John bit deeply into the square of dark chocolate, allowing the exquisitely sharp flavor overwhelm his mouth. He let out a small moan of satisfaction.
Sherlock rolled his eyes from across the room. "Shall I leave you two alone?" he said, acrimony dripping from his every syllable.
John ignored him, taking another bite of the violently pungent taste to conquer his tongue. John was a patient man, he always had been, and he'd learned to put up with Sherlock's cutting remarks.
He ate another square of chocolate. Bitter foods were an acquired taste, he knew that. Not many people could manage eating a lot of it, but John had just the right constitution for it. It was underrated as a food group, he felt; people couldn't appreciate the beauty of it. You had to understand the value of the whole. Bitter foods, as intense as they were, were at least never tedious. It was an extreme- it was forceful, it was passionate and it was severe, but it was never dull. What John adored about bitter foods was that however piercing or caustic the flavor was, however acerbic or fervent the taste could be, it was whole. Complete and, if not pure, at least genuine. Sometimes, the most hostile things prove themselves to have hidden richness- even bitterness can be beautiful.