to sound accusatory.
“Mm, maybe the alcohol?”
“Hm,” John said.
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable-”
“You didn’t-”
“I- I just. Felt like telling you. I was just... Uncharacteristically emotional. About our friendship.”
“Alright...” John soothed. “Ok. It’s alright. You didn’t make me uncomfortable. And I know you love me. And I love you too. And I’ve told you before, so why would I be uncomfortable if you said it back?”
Sherlock looked down.
Maybe it wasn’t the ‘I love you’ that Sherlock thought might have been uncomfortable. Maybe it was the tears. Or... What he said just before they fell.
“Sherlock… Why did you say you’ll miss me?”
He didn’t answer for a few seconds. Then, he straightened his head and said,
“Yes! I did say that. Um. I simply meant that. If - hypothetically - you would not be by my side as I’m solving a case, I would miss you. I, uh. I was thinking that I... Would... Not have liked to be alone in that place today, and I was thinking about… Hypotheticals.”
He smiled at him, nodding his head once.
It didn’t look too convincing.
It couldn’t be just that, right? No. Well, thinking back on the case, them waiting for the killer to strike, not making a sound... It was scary. It could be the reason why his heart started beating faster. But then why say ‘I love you’ and ‘I’m gonna miss you’? Why not say ‘I’m glad you were there today’?
“You said ‘I’m gonna miss you’. Not ‘I would’.”
Sherlock blinked.
“I did?” he asked a second too late. “Ha! Yes, I think I did. Well, I am tired and I’ve had a few drinks, so you will forgive this small error.”
Sherlock downed his glass of water as John looked at him, unconvinced.
“Sherlock.”
“We should probably go to sleep.”
“I- No!”
“You always remind me how important a healthy sleep schedule is! It’s almost midnight. I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.”
He turned around and started walking towards his bedroom. He had a good point - he should sleep if he was tired. John hesitated, staying in the same spot for a couple seconds. Then, just as Sherlock was reaching the door to his bedroom, he hurried towards him and took his hand.
“Tell me the truth.”
Sherlock didn’t turn.
“I did, Watson. Hypotheticals. That’s all.”
“No. No, no, it wasn’t you thinking, ‘oh I’m glad John was with me on the case’. It wasn’t just.. It.. You were serious. You- You said you’re gonna miss me so much. And- And you. Cried. And. And that’s after you told me you loved me, which you never do. So. Don’t try to... convince me it wasn’t anything serious.”
He waited. Sherlock didn’t deny it.
“Where are you going?”
Sherlock did turn then, only a bit, to look at him bewildered.
“I'm not going anywhere. Except my room. I was trying to go to my room.”
He seemed to be telling the truth.
“Well. You. You said you’ll miss me. So you know we’ll be.. separated. And. I’m not going anywhere. So.”
Sherlock shook his head.
“I’m not.”
He wasn’t? John looked at his face for any signs of a lie. He found none.
Was his theory wrong, then?
“You’re... not going away on a dangerous case without me?”
Sherlock smiled.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
John physically relaxed.
Alright. Whatever it was, at least he wasn’t in danger.
“Good. Alright, that’s good.” He squeezed Sherlock’s hand. “What is it, then?”
Sherlock was quiet for a few seconds, likely trying to decide if he should tell him the truth or not. Then he took a long breath, and said,
“I was…” He stopped, searching for his words. “I… Let me preface this by saying that. It is something... Silly. I... Perhaps it was… The alcohol... That made my reaction to that thought... A bit dramatic.”
“...right.”
“Right,” Sherlock echoed. “I... Thought... I was thinking that I like your company. So. I thought.” He swallowed. Took a shaky breath. “When we inevitably part-”
His voice failed him. John saw the beginning of tears in his eyes before Sherlock quickly covered them with the hand John wasn't holding.
“Hey...” John said, as softly as he could, and moved so he could be completely in front of Sherlock. His friend kept his hand pressed to his eyes, with a slightly concerning amount of power, and was holding his breath. John slowly put his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders.
Should he ask for clarification? Should he tell him that, if this was about Sherlock’s worry that he can’t keep friends for a long time, he cared about him too much to just go away and never look back if they ever had a horrible fight? That he’ll do anything he could to fix the friendship if it was ever broken?
Sherlock tried to take a breath, but let out a sob instead. He immediately pressed his lips together, holding his breath again, trying not to let another sound escape.
Later, he decided. He could ask for clarification later.
“Hey. It’s ok,” he told him. Sherlock still held his breath. “You can cry, you know. If- If you… Need to. You don’t have to… Hold it in.”
Sherlock took a very shaky breath.
“It’s alright,” John said and pulled him slightly towards him. “Come here.”
Sherlock did. He wrapped his long arms around John and buried his nose in the crook of his neck, and let himself cry. John brushed his hand on his friend’s back.
“I’m sorry,” Sherlock said after a while.
“Hey, no...”
“It’s not-” He gasped, still unable to control his breathing. “I’m n- not sure why. I’m crying. Now.”
“You don’t know why you’re crying?”
“I know why, I-” Another gasp interrupted him. “It’s. It’s just… I’ve be-en thinking about this for- since Silver Blaze. A-and I accepted it. And it’s a s-stupid reason to cry.”
“Well it’s clearly not stupid for you, mate. If it... Affects you so much.”
“But I was used to it! I’ve… Known this for a long time.”
Another shaky inhale.
“Alright,” John said, wondering if he should encourage him to keep talking or wait until he calmed down a little.
“I- I’m just...” No encouragement necessary, then. “I was thinking… I’m so happy with how things are. And- And I will miss it all so much. When you eventually move on.”
‘Move on’...
John thought he was beginning to understand.
“And I- I- I shouldn’t have told you this because I- I know it’s normal and of course it’s gonna happen.”
“Sherlock...”
“You’ll. You’ll meet someone one day and- And want to move in with her and. And have an actual family.”
John felt a claw tighten around his heart and didn't know if it was caused by remembering what he'd imagined with Mary, or the fact that Sherlock just admitted that he doesn't think John actually sees him as family.
“And I know it’s normal and this - us, living together - was always gonna be temporary. And- I- I don’t know why I’m crying now, I am... Accustomed to the idea, I just…”
Sherlock let out a long, defeated breath.
“I’ll miss you.”
John nodded and kept brushing his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, trying to stall until he could think of a response. If this was about their friendship, he could think of something, hell, he’d thought of something before Sherlock even explained why he was crying. But how could he reassure him that he’d never move? He’d just threatened him with moving out a few months before! He never actually meant it of course, and Sherlock had promised to never shoot the wall again and the problem with his mess and the papers was definitely not gone but seemed to be slowly getting better, but… What could he even say?
The obvious first.
“I’d miss you, too. If I moved.”
He kept stroking Sherlock’s back.
“I… I never thought…”
No. He couldn’t say ‘I never thought you cared so much’, he couldn’t say it like that, he would misunderstand. How could he phrase it?
“Never thought..?” Sherlock asked. He pulled back from the hug and wiped his eyes.
“I... Never... Thought… About this. Too much. The far future.”
He did imagine himself in 20 years sometimes, and Sherlock was there, always there, but he never thought about... specifics. They would work together, they would go out for a pint, or on holiday, but… Would they live together?
It was too vague to see.
“You’ve… You’ve thought about this. Since Silver Blaze, you said?”
“Yes. You said… Something about what I would do if you were not in the picture.”
“…Oh.”
He thought he remembered. He did! Yes. He didn’t remember exactly what the conversation had been about, but he remembered Sherlock asking if he meant gone as in ‘mortally wounded’.
“You… Is that why you were staring at me, in the bathroom? Back then? You were wondering if…”
If death was the only thing that would part them.
John stared at Sherlock, mouth still open.
He couldn’t say that.
“If…” he repeated, to buy some time.
Sherlock looked away.
He wasn’t going to help him out, then.
“...if I’ll leave?” he decided.
“Yes.”
Right…
“Was it... About us being friends? Or working together? Or living together?”
“They are intrinsically linked, are they not?”
John sighed. Then, he saw an opportunity. A way of reassuring Sherlock, without saying that he’d never move out.
If Sherlock thought those things were ‘intrinsically linked’, he might be thinking that if you removed one - living together - they would all fall apart.
“Yeah. Um. No. Um. Ok.” He put his hand on Sherlock’s arm, and Sherlock looked at him. “You do know that, um. E-even if I move. For some reason. You know we’d still be friends, yeah? I- I’ll… I mean, we’d still work together, so. That. But. I’ll come visit. A lot. We’d hang out, have our movie nights with Mariana… We’d still be friends. You know that, yeah?”
Sherlock stared at him. He said nothing for a few seconds, then slowly nodded.
But John could tell. He didn’t believe him.
“I mean it. I mean- Unless… I dunno, we have an irreparable fight or something. And- And even if we fight, if… If there’s anything…” He sighed. He didn’t want to think about their friendship being... broken. “I want to always be your friend. You mean too much to me to-”
It was his turn to lose his voice. His eyes burned for a moment. He took a deep breath, and the burning went away.
“I believe you,” Sherlock quickly said. “Please don’t… Be sad.”
John smiled.
“I don’t want you to be sad either.”
Sherlock nodded.
“I feel better. I… appreciate what you said. Thank you.”
John patted him on the arm.
“Yeah.”
“And- I apologise for the scene.”
“It’s alright-”
“As I said, I… got a bit emotional.”
“It’s alright, mate. Honestly.” He let go of Sherlock’s arm and took his hand instead. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”
Sherlock nodded, shot him a quick smile, and looked away again.
“I... am actually tired. Even more now.”
“Oh! Yeah. Yeah, you should go to bed, mate.”
“…I’ll go to the bathroom first, actually.”
“Sure,” John said, and stepped out of his way. For some reason, he felt like pointing the direction with a flowery gesture of his hand. “The throne room, my liege.”
“Stop that.”
“Ok.”
He sat back down on the couch, watching the documentary absentmindedly. It wasn’t exactly his favourite type of entertainment, and even if it were… His thoughts kept drifting to the earlier conversation.
Now that the idea was in his head, he couldn’t help but wonder… Was he gonna move out?
Not soon, definitely not soon. But in ten... In fifteen years…
Maybe it wouldn’t even be his choice. Maybe he’ll just never fall in love again. Never have a relationship work out again. He thought for sure, with Carrie…
And he was busy now. Editing and crime-solving were time-consuming activities.
So. He wasn’t exactly dating material. And he wouldn’t… Would he ever get tired of this? It was the perfect job. He was happy. He felt good. Would he ever choose to leave this?
He didn’t think so. Not until his physical health started to decline, at least.
The bathroom door opened, and Sherlock emerged. He had washed his face, and was now heading directly to his bedroom.
“Um, wait,” John said before he could think better about it.
For the second time that night, Sherlock stopped just outside of his room. He did turn, this time, and looked at John.
“I uh…” John started. “You know, I wouldn’t be too worried about that particular scenario. Me, moving out because… I… Have a girlfriend and… Wanna get married or something.”
Sherlock squinted.
“Why not? Is it not what you want?”
“Um.” He didn’t know. He’d wanted it before. He was planning to propose to Carrie. And maybe… Maybe it wouldn’t have worked out with Mary, either. But he had thought of it. A lot.
He didn’t know what he wanted now.
“Well. It’s not about that. It’s just that. I mean, it’s unlikely, isn’t it? Carrie didn’t work out, Mary… I guess… I didn’t get a chance to find out… And, uh. It’s... It’s not like I have time to... Go on dates and stuff. So. You know. Unlikely.”
Sherlock smiled. It looked sad, but not forced.
“You sell yourself short, Watson.” He seemed to want to add something else. But he just said, “Good night.”
“Yeah... Night, mate.”
***
He thought about it, as he lay in bed that night.
Maybe Sherlock was right. Maybe if he did want to... Fall in love again and get married. Maybe it would happen. If he wanted that.
Did he want that?
He was always told that’s what would happen. When you grow up, you’ll have a job. And a place of your own. And you’ll meet a nice woman and you’ll have a kid or two and you’ll be so happy.
He always expected that would happen. Eventually.
He thought he was getting there. Once or twice.
Did he want that now?
It didn’t sound bad. It never sounded bad. He could see himself being happy. In that scenario.
But now…
Now that he thought about it...
It didn’t seem… Realistic?
Was it him selling himself short? Like Sherlock said?
He did have… Self-worth problems. He knew that. Everyone knew that.
Was it that?
No.
Maybe a bit?
No, it wasn’t that.
If the plan was to eventually move out and get married and have a kid… He could do that.
Did he want that to be the plan?
Why did it feel unrealistic?
Why did it feel like something he could’ve had, in another life, but not now?
Another life.
He’d have to abandon this one.
He’d have to... go back. On the path. Choose another... fork. As he so eloquently put it, a while ago.
He couldn’t have both, could he? He’d told Sherlock things wouldn’t change too much if he ever moved out, but that wasn’t true, was it? He would be around less. There would be someone else he would... Go to first. If he ever needed something. To talk, to help out if he lost the remote, to ask if they wanna see this new movie or check out that interesting place. He would try to keep Sherlock as close as he is now, at first. He would want all three of them to go to.. The movies, or whatever interesting place he’d want to visit. Then he’d realise it’s harder to plan something for three than for two. And it’s not the same as one-on-one time anyway. He’d try to share his time equally, but.. But even now, he didn’t exactly have an abundance of free time. He would prioritise one over the other. Even without wanting to.
He’d realise one day that there’s someone who is clearly the most important person in his life. And that someone won’t be Sherlock.
John’s chest hurt.
Sherlock knew this. He was right, not to believe him. John was being unrealistic. Of course, they’d still be friends. But not like they are now. Sherlock knew this.
Was he ok with that?
A simple question. Was he ok with Sherlock not being his number one anymore? The first person, the first anything that came to mind when he was trying to think happy thoughts? The first person he saw after he had a nightmare? The person opposite him at that cool restaurant he wanted to try, or beside him at the cinema? The one person to share a secret with.
No.
No.
He couldn't let go of this. This was right. Him and Sherlock.
He didn’t wanna leave.
***
He woke up around two hours earlier than usual. He walked Archie, and when he came back Sherlock was still sleeping. He scrolled on his phone for an hour.
He was gonna tell him. He was gonna tell him as soon as he woke up.
Why couldn’t he wake up earlier than usual?
He got his laptop out, and started planning out the new story. A three-parter, very likely. It was one of those that couldn’t possibly fit in two parts, but three whole episodes seemed too much. He’d have to either include a lot of waffle or make the second part shorter than usual.
He... Probably had enough of the former. Waffling and domestic moments seemed to be preferred to a 20-minute second part.
A door clicked open.
Sherlock.
He saved the project and closed his laptop.
How was he gonna do this? Just say it?
Breakfast. He’d make breakfast and just tell him while they’re eating. Yeah.
Half of their plates were already empty when Sherlock asked if he was alright.
“You seem... Oddly quiet. This morning.”
“Oh.”
It was true. He was trying to think of how to tell him. He was... Nervous. Which was probably stupid, since Sherlock had just last night been so… Affected. By the thought of not living with John anymore. So. It’s not like he was gonna reject him. Right?
Right. Just say it.
“Um. Yeah. Um. I was… I- I have something to tell you. Actually.”
“Oh?” Sherlock looked up from his plate.
“Um. Yeah. So. I’ve been thinking. About... Last night.”
“Oh,” his friend repeated, this time mortified.
“No! No no no, it’s not. Bad. Um. I just… I’ve been thinking about it. Last night. And um. I- I don’t wanna move out.”
Sherlock sighed.
“You may not want now, but-”
“No! No, I’ve thought about it! I wanna stay! With you. I- I mean, we’re already.. Kinda like an old married couple, even though we’re not! A couple. Unlike... Some. Of. Our friends might think. But. We’re… A duo, right? You and I. And. I’d like to keep being that. Even in twenty year-”
“Stop it.”
John did. He looked at his friend, confused.
Sherlock looked… Angry? No. Not angry. Frustrated?
“What… Why? What is it?”
Sherlock breathed out, slowly.
“I appreciate that you’re trying to reassure me.”
“No, it’s not that! I mean it. I’ve thought about it and-”
Sherlock opened his mouth.
“Let me finish! -and I. I. Obviously can’t.. Promise. A-anything.” God, that would.. That would be like getting engaged. “But. I would like it. If that was the plan.”
He smiled at Sherlock.
Sherlock shook his head.
“Don’t say that.”
John’s shoulders sagged.
“I’m not lying,” he protested.
“I believe that you’re not lying. I believe that you thought about it, and that you think telling me that you don’t see yourself moving out will have a positive impact on me, but. Please. Understand that… It will do me more harm if I believe you and then - inevitably - one day you’ll realise you’ll have to go back on your incredibly hasty decision. I- I can’t not be prepared for you to leave. I... will try not to dwell on it anymore and not be sad before it even happens, I’m sorry for last night,”
“No..”
“I should never have told you,”
“Sherlock.”
“I should never have let myself cry,”
“No…”
“I shouldn’t have told you I’ll miss you, I don’t know why I did that. But I’m sorry, alright?”
“You don’t have to-”
“Please just… I promise you, I will be alright. I know it’s coming. I have accepted it. Yesterday was… A fluke. I’m sorry I made you sad. Please take it back.”
John felt his eyes burn and throat close up. He looked down, ashamed and guilty.
Maybe he was right. He’d only thought about it one night. And it seemed clear to him, but... What if he was wrong? Maybe he wanted Sherlock not to be sad so badly that he convinced himself… But it wasn’t that. He wanted this. He felt… Rejected. Sad. Disappointed.
But Sherlock was definitely right about one thing. He shouldn't have told him so early. It was a hasty decision.
He had to let time pass.
“Ok,” he finally said. “Yeah, ok. Maybe you’re right. I’m sorry. I... Take it back.”
“Alright,” Sherlock said.
They went back to their breakfast. They ate in silence for half a minute.
“Are you mad?” Sherlock asked.
“What? No! No, I’m not mad, Sherlock. I promise.”
“Just checking.”
“Right. Are… You mad? At me?”
Sherlock shook his head.
“That’s good. Hug?”
Sherlock got up and opened his arms. They hugged for a couple of seconds. John patted him lightly on the back.
“Hey. Let’s- Well, finish our breakfast first. And then. Go ask Mariana if there are any new juicy cases for us. Eh?”
“I… Am afraid that if there were ‘juicy’ cases we would have heard from her already,” Sherlock pointed out. “But… Yes. Let’s”.