Author's note: Whoah hey, a fic that I wrote that is not Star Trek? Well, the newest Sherlock episode made me and my flatmate come up with this little idea for a cute fic, and so I wrote it :)


John was sitting on a bench in a park, sipping on a coffee and remembering that time he sat on a bench sipping coffee and talking to Stamford. That faithful day on which he met a very peculiar man and became his flatmate.

Now, however, that particular man had made his flatmate stomp out in a fit of rage (over a game of Cluedo, of all things).

The ex-army doctor sighed through his nose and took another sip of his now lukewarm beverage.

He had thought that by going to the Middle-East as a medic he would have seen it all and done it all, that there was nothing in the world that would hold a challenge for him, but there was no way his service in Afghanistan had prepared him for –

Suddenly John's vision was completely darkened by a couple of hands, palms pressed flat against his eyes.

The man went rigid, and in an instant, several ways of getting rid of the attacker went through his mind (grip on the wrist, press thumb to nerve and twist). The very next instant, though, a dark and level voice behind him said:

"Guess who".

John sighed again, but the exasperation was not entirely sincere this time. He put down his next-to-empty coffee cup on the bench beside him.

"Well", he said, "You must be someone familiar, because complete strangers don't go up to someone and put their hands on their faces and ask "Guess who"

There was no reply, but neither did the hands move.

"You're obviously a tall man, if the angle of your wrists are to go by, and, well, your hands aren't small, either."

Still no reaction, and John scratched his nose for good measure.

"Your palms are not calloused: So not a hard worker, then. They're a bit dry, though, so you probably don't take too good care of yourself.

There was actually a hum from the person behind him now, and John couldn't stop a little grin from forming on his lips.

"And your hands are cold: either your blood circulation is bad or you've been out in this weather for too long without gloves.

No hum this time, so John decided to end with:

"I'd guess the latter, since it's a quite a walk here from Baker Street, Sherlock".

A moment later, Sherlock Holmes dimped down on the green bench beside John and put his hands in his pockets. John rubbed one of his eyes and eyed his friend with the other.

"So?" he asked casually.

"Your deductions were all completely redundant, John", the consulting detective said dismissively as he regarded the people passing by in the park, "You knew it was me as soon as you heard my voice."

"Oh, but that wouldn't have been any fun, would it? To call your name directly," John retaliated without looking at him.

"Certainly more fun than Cluedo," Sherlock muttered and John chuckled and got to his feet. Sherlock followed, straightening up briskly.

"Here, said John and took his hand, "I'll warm this up for you on the way home."