Chapter Text
John’s first winter at the orphanage, he’s small and the cold makes his shoulder ache. He is gentle and quiet, and when the other kids steal his pudding or break his pencils, he lets them. Without Sherlock, he feels rather useless. He’s meant to be there whenever Sherlock needs him, and without Sherlock, who is John?
In the beginning of November, when the paths are treacherous with ice and the new snow is sticky, an older boy throws a slushball aimed for John’s face. It misses and hits his left shoulder instead. The pain that explodes through his body is unlike anything he’s felt before, worse even than the dog’s teeth that caused the initial injury, and John slips on the ice, banging his knee hard. It’s deeply bruised, the doctor says, and will be sore for a while, but nothing serious. Yet as weeks turn into months, John’s limp does not go away and eventually, he learns to cope with it.
Sherlock’s first week at school, he refuses to play with James no less than three times. The week after that, Sherlock notices the other children throwing him dirty glances and avoiding him in the play centers. This doesn’t bother Sherlock, who thinks everyone is dumb anyway and would much rather sit by himself and read, but when, one day, Sebastian takes Sherlock’s snack, throws it to the ground and stomps on it, Sherlock can’t help but react.
“Hey!” he shouts, jumping up. “What was that for, you dumby?”
Sebastian sneers at him. “Don’t be such a freak, Sherly,” is all he says and runs away, joining James in the block center.
James smiles at Sherlock when their eyes meet and Sherlock wishes John were there.
Sometimes, John feels Sherlock’s loneliness and boredom, his need for his companion, so strongly that John’s chest hurts. Some nights John can’t sleep through Sherlock’s sadness and stumbles around like a zombie the next day. The pull to be where John is most needed is strong and makes him irritable. He desperately wishes to be where he belongs, but instead he’s stuck at the orphanage, with other abandoned children. Multiple times John tries changing back into the bear, hoping to escape in his animal form, but even with all his will and concentration, he’s stuck in this human body. And as time passes, the cub’s playfulness and innocence inside of John fades away.
When Mycroft comes home for a weekend, he asks Sherlock where his bear is. Sherlock doesn’t come out of his room for the rest of the day and doesn’t speak for another two.
Molly and Gregory are the only ones that will talk to Sherlock, so he tries not to be too mean to them, but sometimes he can’t help it. When Sherlock’s sharp tongue sends Molly away crying, Gregory frowns at him.
“You shouldn’t be so mean, you know. We’re the only friends you’ve got.”
“I don’t have friends,” Sherlock mumbles.
Gregory huffs and goes after Molly.
I’ve only got one, he thinks, picturing John’s beige fur.
After the Christmas break, Sherlock makes Sally Donovan cry and is sent home from school in the first week.
“This can’t keep happening, Sherlock!” Mummy exclaims when she’s forced to come pick him up.
“Dull,” he mutters.
“How are you going to learn anything if you keep getting kicked out of class?”
“I don’t learn anything anyways. And Mrs. Paul hates me. She thinks I steal the class books.”
“What? Why does she think that?”
“James snuck a book into my bag one time and then told her he saw me take it.”
“Do not blame James, Sherlock. I don’t know what your problem is with that boy, but he has been nothing but kind to you, always inviting you over to play.”
Sherlock rolls his eyes.
“And I’m sure Mrs. Paul doesn’t hate you.”
“She’s obsessed with cats, too,” Sherlock grumbles under his breath.
It’s the second week of January when Mrs. Paul stands in front of the class and introduces a new student. He’s small and bundled in winter gear, his face obscured by a scarf and his head covered by a bobble hat. In his right hand he grips a cane which he leans on heavily, though he may just be trying to put some distance between him and Mrs. Paul’s firm grip. Sherlock’s only half paying attention, reading the chemistry book he found in Mycroft’s room.
“Students, I’d like you all to welcome your new classmate. Would you like to introduce yourself?”
The boy mumbles something.
“A little louder, dear,” Mrs. Paul coaxes.
“I’m John,” the boy says, barely audible, and Sherlock’s head snaps up so fast he feels a bit dizzy.
“Look at the cripple,” Sebastian snickers to James a row over.
“I know you’ll all be very welcoming to John,” Mrs. Paul says to the class. “Now, there’s an empty spot for you just there.” She points to the vacant desk next to Sherlock.
“Not only a cripple, Seb,” James whispers, shooting a nasty glance at Sherlock. “He’s a proper freak, that one.”
John hasn’t seen Sherlock yet, but Sherlock can’t look away.
“You know ‘im?” Sebastian asks his friend.
“Yeah, he’s a friend of Sherly’s.”
Just as John’s about to pass by, James sticks his foot out into the aisle. Sherlock’s about to fly out of his seat, but stops when John suddenly halts and, with a casual gesture, thwacks James’s foot hard with his cane. James yelps a little and recoils, letting John pass.
“Oops, sorry. Don’t mind me, just a cripple passing through,” John mutters, and Sherlock barely contains his laughter.
“John,” he hisses, as his friend is settling at his desk.
“Mr. Holmes, the lesson has started,” Mrs. Paul warns.
Sherlock scowls, but not wanting another call home, remains silent. Instead he turns to observe John, who is removing his winter wear (his coat has cat fur on it from where Mrs. Paul’s cardigan rubbed against him) and staring at him in shock. Even as Sherlock takes in the cane, the ratty coat with holes in it and the pallor to John’s once golden skin, he can’t stop the huge grin that splits his face, joy filling his chest at the sight of his friend. John smiles back at him, not as innocent and gentle as before, but undeniably pleased to see Sherlock as well.
As soon as the lunch bell rings, Sherlock is shooting questions at John: “Where have you been? No, which orphanage? What do you do there? Your clothes are old, do they treat you well? Why come here now? Did a family adopt you? What happened to your leg? Is it permanent? Did you miss me?”
John is laughing at him by the time Sherlock pauses for breath. “I missed you every day, Sherlock,” John tells him, very seriously, and that stops Sherlock in his tracks. “Did you miss me?”
Sherlock looks away. Nods.
John gets up carefully, using his cane to help. “The place I stay at is very boring, you would hate it,” John tells him. “And the doctors don’t know what’s wrong with my leg.”
Sherlock frowns at John’s tone, which is not happy or warm. There is a new hardness to his once innocent friend, a self-awareness that wasn’t there before. Sherlock’s not sure what to make of it.
They eat lunch together and Sherlock tells John about the books he’s been reading, about the other students in their class and about the catalogue of footprints he’s been creating. So far, he knows the pattern of all the shoe soles in the class, including Mrs. Paul’s. John is impressed and says so often and Sherlock hasn’t smiled so much in ages.
It’s during outdoor recess that the bubble around Sherlock and John is popped by a snowball whizzing past Sherlock’s face. John reacts instantly, pushing Sherlock back and shielding him with his smaller frame. His face has gone terribly pale and his eyes are wide with fright. Sebastian stands in front of them, another snowball in his hand, James smirking next to him.
“What’s wrong, Johnny. Afraid of a little snow?” James leers.
“Piss off, James,” Sherlock replies, staying calm for John’s sake. His friend looks panicked for some reason, and if James or Sebastian bother John, Sherlock won’t care if his actions get him suspended.
“What a spaz,” Sebastian laughs stupidly.
Other kids are approaching now and Sally looks at John with worry. “John, it’s not too late. Get away from the freak and they’ll leave you alone,” she says beseechingly.
John scowls at her. “Sherlock’s not a freak. And all of you are mean.”
Philip, who’s standing next to Sally, frowns. “Sherlock’s the one that’s mean. He says mean things all the time.” Sally and some of the other kids nod in agreement. Molly and Gregory are watching unhappily.
Sherlock rolls his eyes and has a retort on his lips when John speaks up again. “Sherlock’s very smart and he’s my best friend. He’s not mean on purpose and I’ll always be there when he needs me.”
John is shaking a bit in fear and cold, but he’s barely leaning on his cane and his voice is strong. Sherlock is struck speechless by his bravery and loyalty, and is shocked by the mocking laughter that meets John’s incredible words.
“John is a wonderful pet, isn’t he, Sherly?” James asks innocently and Sherlock tenses. The only thing stopping him hitting James is John’s steady warmth in front of him.
Sebastian jerks his hand forward then, pretending he’s about to throw the snowball before he stops, laughing at the way John flinches. At Sebastian’s feint, John’s right leg trembles slightly, and he grips his cane tightly. James’s eyes flick towards the movement just like Sherlock’s do, and when their eyes meet, James gives Sherlock a mischievous smile.
“C’mon, Seb, let’s go build a fort,” James offers, and as he leaves, most of the other kids disperse as well, only Molly and Gregory staying behind.
“Hi, I’m Molly,” the timid girl says softly. “That was really brave.”
“I’m Greg. Do you wanna play with us?” the other boy asks, smiling.
John hesitates, looking at Sherlock.
“Sherlock can play, too,” Molly says quickly.
John smiles then, some of the warmth and happiness from before shining on his face, and Sherlock can’t say no.
Every day after school that week, Sherlock insists John come home with him, and every time John shakes his head sadly. At first Sherlock thinks John is tired, or upset about school, but as John continues to say no, Sherlock thinks maybe John doesn’t want to be friends with the class freak after all. Sherlock’s hurt quickly shifts to anger, and the fourth day John shakes his head, Sherlock lashes out.
“Why not?” he demands petulantly. “Am I too much of a freak for you? Would you rather play with Molly or Gregory? Or James? Do you think he’ll be less of a bully if you follow him around like Sebastian does?” Because James’s taunts have been subtle but non-stop, snide comments in class and nasty threats on the playground. Sherlock has learned to ignore them, but he can see them getting at John, and it has the taller boy on edge.
John is looking at Sherlock with wide eyes, frowning at his outburst. “I’ll always be here when you need me most, Sherlock,” John tries to reassure him, but Sherlock, too smart for his own good, reads too much into his words.
“If you’re only here because you feel like you have to be, then I’d rather you play with someone else,” Sherlock says spitefully to cover his hurt and insecurity.
John jerks as if hit and his right leg trembles. He looks like he’s about to cry, but no tears escape his eyes. An unpleasant feeling unfurls in Sherlock’s tummy at the sight, so, annoyed, he stomps away towards his home, which is only a couple of blocks away. He stops after only ten metres, where trees give him some cover, and turns back to look towards the school. He watches John’s lonely figure, leaning heavily on his cane and shuffling his feet against the cold, and feels a pang of regret for his harsh words. But John is supposed to be there when Sherlock needs him, and Sherlock always needs him! So why won’t John come to Sherlock’s house with him?
As John stands there, apparently waiting, one of their classmates throws a snowball at another and John flinches as it flies past. Sherlock frowns, remembering his reaction when Sebastian pretended to throw the snowball at John, and the way James looked when John’s leg shook. Sherlock still doesn’t know how John was hurt, but his leg bothers him more whenever they’re outside. Not just outside, around snowballs. John said the doctors don’t know what’s wrong with his leg, which means it’s not really hurt. But why does it hurt him if there’s nothing wrong with him?
An old, white car pulls up and John limps forward as a woman, an identification card hanging from a long strap around her neck, gets out of the driver’s seat to open the back door for him. She smiles at him briefly and says something, but John does not answer as he climbs in, head ducked down as if embarrassed. It’s as they drive away that Sherlock realizes how selfish he has been. Every day this week, Sherlock has been picked up by Mummy, leaving school before John does. Today, Mummy is busy so Sherlock is walking home. Now, watching John getting picked up by a lady from the orphanage, it’s clear that the only reason John does not come home with Sherlock is because he can’t. The people at the orphanage probably won’t let him.
Sherlock grits his teeth in frustration and runs through the snow all the way home.
“Mummy, can we adopt John?” Sherlock asks at dinner that night. He’s pushing his peas around his plate absently, already done mashing his potatoes with his fork.
“Who’s John?” Dad asks.
“Remember the boy I had to…call Family Rights Group for? He goes to Sherlock’s school now,” Mummy explains.
“Wow. Small world,” Dad mumbles around a bite of chicken. “Eat your dinner, Sherlock.”
Sherlock puts his fork down and crosses his arms. “I want John to live here.”
Realizing he’s serious, Mummy frowns at him. “You already have a brother, Sherlock.”
“Not like another brother. John’s my friend. And I want him here all the time.”
Both parents are staring at their son. “Sherlock, be reasonable. We can’t just take the kid in.”
“Why not? You can afford it,” Sherlock points out. He knows that Mycroft’s school is expensive, he saw all the zeroes in the number on the paper with the school crest on it. And their house is big. And they have a nice car.
Dad splutters and Mummy shakes her head. “He’s not our child. We have two sons that we are normally very happy with.” She looks at Sherlock pointedly. “And you don’t need to be with John all the time. You see each other at school.”
Sherlock scowls. Mycroft would understand. John is meant to be with Sherlock all the time! And he can’t be if he’s at the orphanage. “Mycroft would agree with me,” Sherlock mumbles.
The next day is Friday and when John walks into class, he is stiff and doesn’t look at Sherlock until, quietly and very quickly, Sherlock says: “I’m sorry.”
John turns his head sharply. “What?”
“I’m sorry I said you should play with someone else yesterday. I…didn’t mean it.”
Slowly, a smile splits John’s face, his tenseness quick to pass. “Really?”
Sherlock is helpless against his answering grin. “Of course. I’d be lost without my bear.”
John laughs and Sherlock feels warm.
At the end of the day, Sherlock hugs John because he knows they won’t see each other all weekend.
“He’d just gotten over that bear toy,” Mummy is saying quietly to Dad, her voice muffled through the oak door. “And now he’s obsessed with this John kid. We don’t even know where he came from! The officer said the boy didn’t know his own last name!”
“You have to admit though, Sherlock’s behaviour has improved since they became friends,” Dad replies, voice also hushed.
“Are they speaking of your John?” Mycroft whispers behind Sherlock.
With a gasp, Sherlock whirls from where he is eavesdropping through the kitchen door. He didn’t hear Mycroft, who is once again home for the weekend, come up behind him. His older brother smirks at Sherlock’s reaction.
Sherlock scowls at him before nodding. “Yes. I asked if we could adopt him.”
“Really?” Mycroft raises an eyebrow, a new talent he picked up from school. “Your bear means so much to you?”
“He’s not a bear anymore!” Sherlock whispers fiercely. “You said he’d come to life when I needed him most, and then he became human!”
Mycroft grimaces. “I knew it was a possibility, I just didn’t think it would actually happen.”
Sherlock gapes at him. “What? You knew –”
“It required a very strong connection to be formed and I…well, it’s done, I suppose. Do you wish for me to speak with them?” The way Mycroft talks is different now, and sometimes he looks down his nose at Sherlock as if Sherlock is too small for his full attention, but Mycroft’s offer reveals the care he still feels for his little brother.
Frowning, Sherlock nods. Mycroft is smart, their parents listen to him. Mycroft nods back once and pushes into the kitchen. Their parents’ voices cease immediately.
“You always wanted three children, Mummy,” Mycroft says.
“Mycroft, we’re having a private conversation,” Dad rebukes him.
“Mycroft understands Sherlock better than we do,” Mummy says softly.
“Sherlock is lonely, he requires a companion. I used to fill that role, and when I left, I gave him the bear. Sherlock may have grown bored with the toy, but he still needs a companion.” Mycroft speaks with more confidence than an eleven-year-old should have.
“Sherlock can play with John at school,” Dad says. “Like all the other children.”
“You know Sherlock is not like other children. He does not have friends, so his attachment to John must be a strong one.”
“It’s all he ever talks about,” Mummy agrees.
Mycroft is silent, letting his parents consider.
“What if John doesn’t feel the same way?” Mummy frets.
“John is an orphan. It would be a dream come true to live in a family such as ours,” Mycroft reassures.
There is silence again.
“We’ll think about it,” Dad says at last, but it sounds like ‘yes’ and Sherlock runs to his room before he is discovered, a smile plastered to his face.
On Monday, Sherlock is near bursting to tell John about the possibility of him becoming part of their family, but he stays silent, not wanting to get his friend’s hopes up in case his parents decide against it. Instead, he listens to what John did on the weekend, which is terribly dull (he did homework and he read), and he tells John about Mycroft’s visit, which makes him laugh (Mycroft tried tobogganing, hit a hidden rock, and ended up with a faceful of snow).
It’s during lunch recess that James interrupts them. The winter air is fairly mild and the snow is sticky, perfect conditions for the snowball that the evil child throws at John’s chest. When the slush breaks apart over John’s coat, his leg gives out on him and he almost falls. Sherlock catches him as John leans heavily on his cane.
“The game is on, Sherly!” James crows and runs toward the snow fort that he and Sebastian built.
“John! Are you alright?” Sherlock asks, concerned and confused as to why John’s leg hurts.
John whimpers. “Sherlock –” he begins, but another snowball is hurled their way and Sherlock pulls John down.
Sherlock quickly begins building a wall of snow. “John, hurry and help me. If they want a snowball fight, this will be our only protection.”
John struggles to his knees. “Sherlock, I never told you.” Another snowball flies past and he flinches. “My leg hurts because I fell on ice when a big kid threw a snowball at my shoulder.”
Sherlock pauses in his construction to glance at his friend in surprise.
“My knee was only bruised, but it never got better. And now whenever there are snowballs…” John looks away, ashamed.
Sherlock thinks about John’s shaking leg and Sebastian’s snowball, John’s injured shoulder and Victor’s terrifying dog, and makes the connection. “Of course! I was so dumb, even James saw it!”
“What?” John asks.
There’s a hoot and a snowball hits Sherlock in the arms, one cold chunk sliding down his neck under his coat, and he scowls. Sherlock sets to building the wall again, urging John to help him. “John! Your knee isn’t really injured. When you hurt it on the ice, it was the pain in your shoulder that reminded you of Victor’s dog. You made a connection between a traumatic event and the pain in your knee, and now every time someone throws a snowball you’re reminded of it! That’s why it still hurts!”
John ducks as more snow is hurled their way and pats more snow onto their growing wall. It is now high enough to hide behind if they lie down on their bellies.
“That’s crazy!” John exclaims. “The doctors didn’t say that.”
“Your doctors were idiots,” Sherlock grins, and nudges his friend. “You just need to rewire your brain! Tell yourself that the pain in your shoulder has nothing to do with snowballs which has nothing to do with your knee, and you’ll be fine!”
John laughs. “Brilliant!”
“Can we help?” asks a breathless voice, and Sherlock turns to see Molly and Gregory crouching next to them. “James and Sebastian have Sally and Philip helping them and they have a bigger fort,” Gregory informs them.
Sherlock glances across at the other wall of snow and sees at least two arms periodically throwing snowballs their way. And their fort is indeed impressive.
“Yeah, sure!” John says, and Molly grins at him.
With the four of them, their wall quickly becomes a veritable stronghold, three walls three feet high to protect them and a collection of slushy snow and perfect snowballs at the ready.
“Would you like to do the honours?” Sherlock asks, holding out a snowball to John.
John hesitates before taking the snowball firmly. He raises up on his knees to peek over the top of their snow wall. He ducks down as a projectile flies over his head, then quickly whips his arm around, releasing his snowball with a sharp flick of the wrist. Through the little hole in the wall, Sherlock watches as the snowball flies through the air and explodes onto Philip’s bobble hat. Sherlock, Molly and Gregory break into giggles and Gregory slaps John in the back.
“Beautiful shot, mate.”
John grins.
After that, the game grows more intense. More kids join in, either building their own forts or joining one of the two main teams. Sherlock’s side gains three girls, Mary, Sarah and Soo-Lin, and two boys, Tommy and Angelo. James’s side gains four more players: Jeff, Irene, Andrew and Raoul. Sebastian has nearly perfect aim, but so does John, and the two of them seem to be getting the most hits. Molly, who doesn’t like throwing snowballs all that much, decides to make them instead and keeps a constant supply ready. Sherlock is trying to find weak spots in their opponents’ fort while cold projectiles sail through the air in all directions.
“Look out!” Gregory shouts, as three snowballs fly over their wall at the same time. They all duck to avoid the cold spray. Laughter comes from James’s fort.
Sherlock peeks out the peep hole and sees a thinner section of the other fort. “John! See the spot right in the middle of the wall?”
John nods.
“Aim for it. If you make a hole there the whole thing will collapse.”
John nods again and begins throwing snowballs at the same spot of the wall. On the fourth hit, one side of the wall collapses, revealing James. Instantly, a barrage of snowballs fly his way, and the boy yelps as he dives for cover.
“Nice!” Molly cries.
Sherlock and John grin at each other, turning back in time to see James stalk off the field. “He gave up!” John hoots.
But the game is not over. With James gone, his team just throws even harder, nailing Mary in the shoulder and Angelo in the stomach when he’s not paying attention. Sherlock’s team responds, throwing faster and aiming better.
Suddenly, a metal pole slams down between Sherlock and John, smashing into their wall and creating a huge gap.
“Hey!” Molly cries.
“What the heck!” Sarah yells.
James is standing there, lifting John’s cane for another wack. John gives an angry shout and tackles the other boy to the ground, the cane going flying. Sherlock quickly gets up and dumps snow on James’s face, snickering with glee when he squeals and wriggles against the cold liquid soaking through his clothes and down his neck.
“You cheater!” Gregory calls James. “John beat you so you had to ruin our fort, too!”
John gets off of James when the boy struggles. “Alright, alright! Get off me, you win!” James glares at Sherlock as he gets to his feet. “This is not over yet, Sherly,” he vows before stomping off.
Sherlock just rolls his eyes and turns to look at John, who’s grinning hugely. “What a psycho!” he exclaims and Sherlock laughs.
“And you beat him!”
“We beat him,” John corrects.
“Hey, we helped!” Molly protests.
John gives a happy laugh, warmth and joy filling his face, and Sherlock thinks his heart might explode with the sight. They go back to the game, which they undeniably win, and when recess ends with the bell, Sherlock takes John’s hand as they go inside, the metal cane lying cold in the snow, forgotten.
At the end of the day, when Mummy comes to pick him up, she says John can come with them.
“I spoke to Cindy, so the orphanage knows,” she reassures him.
Sherlock’s excitement is palpable, and John grins at his eagerness as they get into the car. When they get home, Dad’s waiting for them in the kitchen. Mummy sits the two boys down at the table and prepares them hot chocolate and cookies before sitting down as well.
“Sherlock, John,” she says. “Dad and I have discussed this at length, but we’d like to have John’s input. We know that Sherlock is all for the idea, but, John, how do you feel about becoming part of the Holmes family?”
John stares at them in shock. His cookie drops into his hot chocolate with a plop. “What?”
Dad smiles fondly. “We’d like to adopt you, John. I know it may seem sudden, and we really don’t know each other all that well, but you’re so good for Sherlock, and I’m sure that with time you can come to think of us as parents. Your parents.”
John’s eyes are teary, but he’s smiling when he looks at Sherlock. “Really? You want me here?”
“Of course, John, don’t be an idiot.” Sherlock’s words are tempered by the nearly painful smile on his face.
John swallows thickly and looks back at Sherlock’s parents. “I’d like that. Thank you.” His voice is wobbly, but his eyes are sincere.
Mummy, tears in her eyes, gets up to walk around the table and pull John into a hug. Dad places his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock leans back into his father’s body heat, a subtle movement that nonetheless shows his gratitude, and his dad squeezes his shoulder in understanding.
They drive to the orphanage, because apparently there are ‘rules’ about this sort of thing. John can’t just start living with them, they have to fill out paperwork first. How dull. But Sherlock doesn’t want John to have to stay another night at that lonely place, so he doesn’t put up a fuss, goes almost eagerly, in fact. They’re about to walk into the building when Sherlock pulls John to a stop, letting his parents go in ahead of them.
“You have to pick a name, John,” Sherlock says, gripping John’s shoulders.
“John is my name,” he replies, brow furrowed. Sherlock watches the breath puff out in the air between them.
Sherlock rolls his eyes. “No, a last name!”
“Why can’t Holmes be my last name?”
“You’re not by brother, John.”
John looks away, hurt in his eyes.
“No. John.” Sherlock leans in closer, face serious. “You don’t feel like my brother, like Mycroft. To me you’re….more than that.”
John’s eyes, downcast, flash back to his. “Yeah?”
Sherlock inhales, breathing John’s condensed breath into his lungs. He nods.
John’s eyes flick back down before meeting Sherlock’s again. Suddenly, he’s beaming. “Watson.”
“Watson?”
John nods. “Your gloves.”
Sherlock looks at his gloves, at the brand name Watson embroidered at the wrist, and laughs. “John Watson.” It…has a ring to it. “You are John Watson, the best friend of Sherlock Holmes.”
John’s smile is nearly blinding and Sherlock can’t resist pulling him closer, wrapping his arms around his shorter friend, whose stance is confident and whose posture is perfect.
“And I’ll be here when you need me most,” John mumbles into Sherlock’s neck, breath humid and warm.
“I’ll always need you, John.”
“Always?”
“Always.”
Sherlock can feel John’s smile against his skin.
“Perfect,” John says.
Sherlock couldn’t agree more.