It was a calm, cold winter morning and a light blanket of snow dusted Baker Street. The great detective was finishing up another case in the dining room as John stood in the doorway an observed the cat-like prowess in which Sherlock observed every minute detail in each piece of evidence, letting out a few excited exclamations to himself, "Yes!... Ha ha! How could I have missed that?... Of course... Of course..." he muttered, unaware of the pleasant smile creeping over John's face as he watched the display silently. John leaned against the door frame for a few seconds before taking a few steps into the kitchen as Sherlock stepped back from his work, "It was the dog trainer," he said, satisfaction seeping into his voice.
John nodded, "Of course it was, did you see her shoes?" he joked flatly as he reached for a teacup, flicked the electric kettle on, and threw a tea bag into the dry cup with a few spoonfuls of sugar.
Sherlock muttered something in reply, distracted by the text he was sending over to the Scotland Yard DI, "Finish that quickly, we need to leave in about... eight minutes," he said, assuming that John would accompany him on his little trip like he always did when it regarded a case.
"We?" John asked, "What if I have plans?"
"But, you don't," Sherlock replied.
John nodded, "You're right, I was going to tag along whether or not you invited me anyway," he stuffed a quick breakfast of Earl Grey tea and lightly buttered toast into his mouth before hopping into a pair of jeans and throwing on a coat. They were out the door in five minutes flat.
The door to 221B closed behind them as the stepped onto the perfect white landscape, snow crunching underneath their shoes as they walked. Sherlock waved a cab over, but John insisted that they walk instead; he liked the way Sherlock's nose flushed red and sniffed lightly in the cold and the way billows of white steam exited his mouth when he laughed.
The green arm of his coat brushed against the grey one of Sherlock's, and he looked up at him with a huge smile, he could see the steam that escaped his own mouth with the breath he took. He slid his freezing fingers into the warm, gloved palm of his companion and laced his short fingers with the long, graceful ones of the man walking next to him. Sherlock smiled back, widely, letting a chuckle leave his lips as he swung his arm back and forth as they walked out into crisp city streets.