"Low on sleep?" John ventured. He'd taken a few swigs of morning coffee, before the compulsory tea all real English-folk consumed on a daily basis.

"What makes you say that?" Sherlock had put down the laptop, science news at this time of morning didn't permeate his brain correctly and was scanning the cover of the local paper aimlessly.

"You look paler. Well, either that or you'll unwell. But there's no case on at the mo, so it that were the case you'd have stayed in bed and made me bring you everything like a glorified skivvy."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." John was becoming much too observant at the least convenient times. "You're my much-valued apprentice."

"Robin to your Batman, more like. But if you dare try and truss me up like a prick in green pants and a gimp mask, I'll put the dust covers on all your books on the wrong hardbacks."

"You wouldn't dare! I have a precariously balanced indexing system, like your jars." He smirked as John's face ticked a little. "Besides, you seem to perform your functions perfectly adequately in your country ensembles."

"Adequate? Country? What."

"You're still in training, young Jedi. And your jackets are cut like a sheepherder's. Hardly going to get you a double page in Vogue, but it suits you: reliable, classic, heartwarming."

"I can never tell if you're insulting me or just stating sartorial facts. I see you didn't delete knowledge of the Jedi religion."

"Why would I insult you? You don't do anything worth insulting and you're always there when needed, it's an ideal arrangement." Sherlock was looking down and didn't see the small, warm smile John gave him. "As for the Jedi, I like them. Especially Yoda. And his little green screwed-up face reminds me of Mycroft when you frogmarch him past a bakery."

John laughed, nearly spat out his coffee. "Diet not going well, then?"

"He doesn't need to lose weight, it's a vanity diet. He wants to fit into those suits with the teeny tiny waist." Sherlock made an oval shape by bringing his index fingers and thumbs together and held it up. When their eyes met Sherlock whispered "Sometimes he wears a corset." John had to put down his coffee and take a moment to breathe without getting coffee in the lungs.

"You both follow fashions, though."

"No. I have style. Style is timeless."

"Coco Chanel?"

"Is that who said it?" No recognition flickered through his face.

"Think so. One of my exes was mad about her."

Sherlock hmph-ed.

"I blame myself for the waist thing though."

"Why?" John sensed a lot of stories, but Sherlock was rarely in the mood to discuss his younger years. From what he could tell, they were very lonely.

"I persuaded our mother to buy him a barbie doll."

John's coffee mug emblazoned in red with I NEED THERAPY, remained in a curiously awkward position between table and mouth. "You're joking."

"It was an experiment. He did want one, after all."

"Hm, guess it isn't so surprising then. What did you play with, as a kid?"

Sherlock looked up as though as the answer was obvious. "Chemistry sets."

"You still do." John snorted.

A long while of silence passed, as only the closest of friends can enjoy.

Short. Soft. 2 knocks, hummingbird speed.

Casual visitor. Female. Familiarity. Slight impatience.

"Come in, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock called.

"I thought I heard the floorboards go. Glad I caught you boys. Have you eaten?"

John had just put the kettle on for the tea, "Er, I haven't. And Kate Moss over there" he pointed to Sherlock, "hasn't touched a thing."

Sherlock kept quiet. It was a difficult habit to undo, ruining surprises.

"Excellent. I just got some scones and cream from the market."

John's eyes lit up, he was almost as bad as Mycroft for sweets and preserves seemed to be his downfall.

He practically skidded to a stop in front of his special cupboard and breathed a sugary sigh at the contents: icing sugars, cake flavourings, cake decorations, gingerbread shapes, and most of the shelves taken up with every flavour of jam known to man. Then again, Sherlock was the same way about tea blends, a fortunate coincidence.

"Someone's prepared" Mrs Hudson observed with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Old army habit. You learn to value to yummy yummy treats. They're like my crack."

Sherlock looked over like a long-suffering husband, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

The others gave him a confused look. Sherlock nodded over at John's kettle.

"Oh! Right. When Sherlock Holmes has to remind me to be polite, it must be bad." Sherlock showed no outward emotion although the barb hit him square in the heart. John started to make the tea, putting out Mrs Hudson's special cup with the painting of the forget-me-nots on it.

"I don't know dear, Sherlock seems softer the longer you live together."

Sherlock looked horrified, secretly pleased but stared intensely out of the window at the gathering clouds. He liked the way they often blanketed London. It was senseless to hate the weather, it was a system refined over millenia. Rain was nature's shower. He was perched with his legs underneath him and feet on the chair cushion again. John had gotten sick of making the joke that he looked like he was going to spring out, swoop down from 221B and stab someone. Games with assassins were a little too obvious for his own taste, but he couldn't criticize John his little hobby. The games helped him deal with the PTSD, especially those battlefield ones.

From the babble of ordinary talk that weaved over to Sherlock's ears, Mrs Hudson mentioned a wobbly shelf and looked surprised when Sherlock volunteered to do it, instead of John. "I don't think that's your thing, Sherlock."

"I like fixing things. And John intended to 'level-up' today." John's eyes flickered to the PlayStation 3 he'd bought with a bonus.

She looked a bit surprised, in a pleasant way. "Alright, then."

They both watched John proudly rattle off the full menu of preserves they had to choose from. Sherlock settled for his default favourite Regal Raspberry, which surprised no one, but Mrs Hudson went for a strange kind of blueberry and acaii John recently had imported.

The mandatory argument about cream or jam first had been settled months previously. Cream first. "Or how could it settle into the scone?" John had said, partially rattled at the mere thought. Regular people were so attached to childhood memories, Sherlock noted. Scones reminded John of picnics as a kid. Sherlock sipped his tea, little milk, two sugars, from his regular black, blue and purple mug in his left hand. He co-ordinated everything.

"TV?" Sherlock asked permission when there was a guest. Usually, watching the business news was considered rude. Apparently.

"Go for it" John waved and engaged Mrs Hudson on a detailed discussion of the merits of leather conditioner for winter boots.

Sherlock shifted in his chair and sat on the armrest cushion, back draping over comfortably onto the other one.

"A busy day for STEM today as Tony Stark calls a press conference and has a nervous breakdown, live on camera. The Stark Enterprises stock values plummeted amid fears persistent alcoholism has ruined the legacy of his father Howard. Again, SIA stock fell by 2170 points today, and if you're just joining us you can join the debate online, is this the end of the Stark legacy? Over to..."

Sherlock got a text. Mycroft.
"SIA: buy or sell?"

Sherlock rarely got involved in personal finance affairs, it seemed easy to predict the outcomes and Mycroft maintained a good portfolio on his behalf. The STEM market always held his attention, though. All those new gadgets, a few came in useful on a case.

"BUY. BUY ALL YOU CAN. SH."

Sherlock knew a long dark night of the soul when he saw one. But geniuses are phoenixes, they rise again in a blaze of glory unscathed for their pains. Thankfully, only his brother had been present at Sherlock's own personal nightmare and that was long forgotten now.

Moriarty's words came back to him. A fall. He was no angel, but by God he still had the wings.

He looked over at Mrs Hudson and John. How happy they were in their own little world, now onto discussing if orange is a colour or a fruit first. What he wouldn't give sometimes to be normal, to be that happy in the simplest things.
He turned back to the television, not really watching it but not wanting to cut their conversation short. He knew it was a fruit first. No need to ruin it for them.