"No. Look closer. Try again."

"Is he a..."

"Come on, John, this one's easy."

"A... Businessman?"

"No, no, no, look at his hair!"

"His hair... Is... Quite short..."

"And...?"

"Close-cut... His face is clean-shaven..."

"Good..."

"And he's got a sort of funny... Tan line 'round his neck, inside his collar, what's that about?"

Sherlock sighs.

"Don't ask me, John. That's against the rules."

"He's wearing a wrist brace on his right wrist..."

"Which could be because...?"

"He might have sprained it."

"Might have. More likely, it's carpal tunnel."

"What? How d'you reckon it's carpal tunnel?"

"Not the point, John. Keep looking. You're almost there."

"Okay... Erm... Glasses sort of... Rectangular... Orderly... Blimey, almost everything about him is rather orderly. Hang on... There's... Nothing in his pockets. He's not carrying anything. What's he doing at a mall without a wallet or a mobile?"

"Good, good. Nearly there."

"Sort of... Stately manner. Sitting up straight, but... Some weariness in the lines of his face..."

Sherlock turns to look at me curiously. For the time being, I pretend not to notice, but I have become rather good at noticing...

"What is he doing here?" I ask this quietly, more to myself.

Then, just like that, it hits me.

He's a retired soldier. Almost just like me. Where I was mending wounds, he would have been inflicting them on the other side.

I turn to look at Sherlock.

"You cheeky little blighter." He grins. "How long was that then?"

He looks at his watch.

"About... Twelve minutes."

"Damn..." That's twelve minutes we could have spent doing...

"Fancy some lunch?"

He stands to leave.

"Here? At the food court in a shopping mall?"

"No, of course not." He offers his hand to me, but I'm waiting for a destination with narrowed eyes. He smiles wickedly and my heart stutters a beat. "Fancy seafood?"

Still suspicious, I take his hand and stand. My heart almost drops when his hand drops mine.

"Where to?"

"Ever heard of Yashin Sushi?"

"The... The one in Kensington?"

"That's the one."

"We're going all the way to Kensington for lunch?"

"Problem?"

I narrow my eyes.

"You have business there, haven't you?"

He smiles.

"Very good, John. Now come along."

My grin mirrors his and we start off together.

The past few weeks have been... Good. Excessive amounts of lovemaking, and Sherlock had gotten exceptionally good at... All of that. He is incredibly good with his hands...

I feel my face flush and drag my mind out of the gutter. Sherlock notices this and grins. Dammit. Am I really that transparent?

John clears his throat, and I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He is flushed into his ears. I smile, finally realizing where his mind is traveling in this maddening silence. He can be so difficult to read sometimes. But other times...

My invitation to lunch was genuine, and we did eat sushi. John thought it would be funny to try to feed me with chopsticks across the table. It was the most adolescent thing I had done in a while. It was lovely.

We are making our way to the warehouse I was summoned to, walking through the chilly night, when there is a lull in our conversation. I glance sideways at John, and notice the stiff set of his shoulders. He's... Nervous?

"John, what's wrong?"

"What? Sorry, nothing..."

Liar.

"Doesn't sound like nothing."

He sighs, a white puff in the cold air.

"Sherlock, do you still consider yourself married to your work?"

I stop walking and round on him. He grimaces slightly and shifts his weight. I narrow my eyes.

"I'm... Still setting my priorities straight."

He looks down. Would he rather I lied?

"Right, I see." I sigh.

"John..."

"No, it's fine, you... Take all the time you need." He lifts his eyes to me and gives me a smile that does not reach his eyes.

Acting on impulse (something I do more easily around him), I take his shoulders and guide his back to the nearest wall in the alley we are in. I do not hesitate to crush my lips to his.

An apology, a promise, a kiss.

Christ, when did I become such a romantic?

Sherlock's kiss is sweet and passionate, and my hands find his face of their own accord. However, the kiss does not progress. It is smoldering warm, not fire blazing. He pulls back and looks into my eyes fiercely.

"I love you, John Watson. For now, that's everything I have for you."

I nod and swallow. He searches my eyes for a few more moments before releasing me and starting back down the alleyway, a wicked grin playing at his lips.

I'm not ready to let my mind riddle that out just yet, so as I walk, I leave the mystery behind and focus on my work for now. The click of my shoes against the cobblestone echoes off the walls, and I don't realize until I reach the end of it that there is no second set of footsteps.

I turn, brow furrowed, to look back down the alleyway, wondering what John was doing.

He isn't in the alley.

Panic spikes in my ribcage, but I don't let it show on my face.

"John?"

The name echoes down the alley, but there is no reply. An impolite word slips from my lips.

Just then, my mobile rings. No, it's not my mobile. It's the pink phone. It is still in my coat pocket.

It's a text. I impatiently pull my glove off with my teeth and unlock the phone to read the text.

"You're no fun when you're ignoring me. Your move, gorgeous."

Number blocked.

Of course I know who it is. I grit my teeth together.

Moriarty.