"Nooo… go away," John moaned loudly, burying his head deep in the pillows and trying to cover himself with the snugly warm covers.

"John, wake up! It's 5.30 already!" Sherlock had John's shoulders in a firm grip and shook violently in an effort to wake the soldier.

"What? It's 5.30 already? Goodness me… what did I do to deserve this?" John mumbled when his pillow was snatched away from him forcefully. He surrendered and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked sleepily at his friend. His fully dressed friend, whose eyes shone in the comfortable darkness of John's bedroom.

Sherlock's arm rested in the white sling across his chest, and that caused John to examine his friend better. In London, well, actually always, Sherlock wore a dress shirt, straight trousers and a tight jacket. Now he wore jeans and a comfortable sweater.

John grinned as Sherlock whirled around the room and grabbed all the garments John needed.

"Come on, John! We need to hurry!"

"What for?" John languidly took up the trousers and shirt and got to his feet to walk to the bathroom.

Sherlock stopped dead in his movements and cast his friend a worried look. "Didn't you say you wanted to see the village?"

John sighed and closed his eyes warily. "Yes, I did. I just hadn't realised that needed to happen at 5.30 in the morning. That's all."

"Well, the bakery has the croissants ready at 6, so hurry up, or we will be late."

John shrugged helplessly and disappeared in the bathroom. Sherlock paced up and down the room impatiently, and grabbed John's hand as soon as he emerged again. "Come on."

"So much for croissants," John murmured, closing the bedroom door behind him.

The two of them descended the stairs and walked to the front door. Sherlock threw John his coat and opened the door. John shivered in the crispy morning coldness, the fresh smell in the air promised a beautiful day though, but Sherlock didn't seem bothered by the chilling air. Of course he wasn't bothered; he had the the-game-is-afoot look on his face again.

John quickened his pace until he was in stride with Sherlock again and together they walked the small distance to the village. John took in his surroundings appreciatively; the Holmes-manor was situated beautifully in the forest of pine-needle trees and now and then a rabbit popped up from the grass. John heard all kinds of birds, a woodpecker and magpies, and he even thought he heard a nightingale singing far off in the distance. The road to the house was long and straight and oaks were planted alongside the way. Now and then a side road appeared, and the detective and his friend took the second on the right. This road, although one couldn't call the sandy, worn path a road, led over a grass-covered, shallow hill, offering a magnificent view over the country. They strolled on, leaving the forest behind them, and at the bottom of the hill they faced a round, tree-rimmed square. It was silent except for two or three men and a woman crossing the streets, hurrying to their respective destinations. They looked at the two men who entered the village and greeted Sherlock, waving enthusiastically. Sherlock smiled and lifted his hand in return, but didn't waste any time and walked straight to the little, old-fashioned bakery shop across the square.

John half-expected Sherlock to burst into the little shop, but, surprisingly, Sherlock walked past the door and window, and disappeared in an adjacent alley. John went in as well and saw Sherlock on the point of opening a door there.

"Sherlock!" John hissed. His friend turned around to face him. "Sherlock, you can't go in like that!"

Sherlock shrugged and opened the door anyway. He shot John a glance. "I always went this way. I'm fairly sure good old Mr. Smith doesn't mind," and with those words he went inside.

John exhaled deeply and entered the bakery as well. The heat and bustle on the inside overwhelmed John for a moment. A short man with a red head of the effort, dressed in a white shirt and blue-white blocked trousers, was covered in flour and was busy getting bread out of the oven while three teenage girls stood by and waited for their boss to finish and make room for them. When Sherlock entered the baker's sight, he almost dropped the bread on the floor in surprise. A broad grin appeared on his face and eyes. He quickly removed the remaining bread from the oven and closed the hatches.

Two of the three girls gingerly picked up the hot bread and carried it away to the shop, whereas the other asked the man for money to put in the cash register.

When she had left too, after throwing the two men a curious look and greeting them politely, the baker came towards John and Sherlock.

"Mister Sherlock Holmes," he said, offering his hand welcoming. Sherlock took a firm grip and shook the man's hand, a smile sneaking over his face.

"Good morning Mr. Smith," Sherlock greeted. "Still enormously busy I see?"

The baker smiled and nodded, throwing John a look over Sherlock's shoulder.

"Oh, excuse me," Sherlock apologised. "This is my friend, Doctor John Watson. We share a flat in London."

"Oh, Hello Doctor, I've heard a lot about you" Mr. Smith said kindly, shaking John's hand as well.

"So, Sherlock," he continued, looking at Sherlock, "you're a famous man here, aren't ya? We all read Doctor Watson's blog ya know. Why're you here if I may ask?"

Sherlock lifted his wounded arm meaningfully. "A case went wrong; I got shot. I'm here until it's all healed again."

The old baker looked smug. "Well, you're very welcome to pop by here anytime. Belle, please fetch two hot croissants for me, will ya?" he addressed a passing girl.

When the girl had brought the two steaming croissants, the baker looked at Sherlock again, his eyes lightened up. "Have ya heard miss Anna is coming here tomorrow as well? She was supposed to get back here by yesterday, but there was something with her boyfriend who had to go on business trip. There're rumours she's preggy, ya know. Well, we don't know nothing, ya see, just rumours. Will you go an' see her when's she's here?"

Sherlock smiled and patted the man on his shoulder. "We will see about that, Smithie. I've got to go, I need to show John lots and lots of this place. Thanks for the croissants; I'll send Mary by to fetch some more."

The old baker greeted the men fondly and turned back to his work, shouting at some slow boy while taking more bread out of the oven.

When they were both outside, John took a bite from his breakfast, and hummed contently. "Wow, this tastes great!" He looked at Sherlock who took a bite as well.

"Yes, good old Smith hasn't changed the recipe over all those years. Remarkable, isn't it?" Sherlock closed his eyes when he chewed slowly. "They don't make them like this in London, now do they?" Sherlock almost proudly said.

Slowly, the two of them kept walking silently through the sleepy village. John's thoughts were completely occupied by all that had happened in the past hour. S

uddenly Sherlock said: "what are you thinking about?"

John shrugged. "Oh, it's nothing of importance, really."

Sherlock smiled and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Do I have to deduce you, or will you tell it all by yourself?"

"Okay," John admitted. "I was just thinking about you."

"What about me?" Sherlock didn't attempt to hide the laugh in his voice.

"You're different here."

Sherlock turned his head to face John, looking almost intrigued. "Please, define different."

"Well, you were kind to Mr. Smith," John started, only to be interrupted by Sherlock.

"Of course I was. How can anyone be unkind to the baker?" Sherlock took another bite of his croissant, his eyes not leaving John for a second.

"No, I mean even I heard he made loads of grammar mistakes and you didn't even correct the man. You chatted with him and accepted his croissant... You never eat in the morning! Ever! You even refuse tea or coffee in the morning. You greeted the people in this village politely and, well, you just look relaxed now. It's strange really. It's almost as if you're happy to be here."

Sherlock didn't answer, but just smiled.

"No, Really. You look happy. Why? Are the people here different than our friends in London? Do you insult these villagers just like you insult Anderson or Donovan?"

Sherlock shook his head silently. "No. I don't. Mr. Smith is a man I've known all my life. Ever since I was a boy he was the baker here. We will go an visit Miss Madge today, and perhaps some old friends of mine. I just like to see them again."

"Old friends?" John stopped during mid-walk and gaped at Sherlock's back. Sherlock turned around and grinned.

"No, not all my old friends are like Sebastian. I doubt they'll have smugglers in this village."

"I thought you didn't do friends."

"Things… changed, John." Sherlock coughed and turned again, looking over the wide fields.

John started walking again as well, and soon joined Sherlock. "It's peaceful, isn't it?"

A soft chuckle escaped John's throat as he shook his head in disbelief. "Is there something in the air or water here? You look like a completely different man."

"Well," Sherlock started to defend himself, "the people here aren't stupid, and I… well, kind of like them."

John's grin grew wider.

"Oh, shut up!" Sherlock snarled when he noticed. "Don't look so smug, it's not as if I'm suddenly going to play nice to anyone. I just happen to like the baker and my old teacher. May I? I don't see why you have to grin like some stupid idiot."

They walked around for half an hour more, before finding some obscure little path under the trees. It was worn, but obviously not used very often.

Sherlock entered like he walked here every day. "This was my shortcut if I wanted to go to my treehouse."

John almost choked. "You-You had a treehouse?"

"Obviously. You will be one of the few living humans to ever lay eyes on it… if it still exists of course..," Sherlock softly added. He ducked under some low branches, plowing his way through the low bushes.

John was stunned. It was getting better and better by the minute. Sherlock actually liked some people and was kind to them, Sherlock ate croissants from the local baker voluntarily, and he had a treehouse. John wouldn't have missed this for the world.

A/N: Okay, next chapter we will meet Sherlock's treehouse; his Tree Palace. Excited already? You should be. We will also meet Miss Madge and Jeremiah Clarke; two persons who have been rather important to our dear Detective.