This story is a sequel to "What Words Cannot Say" and takes place shortly after the conversation in the Epilogue.
As always, a huge thanks to my beta, Pilikia18. And another 'thank you' goes to Yeedle for the suggestion about food :)
John was pretty sure that the moment he will be finally released from the hospital, its medical staff would breathe a huge sigh of relief.
The ex-army doctor couldn't really blame them: dealing with a bored Sherlock Holmes could be quite hazardous, particularly for unprepared people.
Yet, in spite of the boredom, Sherlock was hell-bent on taking care of his recently acquired significant other – in his own extravagant ways, of course.
The first step of that ingenious plan had Sherlock barely leaving John's hospital room during the first two days after John's operation.
On the third day the ex-army medic managed to persuade his flatmate to go home and take a few hours of quality rest; or, at least, take a shower and change his clothes. As it turned out, Sherlock agreed only to the latter, because an hour and a half later he was again sitting in the chair at John's bedside while happily feeding him Mrs. Hudson's homemade apple crumble.
Surprised by Sherlock's unusual behaviour, the blond doctor accepted two pieces of pie from Sherlock's hands and even managed to eat them before his brain caught up with reality. A slight frown creased his forehead.
The younger man's hand with the third piece of crumble froze in mid-movement and he raised an eyebrow. "Is something wrong, John?"
"No," the older man said carefully. "It's just a little... strange, I guess."
Sherlock put the pie back on a plate. "What is?"
"Well, usually it's ME trying to feed YOU, so..."
The dark-haired man grinned. "Well, that was BEFORE you started showering me with flowers..."
"No need to exaggerate, Sherlock," John interrupted, suppressing a smile.
"I'm merely stating a fact," Sherlock contradicted, picking up the plate again. "More pie?"
John chuckled and reached for the third piece of crumble. "That was lame, Sherlock, especially for you. Oh, by the way: is there any chance you'd try some? It's delicious."
Smiling mischievously, the detective closed his slender fingers around John's wrist, effectively holding the doctor's hand with the pie in place, and then slowly leaned forward and took a small bite.
John's throat suddenly felt very dry, and he swallowed convulsively. "Sherlock, what... what are you doing?"
Sherlock proceeded to chew and swallow; then, licking his lips, looked innocently at John. "What does it look like, John?"
"I..," the doctor began, only to be interrupted by the knock on the door.
Sherlock quickly let go of his wrist, thrust the plate into his hands and leaned back in his chair.
"Later, John," the younger man whispered. And then, much louder: "Come in!"
The door opened and Lestrade stepped into the room, carrying a paper bag and a folder with documents. Sherlock's eyes immediately zeroed in on said folder and John smiled slightly, recognising his friend's expression of eager anticipation.
That expression meant that John might possibly get some quality rest while Sherlock was away solving a case for the DI.
"Good afternoon, Inspector," John greeted warmly, indicating the second chair near his bed. "Bringing good news for Sherlock, I see?"
Lestrade took a seat on Sherlock's right and placed the paper bag on the bedside table. "Good evening, John, Sherlock. Yes, you're right John, but I have something for you too."
Sherlock, who started sniffing the air as soon as Lestrade sat down, chose this moment to interrupt. "Scones. Raspberry and vanilla... What have you got, Lestrade?"
"A locked room case. Sorry, how did you...?" Lestrade began but, seeing a mischievous glint in Sherlock's eyes, stopped abruptly. "Never mind."
The detective tapped the side of his nose, smiled wickedly and got to his feet. "It's obvious. Where?"
"Old Gloucester Street, Camden," Lestrade rolled his eyes as Sherlock breezed out of the room. "Sorry, John."
"That's okay, I could use a few hours of rest. Just keep an eye on him for me, will you?"
"Sure," the DI pushed himself up. "Get well, John."
Sherlock stuck his head back into the room. "Did you fall asleep in there, Lestrade?"
The police inspector chose not to acknowledge this obvious jab and calmly headed for the door, giving John a little 'good-bye' wave on the way out.
"Good bye, Inspector. Hope to see you soon!" John called out in return. As soon as he was alone in the room, he marvelled slightly at the DI's reaction to Sherlock's remark about scones. Lestrade was obviously hiding something, and Sherlock figured it out in an instant, if the inspector's hurried attempt to finish the conversation was anything to go by. But John was drawing a complete blank as to what exactly it was, so he decided to wait for Sherlock to return and then simply ask him about it.
The scones were absolutely delicious, and John took his time savouring each one of them – not before buzzing for a nurse and asking politely for a cup of tea, of course.
Sherlock returned an hour later and immediately started pacing the room, muttering in irritation about modern criminals not having an ounce of imagination and Lestrade being particularly slow in coming to the right conclusions.
That, in turn, prompted John to ask the question that was occupying his mind.
"What was it about your gesture that got Lestrade all flustered?" the doctor asked with curiosity, following Sherlock's swift movements with his eyes.
The dark-haired man stopped abruptly, turning to face his friend and raising an eyebrow. "Which one?"
John repeated the gesture, tapping the side of his nose, and a small smile curved Sherlock's lips.
"Lestrade has a secret, John; one he isn't comfortable with yet," the detective explained cryptically. "Especially because it involves my brother."
The blond man frowned, a puzzled expression appearing on his face. "What secret are you talking about, Sherlock?"
Sherlock's steely eyes sparkled with amusement. "I'm surprised you didn't notice it yet, John; the signs are painfully obvious. Lestrade is romantically involved with my dear brother."
For a few moments, John just opened and closed his mouth, reminding Sherlock of a beached fish. Then the good doctor found his voice again.
"You can't be serious!" he breathed out, eyes wide with disbelief.
Sherlock smiled indulgently. "On the contrary, John. You should've noticed that Mycroft appears on the crime scenes more often recently. And Lestrade smells differently from time to time, although I doubt he realises that. Our Detective Inspector is quite fond of his deodorant, so the only occasion when he starts to smell a different way is when he comes in a close contact with the owner of a different one".
"And you're positive said smell belongs to your brother?" John asked, still struggling to comprehend what Sherlock was so calmly telling him.
"Absolutely," Sherlock nodded for emphasis. "And finally, the scones, John. These ones are Mycroft's favourites."
"I still can't believe..."
"Are you willing to bet on it, John?" Sherlock interrupted, a mischievous glint seen clearly in his eyes.
There was an instant feeling of dread in the pit of John's stomach, but he chose to ignore it and plunged fearlessly ahead.
"And what would the conditions be, Sherlock?" he asked, trying to look nonchalant.
"I'm willing to eat everything you want me to, while you're trying to prove me wrong. But if you fail, I'll get to kiss you in front of the Yarders."
'That's it, he's gone absolutely bonkers,' one part of John's mind screamed.
But the other...
It took a few moments for John to finally make his decision, but once it was made, the good doctor locked his eyes with his recently acquired, mischievously grinning sweetheart determinedly.
"Count me in."