John returned to 221b with two boxes of takeaway and a spring in his step.
“Five incidents so far,” Sherlock informed him upon his entry. “Not sure yet how they’re related. One claim might even be truthful – check into that one.” He thrust a handful of papers toward him.
“Right,” John said, effectively bounding forward to take them. His smile didn’t waver in the slightest.
“Something interesting happen at dinner?”
“Hm? Oh. No,” John answered, skimming the sheet. “Just thinking.” Takeaway on the table, he leaned onto the surface, right hand warming the wood.
“Yeah.” A smile. Wide and content. “It’s been a good day. One of those days when everything pulls together. And I mean, everything. My job, my… investigative hobby.” John picked those words with care. Almost with as much care as he added, “My, my love life.”
He’d said it. He’d actually said it.
What was Sherlock supposed to do? He had no idea what to do.
“Mm.” Eyes on the spread across the table to keep his gaze from unnerving John. “You were saying about the investigative hobby?”
“Okay, okay. Getting to it.” There was no heat in the protest. Only warmth. That smile. Like stepping into daylight.
Maybe it was worth revolving around the sun after all.