A/N: Unfortunately, I don't own Sherlock...or BBC...or anything...EXCEPT for my storyline. That part is all me!
They return from Scotland Yard. Sherlock shrugs off his long coat and scarf unconsciously, his mind already poised to solve this next problem. He can hear John speaking in the background, but it is just white noise, just noise that he quickly tunes out so that he may fully concentrate. And concentrate he does. He is so busy concentrating that he doesn't notice John's approach until John is immediately in front of him, grabbing his hands clasped in a thinking pose and pulling them down in one swift motion. Their eyes lock for a second, and then they evade each other's glances as John scolds. Sherlock shivers, but a strange feeling ripples across his skin. It is filled with warmth.
Hypothesis: John has caused this feeling. Hmmm…needs more data.
John is saying something about how he, Sherlock, finds too much pleasure in these murders. If it were anyone else Sherlock would yell at them, but no…John is different. With John, he knows no one will call him a freak or laugh at him. And even though John objects to his enjoyment of (obsession with?) murders, he knows John won't push the subject. He understands.
And for that, John has Sherlock's eternal gratitude.