A/N: This chapter was inspired by the wonderful Jocular.
"So," Sherlock said, breaking a minutes-long silence, "where do you want to go now?" A mischievous smile graced his sharp face.
"I'm feeling a bit peckish, actually," John said. He leaned against the soft back of his chair.
Scanning his mind palace, Sherlock brought up a mental list of all the best cafés in London. Deciding on one just a bit past Baker Street, he gestured over his shoulder. John at his heels, he jogged to the control panel. John coughed, in a blatantly false way, and Sherlock directed his attention towards him. He turned his head away from a screen on which he was typing the address of the café. "Yes?" he replied, sounding a bit confused.
"This is just down the street," John said. "We could walk..." He trailed off, gesturing behind him to the TARDIS doors.
"What? Oh, of course." Sherlock was so caught up in the complex machinery and fascinating science of the TARDIS that he hadn't realized how close it was.
Pulling on his coat, Sherlock burst out of the deep-blue doors. A chill November wind swept through the streets. Rain began to fall, splattering against taxis and houses, freezing on impact. John shivered. Without a moment of thought, Sherlock tore off his coat and draped it around his friend's shoulders. John sniffed the collar of the coat. It smelt of copper and dust and lilacs. Presently, they reached the café.
The light tinkling of a bell rang out as John pushed open the door. A scent of coffee, baked goods, and vanilla wafted out the doors, along with the hum of a dozen or so people chatting offhandedly to each other.
A young lady standing at the door greeted them, showing them towards a circular table-for-two tucked snugly in the back of the shop, next to a blazing fireplace. The two sat across from each other at the table. The block-long walk from 221B had chilled them to the bone, Sherlock especially.
"Oh. Um. Would you like your coat back?"