"Are you coming?" came the voice from directly behind my ear. You'd think I'd have gotten used to that by now.
"Sneaky bastard." How he could be so quiet I would never know. "Where are we going?" I sighed.
"Out." He was down the stairs already, coat billowing behind him. I grabbed mine and dashed out after him. The sharp winter air was brutal. After the nice warm air of 221B, it hurt to breathe. I looked up the street trying to find my frenzied flatmate. Oddly enough, he was waiting on me.
"Come, John." There was something in his voice, I half expected him to hold out his hand. Shaking my head, convinced the cold must have somehow affected my hearing; I fell into step next to him. I shoved my hands in my pockets and hunkered down against the wind as we walked.
I heard an exasperated chuckle, "Really, John? The coldest day of the winter and you forget your gloves."
"Well, my smartarse of a flatmate decided it was time for jaunt and dashed off without me. I didn't exactly have time to run up and grab them."
As much of a hurry as he'd been in to leave the flat, Sherlock didn't seem to be in a rush to get anywhere and he didn't even try to hail a cab. His walk was unhurried and in tandem with my own shorter legs. I began to wonder what the hell was going on. I was fucking freezing. I almost missed the warm desert winds of Afghanistan at this point.
"What the hell are we doing, Sherlock?"
"Walking." I looked up and Sherlock had that sly smirk that only he can pull off.
"I can see that. Now wipe that smirk off your face or I'll do it for you. But where are we walking to?"
"I have a destination in mind. You'll see when we get there."
"Right then," I sighed, "but do you think we can get there any faster?"
"We'll get there, when we get there."
I could have punched him. Arrogant arse that he was, all nice and warm in his scarf and long wool coat and here I was chilled to the bone. I stopped in my tracks. He barely took two steps before he realized I'd stopped.
"What's wrong, John?" He'd back tracked and was looking down at me.
"I'm not taking one more step until you tell me where we're going. My hands are freezing, I can't feel my nose, and my ears feel like they're about to fall off. So you can either tell me where we're walking to, or I'm getting a cab and going home."
"John…," he huffed.
"Let me show you!" I yanked my hands out of my coat and grabbed his cheeks. They were surprisingly warm. It took me a moment to realize Sherlock's eyes had gone wide. He pulled his hands out of his coat, and it was then I realized he wasn't wearing gloves either. Sherlock grabbed my hands with his. How the hell were they so warm? The man must be a bloody furnace. Bringing them up between the two of us, Sherlock rubbed his hands on the outside and began to blow on my frozen digits. This time it was my eyes that widened. Something shifted and settled in my gut. Something I'd been trying to ignore and deny. It was then I realized my own face mirrored Sherlock's and he smiled.
"Ah, it seems we have arrived," said Sherlock and I didn't even have to ask what he meant.
"Smug bastard," I chuckled as I laced my fingers through his. "Can we get a cab now?"