Heavy rain was pouring down, making all surfaces shift and glimmer in ever moving rivulets. Sherlock was standing in the middle of it, black curls plastered to his skull. He didn't seem to notice. Instead he was looking intently up and down the street, apparently memorizing all the windows. Puddles were forming around his feet.
"You really ought to have brought an umbrella", John sighed.
"Hm? No. I don't do umbrellas."
"You don't do umbrellas? No, of course not", John muttered and tried to keep a big black umbrella over them both. His arm was starting to get numb.
"Please shut up", Sherlock said politely.
For a moment John considered smacking that brilliant head with a borrowed black umbrella but for unknown reasons he managed to refrain. Instead he cleared his throat and changed hand on the handle. Sally Donovan passed behind them. She looked John up and down and smirked.
"You are so whipped", she sang gleefully and sauntered off.
John licked his lip. He bit his lip. He changed hand again. Above all he shut up and held on to the damn umbrella.
Later Sherlock brought his doctor tea. He bathed him, put him to bed and spooned him until he fell asleep. That was worth a lot. It was definitely worth holding the umbrella for them both.