The plan, John Watson thought to himself, should have worked. He and Sherlock Holmes had followed the murder suspect back to his business, a small shop off of a well-illuminated long alley in Soho, and they were going to wait for Greg Lestrade and the other Yarders to show up to apprehend him. But in the chaos of the holiday season and the east wind that had blown Sherlock back into his life, John had forgotten that the densely crowded night street market that would have provided them cover had been cancelled after New Year's until Valentine's Day drew the post-dinner patrons back out into the London winter evening for artisanal chocolates and flowers and warm cider.

"Sherlock, what are we going to do?"

The two men pressed back against a dark painted brick wall, hoping the few shadows would prevent the very likely armed suspect from seeing them and adding to his list of victims.

"We stick to the plan." Sherlock flipped up his collar to fend off the chill.

"We can't bloody stick to the plan." John rubbed his hands together to keep them warm and away from Sherlock's neck. "You are too recognizable. Shelton could look out that window at any moment and see the world's only celebrity detective outside."

"Well, we can't leave. Surprise is our only advantage at the moment. If he leaves before Lestrade arrives, we'll hold back and follow him again."

John waved his hands at the broad alley. "Where exactly will we hold back? We're completely exposed out here."

Sherlock mumbled petulantly, "It isn't my fault that the street is empty tonight."

John fought to keep his voice at a low level. "And you have been splashed on the covers of all the papers constantly since the Moriarty video, so odds are that Shelton will figure out we aren't just out for a stroll."

Sherlock raised a finger to his mouth and shushed John, who raised two impolite fingers in return. Sherlock heaved a great sigh and edged closer to John. "Lestrade and the others can't be much more than five minutes behind us."

"I hope you're right." John fought the urge to lean into the warmth emanating from Sherlock.

The lights went out in Shelton's shop. "Sherlock, I think he's leaving." John looked up at Sherlock, whose face betrayed his concern with the situation. As the door started to open, John's instincts took over. He shoved Sherlock up against the wall, grabbed the nape of his neck to shield Sherlock's distinctive facial structure from their suspect's gaze, and kissed him.

It was a perfunctory kiss. Just two mouths in contact, no motion, and certainly no tongue. Sherlock's characteristic cheekbones and blue scarf were largely hidden by John and his normalcy, and Shelton showed no hesitation in his movements as he left his shop. John relaxed and kept his mouth on Sherlock's and his eyes open, waiting for the telltale flicker of light in his peripheral vision that would tell him which way their suspect was going. As the sound of footsteps receded, John broke off contact with Sherlock and moved quietly in the direction of Shelton's departure. He had already taken several steps when he realized that Sherlock was not following him.

John turned back and saw Sherlock motionless where he had left him. "Come on, Sherlock. He's slipping away."

Sherlock didn't move, so John approached him. He was unprepared for the fury in Sherlock's expression.

"What…"

Sherlock interrupted John. "Why did you do that? Why would you do that to me?"

John recoiled a step. "I just thought it was the easiest way to keep Shelton from noticing us."

Sherlock clenched his hands into tight fists and shoved them in his coat pockets, and without another word, he walked down the alley in the opposite direction as their suspect and away from John.

"Sherlock!"

There was no response to John's fierce whisper, and Sherlock never once broke stride as he disappeared around the corner. John was torn. Should he go after their suspect and conclude a weeklong investigation, or should he chase after his best friend and figure out why a kiss had made him so angry? Because it had to have been the kiss. Sherlock had never opposed John making independent decisions on cases before. He would be upset with John if the suspect got away, however. He was still debating his next move as Lestrade and Sally Donovan jogged down the street to his location.

Greg and Sally spoke in unison.

"Where is Sherlock?"

"Where is Shelton?"

John answered Sally first, gesturing towards the south end of the alley. "Shelton went that way."

Sally got on her phone and ordered officers into position. Satisfied that Sally had things under control, Greg focused on John. "Did Sherlock go after him?"

"No."

Greg ran a hand over his hair the way he often did when frustrated. "Then where is he?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know." Greg repeated. "John, what happened here?"

John shook his head. "I'm not sure. It made sense at the time."

"What did?"

"We were too exposed as Shelton left. To give us cover, I kissed Sherlock."

Sally rejoined the two men. "You what?"

"It was just a kiss. A simple, boring kiss. I have no idea why it made him so angry that he'd leave without going after Shelton."

"You are an idiot." Sally shot an angry look at John.

"Donovan, stop it."

Sally put her hands in the air to fend off Greg's disapproval. "I'll just be apprehending our murder suspect now, while you explain to Doctor Watson here why Sherlock is upset."

John had no idea what was going on with Sherlock, but he was certain that Sally was in no position to judge him for it. "What would you know about it?"

Sally walked over to John and stood nose-to-nose with him. He stared back in a way that he'd learned intimidated most people, but Sally Donovan was not most people.

"Sally, please," Greg interrupted.

Sally glanced at her colleague and then quickly back at John. "Idiot." And then she ran down the alley to join the rest of her team.

Now that Sally had gone, John typed a quick text to Sherlock. Where are you? He looked up from his phone to see Greg staring at him as if he were the murder suspect. He's upset with me, John thought.

"What the hell is wrong with everyone?" John yelled.

"John…"

"No, really. It isn't like it was his first kiss." Visions of Janine on Sherlock's lap flooded John's mind. "It wasn't even his first kiss for a case!"

Greg grabbed John's shoulders and stared directly into his eyes. "John, you're an idiot."