John was walking quickly through a narrow alleyway with the world's only consulting detective following right behind him. They were on a case and the clock was ticking mercilessly. Still, he found himself gazing up at the sky. It was an unusual starry night in London, and the sight was quite admirable.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" He heard Sherlock's voice comment somewhere behind him. It was surprising that the man who only recently learned about the workings of the solar system was able to admire the stars.
"I thought you didn't.." John began, but Sherlock cut him off.
"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it."
But when John turned around to inquire him about his newfound appreciation for astronomy, he realised that Sherlock hadn't been looking at the stars.
He had been looking at John. And he was wearing his look of deduction. For what seemed like hours, but in reality was closer to a few seconds, Sherlock was staring intently at him.
"You really are beautiful, John," he finally said. John felt very hot all of a sudden.
"Right. Well, we should…go," he said, clearing his throat. The sound made Sherlock snap out of whatever state he was in, and the faint pink tint in his cheeks revealed that he had said something he wasn't really ready to share.