He pads to the kitchen wrapped in nothing but a sheet, endorphins still buzzing through his veins.
"I've made coffee," Janine announces, handing him a cup. "And before you complain about the cream, just take a sip of it."
She looks gorgeous in his shirt, his mind idly registers, filing it away for future reference. And to her credit, the coffee isn't all that bad.
"You know I usually take it black," he clarifies anyway, looking forward to the playful smack across his arm.
"If you're very, very good, I'll let you try Irish coffee someday."
He quirks a suggestive eyebrow at her. "I have been – good."
"Not bad for a beginner," she concedes lightly, only to find herself pinned against the cupboard. Sherlock drinks in her merry laughter, then leans forward to taste the coffee that is still lingering on her lips.
"I've had a good teacher," he reminds her, and she rewards him by rubbing herself up to him like a self-satisfied cat. The little tease.
"You know, Mike sent a fish tank by way of an un-wedding present," Janine announces as she disentangles herself from his embrace. "And someone sent a riding crop too."
That's when he smirks in amusement. "Did they really?" he shrugs, taking another sip from his cup.
It is actually rather good, he decides; even more so when she brushes her thumb across his lips in order to wipe away a smear of cream.
