It was one of the rare few times where John and the usual gang could sit and talk without there being some sort of killer or thief on the loose.
Of course the only reason Lestrade, Molly, Mrs. Hudson and even Mycroft were sitting and chatting at 221B was because they'd just succeeded in catching a mass killer. Still, there were no crisis ongoing. The fact that Mycroft had stuck around was a miracle, and Molly was actually too busy talking with Mrs. Hudson to moon over Sherlock, everyone was actually just relaxing and having a good time.
John was so busy engaging the the conversation that at first he didn't notice it, but his eyes sort of drifted over to the lonely figure of Sherlock Holmes all curled up in his armchair.
Sherlock wasn't talking, probably wasn't even listening to what he considered the dull ramblings of the average person. Instead he just sat there silently, still clothed in his coat and scarf because he hadn't bothered taking them off when he entered the flat, chin resting on his hand and eyes staring into the distance.
Occasionally Sherlock's face would change. A light would come into his eyes or perhaps they'd darken sadly. His mouth would flicker into a smile or his brow would furrow. John could almost see the wheels turning in his head as the detective pondered away at god knows what. Sherlock barely even noticed when John walked by and handed him a cup of tea. He took it without even looking up and then sat there clutching it, still thinking.
People said their goodbyes and left and soon only the two Baker Street boys were left. John glanced over at Sherlock, chuckling at the detective's stoic expression. Finally he walked over and bumped against Sherlock's shoulder.
"Must be a great daydream then?" He asked softly.
"Hmm?" Sherlock blinked as though he'd been asleep and suddenly awakened. Then he turned to look up at John.
"What were you thinking about anyway? Must be important." John asked, trying to hide his curiosity with a casual attitude.
"Nothing much..." Sherlock said slowly. "Just wondering about a great many things..."
"Sounds pretty intense." John commented.
"My mind often finds a way of wandering into the most dismal of subjects, it's pointless to avoid them as without work to distract me they are the only things I can think of. Then I have to find solutions to these arising problems or else let them torment me." Sherlock replied as casually as one might talk about the weather.
John frowned, with a lifestyle like his it's no wonder Sherlock was prone to a little anxiety. Especially with that great big brain always thinking, never slowing down. Of course that was why John was here. He'd decided a long time ago that even if Sherlock never returned his affections, he'd stick around if only to save the man from himself.
John leaned down and placed a kiss on Sherlock's forehead.
"Stop all that thinking. For right now everything's quiet and boring, you should be pouting and destroying the walls not worrying. Whatever world problems you've been conjuring up, I'll see an end to them." John grinned and then left for bed, leaving Sherlock sitting there in stunned silence.
His John, promising to solve all the world's problems just to put his mind at ease. That man was truly incredible.
Sherlock ran a hand over the spot where John had kissed him, and smiled.