A/N: October 2016. Been going through this oldie, hoping to finish it. I usually like to keep my oldies as flawed as they naturally are (so are the recent ones, don't get me wrong) because they represent moments in time, my personal history intertwined with my stories. Apologies if you came across the first version and liked it better. There are some minor changes around, mostly I've made it wordier, if I'm to be honest. Hopefully I didn't change its style too much.

Still not British (English is not my first language), a writer (had no training) or anything other than myself (which is plenty to deal with). -csf

Camellia sinensis -1

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'It's a plant', John literally pointed at it, with a suspicious frown. Suspicious at what it was doing centre stage at 221B's living room that is, the waist-high plant in a vase looked harmless enough as it was.

Was it venomous? Genetically altered with some glow-in-the-dark gene? Tainted with radioactive materials? The choice was endless when it came to the mad scientist detective, really.

'It's an evergreen shrub', Sherlock said with determined accuracy. 'Camellia sinensis, John. An exotic shrub with white flowers and glossy leaves. It belongs in a garden. It's not... dangerous.' It was just like he had read John's mind. But, yeah, he was Sherlock Holmes, after all.

And he knew John was always partial to a bit of danger.

'What's it doing here?'

'It's for a case.'

It wasn't that bad, John recognised. Of all the times Sherlock had used the excuse "it's for a case" this wasn't definitely one of the worst. The plant was a nice counterpoint to the stuffy atmosphere of the flat. If the both of them weren't so bad at watering plants, and feeding fishes, then maybe it could have had a shot at surviving too.

Just in case they got distracted by some bigger, better case, they should put it in the balcony, outside. Watered by the rain, at least, it fared better chances at survival.

'It's not bad for a case... Is it staying here?' John asked, as he headed towards the kitchen. He needed tea, all of a sudden.

Sherlock smirked. John was a nurturer by nature, that much was obvious in the way he looked after Sherlock and 221B. He had adopted a non-sentient plant already, hadn't he?

'Not for long. It's evidence on a smuggling case. Lestrade needs to collect it.'

'Smugglers? Is it a rare plant, then?'

Still missing the mark. Sherlock shook his head in mock disappointment. 'As always you see but you do not observe, John... No, it's not the plant that the smugglers are after, it was the jewels hidden in the soil, inside the pot.'

'Oh, nice...' John appreciated, as he got the tea ready in two mugs. 'And the smugglers? You caught them for Lestrade, then?'

Sherlock looked away, as if a bit embarrassed. 'Not yet, about to', he answered a bit too fast. 'I intend to catch them read-handed in a warehouse by the docks tonight. Lestrade reluctantly agreed to allow me to step in and he'll provide the backup.'

'Oh, really? How did you manage to convince Greg Lestrade?'

'Easy, I never told him where the warehouse is located. I'll phone him from there.'

John pretended to frown, like one would to a stubborn child, but there was an amused light in his cobalt blue eyes now. 'You know I'll stop you from going there alone, Sherlock', he counterpointed in his best Army Captain's voice.

'I intend to go with good company, John, don't be an idiot', Sherlock answered with a similar smile. 'Care to join me, John?' he asked with an innocent arching of his eyebrows.

He took his time in asking me, the git, John thought. 'Don't mind if I do', he said calmly, while handing one of the warm tea cups to the detective, and then taking the armchair opposite his. 'Wanna fill me in on the case?'

Sherlock nodded as he sipped the cup for a second, looking relaxed. Maybe it was the fact that the case was about to end, and the consulting detective had beaten yet another criminal gang of London, maybe it was the presence of his old flatmate and best friend. It most certainly seemed like old times for the both of them, though Sherlock would be too reticent to voice this feeling, a useless emotion as it was. John Watson still lived and worked as a doctor in London, and they talked or texted briefly most every day, but their lives were now very different from the way they had been before Sherlock's "departure" for over two years. A lot of things had gone back to the way they were – the companionship had been automatic and still felt natural, once they had overcome the initial conflict of the return that is. It had become obvious that both of them had changed in the time apart. Mostly John had to cater to another life he had built meanwhile as he struggled to not let go of the previous life, with his friendship to a crazy genius detective that still made his heart race and feel purposeful. Sherlock had lost John's continuous presence, but for the first time in his life he felt grateful and content with what he had been given. Grateful even, to have John come by as much as possible. If one thing had changed in Sherlock in their time apart, it was that he had learned to value John's presence better, even in the quiet times when John was just being John, and his calm presence filled 221B in ways Sherlock could never get when they were apart.

'I suppose I must tell you about the case. You are my blogger, after all', Sherlock said, minimally, to the friend who had managed to come closer than anyone else in all his adulthood. John hardly noticed the compliment, of course, but then again, that was part of Sherlock's plan. You could never give John too much of a sense of importance in Sherlock's life, lest he decided to start trying to dictate how the detective should live a healthy life again. John could be endless about food, sleep, and such. Sherlock could only take so much.

Sherlock cleared his throat, reproached John with a heavy look (that the recipient found very confusing) and started to introduce the evergreen plant's case.

'I'm not sure you'll want to record this case, John. It's a Two. Or a Three. At the most. Definitely not a Four.'

John nodded, putting away his notebook. He'd remember most of the details, anyway. 'Something on it caught your attention. What did Lestrade say about it when he handed it over to you?'

'He said: "where's John?" and I told him didn't need you.'

'Cheers!' John smirked with no hard feelings.

'Lestrade tried to blackmail me into calling you in order to give me the case, John.' There was a sweetness in Sherlock's green eyes as he stared honestly back at John, as if speaking silently a side story to his cold detached words. As many other times before, John chose to believe those eyes instead. He trusted Sherlock, and was ready to accept the cold façade that he had created all his life around his feelings, the ones that sherlock excluded from his detective work, the ones Sherlock still believed they tainted his best assets.

'Should I tell Lestrade you followed up on your part and called me over?' John asked, sipping his tea.

Sherlock shrugged. 'Better not, he'd just get smug. He'll see you later today at the warehouse anyway.'

'He'll be worried you might have gone alone and be in bigger danger, Sherlock.'

'I see, if something happened to me Scotland Yard would be lost... again.'

'You know he's your friend, Sherlock, it's more than that...'

The detective looked disgusted as he interrupted: 'Feelings, John? That hardly will help Lestrade find the smugglers.'

'I guess not', John chose to let it pass, as he lowered his gaze to the lit fireplace. It feelings were so terrible, then why had Sherlock lit the fireplace in 221B? The days had been becoming steadily colder, autumn was setting in. Sherlock's habit had never been to light the fireplace early, it had always been John's suggestion to do it when they shared the flat. The warmth from the burning logs always appeased the grumpy joints of his frail shoulder and made him feel better after a long working day.

Today the fireplace was lit. Sherlock had done it for John.

Feelings. He'd never admit it though.

'Lestrade was working on a series of low profile heists on small jewelleries across London. The methods used seem to connect them all together. Somehow a few of the stolen pieces were being located in Wales, to be resold. In order to arrest and prosecute the thieves, they need to catch the smugglers that got the jewels off London as well. Lestrade couldn't figure out how they did it, how they chose their targets, or how they smuggled the goods out of London.'

'That's when he gave you the case files.'

Sherlock nodded. 'And I figured it out in under three minutes.'

'Three minutes?' John repeated, raising his eyebrows. Secretly he was very impressed. 'You're slipping. It was a Three after all.' He smiled crookedly, giving away the tease.

'Might have been a Four, on second thought, John', Sherlock admitted with a vague dismissive gesture in the air. 'And the forensic team had taken dreadful pictures of the stolen jewellery shops. I suspect they were taught the job by Anderson.'

'Come on, Sherlock, Anderson is not that bad. He defends you now...'

'Took him long enough.' John disguised a giggle with a cough, with little success. Again the green eyes said differently.

Maybe Sherlock really changed, John thought. After all, accepting Anderson...?

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Usual disclaimer: I too own none of the characters or their previous feats.

A/N: Sherlock and John drinking scorched tea leaves in front of an innocent tea plant; I think Sherlock saw the noir humour in that. Thanks for dropping by. -csf