All the usual disclaimers

What Sherlock's coat said.

'Right,' thought John. 'I can do this. He's explained it enough. Observing not just seeing and all that. So what can I deduce about Sherlock from his coat.'

After a quick glance around to check that his flat mate was still elsewhere John Watson leaned forward and carefully touched Sherlock's coat.

Immediate information – it was still warm and the surface of the coat was damp – so Sherlock was recently returned from somewhere. He hadn't been out long because although it had been raining all morning the coat was damp on the surface not wet through. The underside of the collar was damp so it had been turned up; Sherlock was hunting or thinking then. He only did the collar turning thing when on a case. The back and shoulders were drier than the rest of the coat. So he had been leaning against a wall, no more like slouching, as he people watched from a distance. So Sherlock was following someone. Okay, John was pleased so far- that all seemed logical.

Cautiously John sniffed the coat. Wet wool always reminded him of the smell of Labrador dogs. But the coat mostly smelt Sherlock-y to him. But what was that? John sniffed a little more, faint cigarette smoke – Sherlock hadn't been smoking, the scent was too ephemeral and beside John believed that he had managed to give up this time. But he'd been somewhere where someone had been smoking, outside a pub perhaps. Not enough data to form a conclusion yet thought John with a smile, see he could do this.

Sherlock's scarf was stuffed in his pocket; John carefully slid his hand past it. He found a warrant card removed from Anderson, two plastic bags containing what appeared to be bits of mould, Sherlock's pocket knife and a slightly sticky toffee. In the breast pocket a leather case containing what John has to assume were lock picking instruments , Mycroft's security pass , John's phone ( that bloody man-he swore blind that he didn't have it thought John briefly) , a Chinese finger trap and two more fluffy and sticky toffees. So what does this teach me about Sherlock? Well that he's a kleptomaniac, with a hither too unknown weakness for toffees. Or that he is just stealing the toffees from somewhere and not eating them. John made a mental note to buy some and leave them open round the flat and try and see if Sherlock was eating them. Any way why a Chinese fingers trap? John looked at it; no sensible explanation presented itself.

So try the lock picking kit. Inside on the metal casing was an engraved inscription. Tipping it to catch the light John read 'To S H From H (B) M Occasio facit furem' John's latin was pretty much limited to the motto of various Army battalions but he was able to translate this as occasions/opportunities making something … fury … fun ? He'd look it up later. The leather of the case was worn, soft and crinkled. Obviously Sherlock had had this for quite a while, so either he used them a lot or kept it close for sentimental reasons. Sentiment wasn't the name Sherlock would give it of course, but there were things in Sherlock's life that just worked for him and he disliked them not being there when he needed them. Like his coat, his skull, the Baker Street flat and John suspected Sherlock might include John on the list. So who was H (B) M? A friend, an old lover? Seemed unlikely. Why the brackets around the initial? Then John remembered his father doing something similar. He'd been a John too but was known by his second name Henry so maybe this name was the same. HM known familiarly as B or vice versa. So probably it was someone older as that kind of thing occurred more often in previous generations than this, but it was not someone related. Close family and friends would not have needed the B highlighted. Latin was a mark of an older person too, unless of course, Sherlock had been hanging around with premier league footballers who were looking for new slogan to tattoo on themselves. So why make a gift of a lock picking kit? Surely, an odd present. Actually probably not that odd knowing Sherlock, but it must be someone who had approved of Sherlock's slightly larcenous bent. It must have a specific meaning. It was not a random gift like a hip flask, easily picked up anywhere. It had been chosen specifically for Sherlock, from presumable a specialist supplier and then engraved. Hmm a mystery there.

Moving on then, more generally what did the coat tell him? Clearly the coat was a spectacular bit of tailoring – not bought from Primark this. Costly probably, beyond John's price range anyway. Sherlock had an odd relationship with money, too broke to afford Baker Street on his own but plenty of cash to splash round on the essentials of life like bottles of dangerous chemicals, take out food and taxi rides. Actually though John reflected I usually end up paying for those. The coat so good quality, well made, cared for as indicated by the faint dry cleaning fluid smell. Quite a dramatic garment, almost like a costume. John had seen it billowing like a cloak as Sherlock did his running around and posing against a brooding skyline thing. Psychologically was it like Batman's costume designed to inspire awe if not fear? John smiled at himself and shook his head amused by the image of Sherlock as the goddamn Batman.

Now he'd always suspected that, ah yes, carefully John moved his surgeon's finger- tips over the inside seams. He felt very neat over stitching indicated that at some stage the lining had been un-picked and a thin wire, useful for picking locks and setting man traps had been sown in. And at the collar and under the lapel tiny barbed fish hooks added. Sherlock had made his coat armour then. Still John stepped back and looked critically at the coat, it has more than armour and costume wasn't it?

Take the button hole, the one on the lapel; it had been over sewn too. With a thick red embroidery silk, what practical purpose did that serve? It was just a little thing but it had the affect of stopping Sherlock's face looking too somber, keeping him this side of pale and interesting not addict haggard. Had Sherlock deliberately chosen that and sown it in himself. Who else would? Was Sherlock more aware of what people thought of him than he pretended to be? Interesting.

So to review – John had learnt what new information about Sherlock Holmes? Well in summary, the only really new information was that he probably liked toffees , had known someone with the initials H(B)M and maybe he could sow. Marvelous - that added greatly to John's sum of knowledge about Sherlock. He really had him nailed now. Laughing softly to himself John gave up his deductions. He knew where he was with tea he concluded and so he wandered into the kitchen to make himself some.

John's face was extraordinary easy to read and Sherlock silently watched from the door way as his flat mate cataloged his deductions. It was good to see John trying to use his brain properly, Sherlock knew his flat mate was much clever than he had ever given him credit of. But it was disappointing to see him yet again, failing to notice the obvious. He wanted to yell 'Look at the scarf John, what does the scarf tell you?' But no, all of John's attention was on the coat. To John the scarf was just a scarf, one of Sherlock's many. He didn't understand the significance of that particular scarf for Sherlock.

Three weeks ago he had been wearing that scarf loosely around his neck as they had got out of the taxi. The end had been trailing and John had turned from paying the driver grabbing the end of the scarf before the door shut on it.

'For God's sake Sherlock', he had grumbled' You're not Isadora bloody Duncan.'

He had pulled the scarf from round Sherlock neck and folded it in half. Standing on the balls of his feet he'd stretched up, looped the scarf back round Sherlock's neck threaded the ends thought the loop, tightened it slightly and tucked the ends into Sherlock coat. He did all this with his patented 'you maybe a genius but you are also an idiot 'look on his face. He did it absent mindedly and by reflex. It was just another part of the 'John looks after Sherlock' habit he'd fallen into. He didn't notice the look on his flat mate's face.

Later Sherlock tried to remember when any other human had performed such a casually affectionate act for him. His memory was of course faultless but no incidences sprang to mind. He vaguely thought his nanny may have done something like it before he'd been sent off to boarding school. He'd been about five at the time. But John's absentminded act struck Sherlock as extraordinary; it was intimate, it was kind, it was all things Sherlock was not used to people being towards him. And even more remarkable, Sherlock had let him do it; he'd lowered his head slightly to allow John to hoop the scarf around his neck. He'd stood there patiently whilst John fussed. Because he, Sherlock Holmes had wanted to feel John's care for him, to be dependant on his affection. He'd wanted the fleeting sign of his regard. So he had kept the scarf as John had arranged it, looping it shortened around his neck and folding it carefully into his pocket. He fancied it still carried some imprint of his flat mate's, no; his friend, John Watson's presence and that made him, well, it made him content.

That what Sherlock's scarf would have said if John had known how to read it .