They share a cab on the way home from the airport. Her place is closer, and when they stop on her street, the potentially awkward moment never happens. She invites him up, suitcases and all, and he knows what she means.

They drop everything in a heap in the living room and wind their arms around each other, kiss languidly in their traveling clothes. She pulls him towards the bedroom and they make love slowly, reverently, because it feels like the last time.

When he leaves, it's strangely fine-sad, but fine-and she follows him to the door, wrapped in a blanket, to kiss him goodbye.

"It's all right," she reassures him. "I'll see you Monday, barring any case-related emergency."

He marvels at her acceptance.

"Try not to look too dashing," she says, and her voice is suddenly fragile.

"I don't deserve you," he says.

"No, you don't," she answers plainly.

One more kiss and she shuts the door gently.

x-x-x

When he gets back to the flat, Sherlock is stretched out on the sofa, looking for all the world as though he were reading, had been for hours, and yet, John has the feeling that it's all a charade.

"Expected you sooner," Sherlock says, but then he lowers the book and takes a proper look at John. When Sherlock goes right back to reading, John is grateful, and hauls his luggage towards the stairs to his room.

"Mrs. Hudson brought up some of her almond biscuits," Sherlock offers, and John pauses for a fraction of a second on the first stair.

"Ta," he says. "I'll be right down."