A/N: HAHAHAHA I TOTALLY PLANNED TO UPLOAD THIS LAST NIGHT AND COMPLETELY FORGOT. I should warn you, I'm horribly bad at deadlines and things...so I probably won't be making a regular update schedule for this.

It'll be one of those Composer-damned fics that update like ninjas with no warning whatsoever (unless you're following my Tumblr and I'm whining about writing again, ahem). I am so sorry. I truly appreciate every follow and review you guys give me-the email showing up on my phone in the middle of the day/night is guaranteed to make me smile, no matter where I am. I love you guys.

Anyway, this story jumped into my head with the Perseid meteor shower. Sadly, it was cloudy where I am and I didn't get to see it, but this story made a nice escape for that. Also, I was listening to the song Glad You Came the whole time I was writing this. It's just perfect for Sherlock and John's relationship, even just platonically-their worlds will never be the same, ever, ever again.

This will probably see edits later. Possibly even a proper ending.

Sherlock hadn't expected to see what he did upon returning home from a (disappointingly obvious) burglary case.

(One of those ratty blankets Mrs Hudson gave us last winter, folded under a medium sized wicker basket. Basket's impression in the fabric indicates it's already packed with something. From the smell, there's takeaway in there, Chinese, the shop down the road. But it's dark already. Taking a date on a midnight picnic, then)

"I feel compelled to inform you that if you're taking her to a park, you'll want to carry your gun," Sherlock informed John as the latter came out of the kitchen with two thermoses-probably tea-in his hands. "There are unsavoury types out and about at this hour."

(Not to imply John is unable to defend himself or a companion, he certainly is that, but it would be safest for him to have it)

"Hello to you too, you berk," John said, crouching to put the thermoses in the basket. "I'm well aware of those types, I run around with you, remember? And this isn't actually a date. I've got something to show you." He stood back up with the basket and threw the blanket at Sherlock. "C'mere."

Curious now, Sherlock followed John upstairs and to the roof exit, clambering through and, under the other man's direction, spreading the quilt out so they had a decent place to sit. For his part, John opened the basket and started setting containers out.

(Beef with broccoli, salt and pepper chicken-that's his-two orders of spring rolls, the ones with the chicken, both beef and duck curry…He's trying to get me to make up for the past few days of cases with a great deal of protein)

He felt a sudden surge of affection for John. Nobody else bothered to make sure he ate-Lestrade might pester him every so often after particularly long, drawn-out cases, but that wasn't the same as what John did: make the order himself because he knew Sherlock wouldn't, look after his physical needs because he was well aware that Sherlock couldn't care less about what he deemed 'transport'.

Sherlock wondered why they were on the roof.

(It's dark. Something to do with the sky? Is this going to be another of those tedious solar system lessons that I'll just have to delete after?)

He didn't have enough data to guess. "Why are we out here?" he asked, accepting a box of the beef with broccoli and a pair of chopsticks from John.

"Look up," John said, jerking his chin-quite unnecessarily, Sherlock knew which way was up-at the sky. He did so-and a moment later, saw: a streak of light, tinted with blue, overhead.

(Meteors! Colour indicates a layer of copper in its makeup, currently being ionized due to its high-friction passage through the atmosphere)

"It's the Perseid shower," John said, and out of the corner of Sherlock's eye, he could see that John was also looking up. "I know you don't really care about astronomy, but you said you appreciate it, and I figured you wouldn't know about this happening tonight-this week, really."

A few more stars-(no, they're not actually stars, they are the visible path of meteoroids crossing the atmosphere) shot across the sky before Sherlock answered.

"It's lovely."

John grinned at him, and Sherlock couldn't help returning the smile. "Brilliant, yeah? I used to make a point of watching it every year, got out of the habit…"

"What reminded you?" Sherlock asked, because the reason John had stopped was evident in his frown.

"Saw a news piece on it-before you burned the newspaper, you berk. I thought it might be fun to come up here."

They ate in companiable silence for a little while, watching the lights flash across the sky; then John pointed out a particularly purple one. "What does that?"

"Potassium," Sherlock answered, without having to think. "It's the heat, pulling off electrons, a basic chemical reaction."

John laughed. "Knew I could count on you. Pass me the curry, will you?"

Sherlock did, and John took it, and if their hands brushed a little longer than necessary, that was just an accident.

(Though it's certainly pleasant. John's hand is very warm, nice up here in the breeze)

And that was quite enough of that line of thought. "John," Sherlock said, his voice catching a little, "thank you. For all this." He waved at the (mostly eaten now) food and the sky.

"I'm glad you appreciate it," John said. "Instead of telling me it's a waste of brain space and flouncing back inside."

"I do not flounce."

"Yeah, you do."

Sherlock scowled at him for a moment, but after a few moments, he couldn't hold back the mirth at John's expression. As soon as he started giggling, so did John. In a few moments, they'd both laughed themselves breathless and fallen back on the blanket, to just stare up at the sky.

(This is very, very good, nothing on a case but still, a nice runner-up, and do people actually wish on these things? Why do they? Large blocks of minerals hurtling through space do not have the power to bend reality and make wishes come true)

"Before you open your mouth and ruin the moment, I'm just going to tell you I did make a wish and you can just be quiet," John speaks up.

"What did you wish for?" Sherlock says, because he's not going to just shut up.

"I can't tell you, it won't come true otherwise."

It won't come true anyway, it's a prayer uttered to a piece of metal, Sherlock wanted to say, but he propped himself up on his elbows and looked at John. "Am I allowed to deduce it?"

"Go ahead and try."

(John knows I won't just let an unanswered question sit. Very well. Still relaxed, but focused, did not have time to slip off into a fantasy about something else. Therefore his wish involved this, friendship, bond, whatever this is we have. No immediate problems, nothing that would leap to mind in the time he had to wish. Therefore, it's not a wish for me to change or be easier to live with. Sentiment, then)

"You…don't want what we have to change," he guessed.

"Close, not quite it," John said. Sherlock frowned.

(John's sentiment usually channels itself into caring, protecting, nurturing. Would shoot a man for me, makes me eat, denies me my patches even when I'm irritable with the withdrawal-oh)

He couldn't speak for a moment. "You don't want to lose me?" Sherlock finally said, his voice trembling a bit.

"How did you-that's brilliant, I didn't think you'd actually get it," John said. "Yeah, that's it."

"You don't have to think at a meteor to get that wish, John," Sherlock told him. "I'm not about to leave."

"Good."

Clearly this was before Reichenbach~