John walked down from his room as quietly as he could manage. The box was still open, contents dumped on his bed, and being ignored for now. He peered into the sitting room and found Sherlock asleep, as far as John could tell, on the couch. His long legs were stretched towards the end of the couch and he was wrapped comfortably in his blue dressing gown.

"Hmph." John walked into the kitchen and looked around for the tea he'd smelled not thirty minutes earlier. Nothing but empty cups in the sink. He sighed and headed back from where Sherlock slept.

He stood there, looking down at the impossibly intelligent and all together dense detective. John smiled and shook his head. Harmless, really. Sherlock didn't think like the others, didn't care like the others, and John shouldn't fault him for something so small in Sherlock's own mind. Stepping up to the couch, John crouched near Sherlock's head.

"You aren't really sleeping, are you Sherlock?"

No response. John sighed again and jabbed a finger into the other man's shoulder. Still nothing. He reached up and placed his hand on Sherlock's chest, then shook him slightly. "Sherlock."

Silvery eyes opened and landed on John's hazel ones. "Mmm. Here to yell at me some more? Dull…"

John actually laughed. "No, I'm here to make you take me out to dinner as an apology for being a tosser."

Sherlock frowned at him and folded his hands over his chest. "Not hungry."

"But I am, so let's go and get you into some proper clothes, hmm?" John stood and started walking away, not waiting for Sherlock to argue or come up with some other poor excuse.

"John…"

"Not listening, Sherlock. Get your arse off that couch and let's go."

"John, listen. I'm sorry."

That stopped John dead in his tracks. "Pardon me, what?"

Sherlock sat up and made a noise that John could only describe as growling. "I said listen."

Turning fully around, John walked back over so that he could see Sherlock on the couch. "Yes, and after that? I just want to make sure I'm hearing you correctly, did you apologize for something?"

The beautifully lanky man blinked lazily at John. "Yes, I did."

Beautfully…? John wasn't sure where that thought had come from, but as he looked Sherlock blinking those bright eyes at him and part his lips just enough to mutter yes, John couldn't help but think beautiful was the perfect word for him. "Fine, but I still expect an evening out." This time when he walked away, he went all the way to his room. John's heart was in his throat as he put the items back in the box and set them on top of the nightstand. His mind was not on them any longer. Sherlock had apologized to him, had admitted to a wrongdoing. It was flattering. He'd never heard the man seriously apologize for anything he did.

John had honestly thought Sherlock was of the belief that Sherlock Holmes could do no wrong. Life threw so many wonderful surprises at John. He rifled through his wardrobe and pulled out a nicer shirt than the old Rugby T he was wearing and slipped it over his head. He kept the jeans and trainers though.

When he came back down, Sherlock was standing in the entry in one of his suits. He was typing rapidly into his phone.

"What now?" John asked coming over, rolling the sleeves of his button-down.

"Mycroft… frustrating…"

"So nothing important then? We won't be missing supper?"

Sherlock flicked his hand around in that unimportant manner he'd perfected. The phone disappeared into his pocket quickly then Sherlock's attention turned to John. "Where are you taking us?"

John smiled, reached out and patted Sherlock's arm. "You've not been paying attention."

John was very sure he'd never seen Sherlock's head snap back in surprise so perfectly before.

"Pardon?" Sherlock asked.

With a laugh, John urged towards the door. "You're taking me out, as an apology remember."

The two stood in a silent gaping battle while John watched Sherlock trying to sort through this new confidence that overcome the ex-military doctor.