Sherlock sighed, facing out the window, and John watched, helpless. He had been this way since returning. John hated it, but he had asked for his best friend back, and that's just what he had gotten. The detective just had more issues than before. (That was certainly saying something.)

John took the plate of leftover Thai food and set it down in front of the brooding creature.

"Eat something, Sherlock."

He remained silent. This wasn't the first time something like that happened, but it was the last straw for the doctor.

"Sherlock, if you don't eat, I'm going to hit you, and hurt your body myself rather than see it waste away here from malnutrition!"

Sherlock just blinked, continuing his stare over the London civilians.

THWUMP!

Sherlock's chair went tipping back. He was on his back, clutching his jaw in surprise. He looked up at John who was shaking the pain out of his throbbing fist.

"Damn, you're hard-headed!"

"John..." he said, shocked, as he really focused on his friend.

John was prepared for the speech.

"I warned you, you know! Don't look like you can't believe the man that has killed people would hit you."

"John..."

"Seriously, for such a genius, your flabbergasted expression is out of place."

"John!"

"What!"

"Since when do you own red pants?" Sherlock sat up, completely focussed on the bit of fabric revealed from when John's jumped had ridden up. It was the barest sliver of red, but it was enough for the detective to know that he had never seen them before, and he had gone through all of John's things. They must be a gift from the girlfriend...what was her name?

"Mary got them for me, not that it's any of your business." John's face was turning as red as his underwear.

"Don't defend them, John. You loathe them! The only reason you're wearing them is because you have a date tonight."

"Must you show off now?!" John groaned."I just wanted to get you to eat!"

"After all, you hate spandex." Sherlock had continued as if he had never been interrupted.

John stammered, "I don't want to know how you know they are spandex. I don't want to know how you know I hate spandex to begin with. I...just...ignorance is bliss."

"And curiosity killed the cat," Sherlock shrugged and wondered why he hadn't deleted the idiom.

"Or at least made him fake his suicide."

It was the first time John, or anyone, had attempted a joke about the stretch of time Sherlock had been gone. They were both so surprised that they just stared at each other for a minute before breaking out laughing, releasing their tension. John ended up on the floor next to Sherlock, and tears ended up rolling down his face. Sherlock was clutching his sides.

"Up for a bit of gallows humor then?"

"Oh I must be red in the face!" John teased.

"Or red in other areas," Sherlock said with a saucy wink.

"Sherlock!" John had never heard the man say a dirty joke in the years they'd known each other. He shoved at his arm playfully as they kept up their giggling. "People may talk!"

"They do..." Sherlock kept laughing. "Oh you know."

"They do what? That could have A LOT of meanings; you better be careful!" John was on his back now.

"What's the worst that could happen?" Sherlock turned to smile down at him.

"You could be stuck in a pair of red spandex pants!" John lost it again at the mental image of Sherlock in the red pants.

"Point taken," Sherlock said seriously, before they were laughing again.

It was one of the highlights of their friendship, they both had to admit, all because of a joke that really wasn't that funny.

The date with Mary had gone well. She actually stayed the night. They, John and Mary, had had the flat to themselves because Sherlock had been in such a good mood, he volunteered to stay out late that night, working on experiments over at Barts.

"I'm going to go get a cup of coffee. Do you want one?" Mary asked John quietly in the morning. He nodded, still half asleep. "It doesn't sound like Sherlock is here, so come down as soon as possible. I'll have a surprise waiting for you in the kitchen."

That made John's eyes open.

Mary walked out of the room wearing John's button up which fit her like a baggy dress, not bothering to button it up, revealing the pink lace beneath. She started the coffee brewing and was contemplating how best to move Sherlock's lab equipment off the table when she heard footsteps. She turned with a smile, expecting her boyfriend and morning sex on the table, but instead she saw something that made her scream.

John's footsteps thundered down the stairs. He came around the corner brandishing his gun, but he stopped before he fired.

"Sh-Sherlock?"

"Good morning, John. Still sporting the red pants, I see?" Sherlock eyed the doctor, bare except for the spandex and gun.

John eyed Sherlock in return.

"Sherlock, what the hell are YOU sporting?"

"I believe it's called a g-string."

"It's purple."

"It matches my shirt."

"Which you aren't wearing."

"Obviously."

"Um, why?"

"Oh, well I was just going to get some coffee then go back to my room, so I didn't feel the need to put it on-"

"Not the shirt, Sherlock! The...g-string!" John's face matched the color of his pants. He still held the gun up.

"It's for a case."

"Oh."

"Yes."

"This looks like a bad porno set up," Mary giggled from next to the table. She was pink in the face, but very obviously enjoying the show of the two attractive men.

"I'm sorry, Mary," John said. He saw Sherlock's lips twitch and soon they were all laughing at the situation, the three adults standing around in their under garments.

"Yoo-hoo!"

The unsuspecting landlady walked in with a tray of biscuits. They all freezed, even Sherlock feeling bad about exposing Mrs. Hudson this way.

The old woman just took in their appearances, set down the tray next to Mary, and went to walk out.

"Boys, one day we must swap stories. I've got some good ones, and, apparently, so do you."

Then she left.

"Once again," Mary said, "bad porno set up."

They were all sobered up at the thought of Mrs. Hudson's sex life. She was such a mother figure to John and Sherlock...

"I'm going to go put trousers on," Sherlock went to walk past John who finally succeeded in putting the gun down. They both looked at each other, but tried not to.

"John, I think it best this doesn't make the blog."

He rolled his eyes, "Obviously...though quite a few people will be disappointed."

"It's like the antlers, John. Some things are best left to the imagination; their perceived relationship between us being one of them."

"Agreed."

And thus all was well. Well...until the night of the cross-dressing fiasco, but that's a story for another time.