Friday night had John, Molly and Lestrade sitting at a bar after an exhausting case. Even Sherlock had agreed to come after some persuasion, threats against his skull and the promise that Anderson would be home.
John stiffled a yawn but failed to supress the shiver, it was cold and he was tired.
Suddenly he felt a warmth of a touch and a coat on his shoulders. Confused he looked up - directly into Sherlock's eyes.
The others were busy talking and payed no attention to the two men, so Sherlock continued to stare at John with an unreadable expression for a couple of seconds, before he abprubtly turned to Molly and replied to something she had said earlier.
John, tired as he was, shook his heard violently, trying to process what he had just seen: Was the flicker of emotion he though he had seen in Sherlock's gaze just before he had turned away real?
It had only been a moment, but he could have sworn that Sherlock had looked at him almost caringly only to act as if nothing had happened.
Just as John had decided to chalk the whole incident up to his exhausted mind, he felt Sherlock's hand ghosting over his side, causing him to shiver again.
Sometimes a moment was just somewhat a beginning ...