Well, this chapter did not turn out at all like I, or indeed, John, planned. Warnings for non-consensual picnicing. I am pretty sure that doesn't warrant a warning, but you know. You get one anyway. Just to be sure. All recognisable content belongs to its respective owners.
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They were in regency park, and John had brough a small basket with picnic fair. Strangely, Sherlock was, however cooperative when John showed he meant business, not in the least bit willing. John didn't care - it wasn't like picnic was a activity depending upon consent, after all. If Sherlock meant to sulk, he could.
It was strange though. John was entirely sure it was the genius that had instigated the picnic where he had asked John to marry him, and he had surely never displayed any adversion to it before. Now, however, the consulting detective sat at the edge of the blanket glaring, pretty much the image of "not amused".
Unbothered by this, more than used to Sherlock's unexplainable sulks after many years as his friend, flatmate and partner, John had stretched out on the blanket to enjoy the sun, pillowing his head in Sherlock's lap, enjoying the reverse position. He insisted on them staying for an hour or two, even coaxing his still edgy fiance to eat one of the apples he had brought along with them.
John made another attempt a few weeks later, when it was high summer and they had gone out into the countryside for a case. Sherlock seemed less on edge, out of London, but he was still not very cooperative.
That time, he allowed John to make him lie down and caress his hair, but he was still clearly no fan of picnics. Taken up with the case and the implications of a father hiding a deadly snake in his daughter's bedroom in order to steal her inheritance, John let the whole thing drop and payed it no more heed.
Having eaten two picnics mostly by himself, John did not even bother to try when they did a brief trip out into Surrey to visit Sherlock's parents, and he all but objected outright when Violet Holmes sent them out with a basket and a blanket for the afternoon.
Politely gicing in, John naturally expected another sulk and solitary lunch, only to be surprised by a cuddly Sherlock who rested his head on John's lap almost before he sat down. Holmeses, John thought fondly. Bloody incomprehensible creatures, and he wouldn't be without his for the World.