The first time was after a case. They had just stepped out of Angelo's, with the owner waving cheerily at them, all the while sending John significant looks.

Sherlock had just ignored the owner, whereas John felt endlessly amused. As the two men fell into step, John grinned at Sherlock.

"Fantastic, Sherlock. A whole new record even."

The detective scoffed but his cheeks flushed, pink enough even for John to see in the dim street lights.

As they made their way home, bantering as was their way, John suddenly stopped.

"Wait here," he said, dashing across the empty street. Sherlock waited, albeit impatiently, until John returned, this time with a small bag in hand.

Before Sherlock could deduce any further then "it's a present for me", John thrust his hand into the bag and pulled out a phone charm.

"Here," he said, stuffing the charm into Sherlock's coat pocket. In the street lighting, his hair looked almost blonde. "You did well tonight, I thought you deserved a gift."

When they got back to the flat, with John bidding him good night, Sherlock pulled the charm out of his coat pocket. He ran his fingers gently over the charm, which on closer inspection, revealed itself to be a little violin.

And if he fell asleep that night, with the charm still resting in his grasp, he certainly didn't say anything the next morning.

The next time it happened was on one of those rare days when Sherlock accompanied John to do the shopping.

Naturally, the whole process took longer than it actually needed to be, what with Sherlock insisting on buying seemingly random things, all of which, he claimed, were vital for his latest experiment.

They argued over the need for oysters and lobsters, for the amount of milk needed, earning many annoyed glances from the other shoppers.

Finally, they were out of the shop, John grumbling over the extravagant amount they had paid.

"I swear to god, Sherlock, if I come back and find that the kitchen has fucking vanished because of your experiment, I will whack you over the head with one of these lobsters."

They pushed through the crowded street, hands laden with bags. As John knocked into another stranger once more, he asked, wincing, "Sherlock, my shoulder is killing me. We're getting a coffee."

John's tanned face was a bit more pale than usual, so Sherlock, taking a sharp right turn, led John to the nearest coffee shop. He quickly grabbed a table in the corner, watching John set down his bags with a grateful sigh. The doctor rotated his shoulder, groaning softly as it clicked into place.

"You want anything?" he asked. Sherlock didn't reply, eyes already locked on his phone.

With a hum, John turned to the counter to place their orders. He returned a mere 5 minutes later. Sherlock accepted the hot drink being pushed into his hand with a grateful grunt but stopped in confusion when he realised that John was pushing something else into his hand.

Upon looking down, the mystery item turned out to be a badge.

Sherlock turned it over and over, looking for a clue as to why John gave him such an item.

The badge was nothing special, just a plain blue one with a small cartoon apple with it. The apple waved cheerily at him, while words around it proclaimed, "You are the apple of my eye!"

He controlled himself from blushing, looking up at John for some sort of explanation.

John, in return, only grinned cheekily into his coffee.

Then John took it up a notch.

Exactly one week later, John returned home from work, hands laden with a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. Sherlock paid no notice, staring down the eyepiece firmly.

"For your latest girlfriend, I take it?" he asked nastily.

Well, maybe some notice.

"Nope," John returned happily, causing Sherlock to look up at him with suspiciously narrowed eyes. He stepped forward, gently depositing the flowers and the chocolate onto the table, directly in front of the microscope.

"They're for you actually," he says.

With that, John simply clapped Sherlock on the back and turned around to head up the stairs to his bedroom.

The teddy bear showed up on his bed the very next day.

A blue scarf was tied around its neck, a detective hat upon its head. A note was tied to its paw, reading "It reminded me of you. -John"

Sherlock felt like screaming.

When nothing showed up for the next month, Sherlock had thought that that was the end of the mysterious, sentimental gifts.

The next thing he knew, John was walking up the stairs, his voice softly coaxing, "Come on! Come on!"

He had bolted upright from his position on the sofa, only to witness John proudly leading an Irish setter into the flat.

"Mrs Hudson said it was okay," John said, waving towards the panting puppy. "He's yours if you want it."

Sherlock sat frozen on the sofa, staring at the dog.

Now a bit more hesitant, John continued. "You said you had a dog when you were a boy, so I called Mycroft to ask what breed it was." When no response came, John hurried added on. "I can take it back if you want."

"No!" Sherlock burst out. "This is, um, this is good of you. Um, thank you."

The smile on John's face was almost blinding.

He had had enough. While no gift had shown up for nearly two months now, Sherlock could tell by John's secretive glances that another gift was due and soon.

Try as he might, he still had no clue what John was doing. There was no reason for John to give all these ridiculous gifts to him. None at all.

Not knowing was killing him.

He needed an explanation.

Sherlock tugged on Barbarossa's leash, leading him back to 221B. He needed to know and he needed to know now.

"John!" he shouted, the minute he walked into the flat. "I demand to know what on...earth...you're...doing? John, what are you doing?"

John was sitting in the kitchen, carefully arranging the human heart on the tray. "Do you have any idea how difficult it was to get this? Legally?" he complained goodnaturedly. "I can't just waltzed up to Molly and demand for one, like you. I actually need to go through the proper channels."

Sherlock was really tired of not knowing.

"What are you doing?" he shouted again. "Why do you keep getting me all this gifts? I've thought about this for the last two months, there is no explanation for you to keep doing this. What on earth are you doing?"

The smile on John's face was faltering. "You, you don't know?" he asked, confusion etched on his face. "You have no idea what I'm doing?"

"No I don't."

"I was wooing you, you idiot!" John returned.

Now it was Sherlock's turn to be confused. "You're wooing me?" he asked. "Why?"

"Because I fancy you, you twat."

"Oh."

Barbarossa sniffed eagerly at Sherlock's ankle. He shook him off.

"You fancy me?" he clarified.

John rolled his eyes, "Yes, I was. If you don't appreciate it, I can back out. I just thought that this would be a good way to do it, you tw-oomph!"

And that is the story of how John found out that Sherlock really did appreciate his 'wooing'.