A/N: My rather belated Valentine's offering for 2016. I'm so sorry I've not written much in these few months. Believe me when I say I am terribly missing being able to write. It's ridiculous how sad not being able to write is making me! I hope this little piece makes you happy just as it made me happy. Every chance I get to write is cherished. Sigh. xx
A Gesture
It was a warm afternoon as John trudged up the Baker Street stairs after a quick trip to the shops.
"I got the milk and beans - the ones you were supposed to get," John shouted even before he stepped into the flat. They had an arrangement, John and Sherlock, that they would take turns getting groceries. Sherlock had yet to keep his side of the arrangement.
When John reached the kitchen, he fished out the bottle of milk from among the shopping and swung open the fridge door. When he did so, he found himself retreating sharply, nearly dropping the milk. Floating neatly in a beautiful glass jar on the central refrigerator shelf was a single human heart. It had been perfectly extracted and was now perfectly preserved.
"What in god's name — Sherlock!" yelled John, slamming the fridge door shut.
"What's the matter? Is Molly here yet?" asked the detective, strolling nonchalantly out from his room.
"Molly?" John asked, raising a brow.
"Hmm yes, I, uh —" Sherlock's lip twitched slightly as he adjusted his shirt, "I'm expecting her."
"Right, okay. Whatever. Why is there a heart between what few specimens of food left we have in this fridge?"
"Obvious, isn't it?" remarked Sherlock, gliding casually over to his armchair and sitting down in it.
John stared blankly at his best friend who had begun scrolling through his mobile phone. Just then, his own mobile phone chimed in with a message and he quickly reached to check it.
"Well, I'm headed out soon. Dinner with Mary…" said John, shoving his phone back into his pocket.
"Special occasion?" asked Sherlock, lifting his gaze from his phone.
"Why, yes, it's Valentine's," answered John, "Hang on — is that why Molly's coming over?"
"I'll leave you to your deductions," muttered the detective.
"Is the heart in the fridge meant to be a gift for her or something?" asked John, amused.
"You'd better go. You know you take ages to get ready for dates…"
"I hope she'll like the gift," chuckled John as he left to get ready.
Sherlock stole a smile as his best friend walked away. He looked out of the window, then back at his watch.
"It's just short of giving her my own," he said quietly to himself, "I imagine she would appreciate the gesture."
When John came trudging back up the stairs again the next morning after having spent the night at Mary's, he found a single stretch of old police tape stuck haphazardly across the door of the flat. Stapled on to it was a handwritten note.
"She liked it. Very much.
Also, Mrs Hudson has your breakfast downstairs."
With a knowing smirk, John wondered if he could possibly sneak in to at least get a change of clothes, but when he had his hand on the doorknob, he could hear distant chuckling - the bell-like one of Molly's and the rare but recognisable one of Sherlock's.
"Right. Breakfast downstairs, it is," said John, shaking his head amused as he made his way down to Mrs Hudson's kitchen.
END