There was, of course, there was the question of their friendship. In some ways nothing had changed. It was business as usual most of the time except when Sherlock decided he wanted to go to bed, he went to John's bed. Sometimes they had sex, sometimes they just lay close together. Though almost every time John fell asleep with Sherlock murmuring something or other in his ear. Often he was still talking when John woke up, though usually he was out of bed and tinkering with an experiment in the kitchen. Sherlock rarely slept for more than a few hours at a time, and that was usually when he was running on empty after throwing himself into a case.
There was more touching. Of the non-sexual kind. Which was to be expected, John thought, considering they had put their hands and mouths all over each other's bodies. It felt natural now to brush a hand over Sherlock's shoulder as he huddled over his microscope (but never when he was fussing with chemicals. John, I would advise you not to touch me again while I am working on this or all of Baker Street will be forcibly relocated to Liverpool. In flaming pieces.) Sherlock had taken to resting his head in John's lap when they watched telly. One time he paused behind John in the kitchen and then kissed the back of his neck before moving along, ensconced in the morning paper.
Sherlock hacked into John's online dating profiles and shut them down. John didn't even think to scold him about it.
"They were stupid," Sherlock huffed in bed about a week later.
"I know they're stupid, but it was a way to meet people."
"Meeting people. Why is everyone so obsessed with meeting people? 'Oh, I should go to that party, I might meet someone! Why can't I meet anyone?'" Sherlock's voice rose half an octave, as it tended to when he was disgusted by something trivial.
John chuckled. "All right, all right, you made your point."
Sherlock looked at him slyly. "You didn't write down that you snore. And that you hum when you're reading something that interests you deeply."
"You're not supposed to put that stuff down. Especially not the snoring. Wait … I hum?"
Sherlock ignored the question. "Why not?"
"You're supposed to put all your best bits forward and then they can decide if they want to put up with you long enough to learn about the other stuff."
"Those are the best bits."
John pulled a face. "Out of all my characteristics, you decide that my snoring and my apparent humming rate as top-notch?"
Sherlock shrugged and rested his head on John's shoulder, closing his eyes. "I like your humming," he murmured sleepily.
John chuckled in spite of himself. "What about the snoring?"
"It's got a pleasant cadence."