John liked poetry.
Or, so it would appear, from the fact that he had a book of Keats' poems on his bedside table.
To Sherlock Holmes, however, it looked completely different.
Poems of John Keats, small paperback, published by penguin. Small? Not too much of a fan then, could be light reading. Never mentioned liking poetry before, doesn't have any other poetry books in his room. Book looks fairly new, with only small splash of tea on front cover. Was sitting down, then, from the angle of the stain. Paper is only slightly creased- hang on, dog eared corner on one page. Only one? Put it down on bedside table, so not completely uninterested.
Conclusion- bought the book for (yet) unknown reasons, tried to get into it whilst reading with a cup of tea, found only one passage of interest, plans to read it again.
Hmmm. Which passage?
Reaching for the book, Sherlock suddenly stopped at a small, muffled sound. The door was opening. He had approximately 7 seconds to leave before John trudged into his room and scolded Sherlock for being 'a bit not good'
Mind whirring at a speed that neuroscientists would have swooned at, Sherlock left the book where it was and slid under the bed.
Normally Sherlock would not have cared at all if someone found him snooping in their room, but-
'Snooping'? Well, he wasn't snooping, exactly. He was.. researching.
John is, on the outside, a perfectly simple, dull person. Upon living with him, however, Sherlock had been surprised (and secretly delighted) to find that he was actually a very complex being that kept his brilliance hidden underneath a layer of good will and other boring things.
Whilst John was inwardly brilliant and outwardly normal, Sherlock wasn't afraid to go against the social norm and be-well, brilliant, as John had assured him on many occasions. And John was the perfect amplifier, the best conductor of light.
And he wasn't dull. No, John Watson was extremely complicated, and Sherlock loved that, to be honest. It also helped that he didn't show it outwardly, because that Sherlock readily admitted that he was selfish. He only needed one John, so John should only need one Sherlock..
And it would make things much easier if John wasn't angry at him for being in his room without his permission. Social etiquette, etc etc. Boring.
Mind coming back to reality, Sherlock noted that the bed was now occupied- John had come upstairs and was taking a nap, apparently. He took this opportunity to silently leave the room, only turning once-
obviously exhausted, skin dry, large bags under eyes, didn't even bother to take off shoes- hard day at work.
In a rare moment of what John would call 'consideration', Sherlock decided that he'd leave his questioning about John's sudden interest in poetry for later.
