John re - entered the kitchen and, out of habit, continued making enough tea for two cups. He smiled fondly as he took out Sherlock's mug, which was a navy blue colour (Sherlock claimed he had gotten it during a visit to a maritime museum, where he had helped to solve a case). As he was waiting for the tea to boil, he heard a string of rapid, impatient knocking on the door. That's strange, John thought. When he didn't hear the familiar squeak of the door, he strode out of the kitchen to find Sherlock sprawled on the sofa, not even attempting to make a move to answer the door. John threw an exasperated glance in Sherlock's direction and reached for the door, pulling it open. To his surprise, the cashier from Tesco's was leaning casually against the doorframe and holding out two things. "You forgot your milk, sir, and your cane," she drawled through a mouthful of chewing gum, dangling the cane from her hand. "Can't see how you'd forget that."
John stared at his cane for a moment. He hadn't remembered his cane at all, it had never crossed his mind since he'd run out of Tesco. Seeing the impatient look that the cashier was throwing him, he quickly retrieved both items and thanked her, closing the door. When he heard her loudly retreating footsteps on the stairs, he slowly turned around to see a smirking Sherlock, leaning against the wall. "You might as well dump that cane, John," he decided. "It dramatically hinders your ability to chase murderers around London. And do try shooting that smiley sometime. Your aim is considerably off." John glared at Sherlock, receiving a smug smirk in return, but he tossed the cane to one side. "I'm not even going to ask how you deduced anything about how I handled my gun, but my aim is perfectly fine, thank you."
Later that evening, the sound of the violin echoed beautifully through the flat, as Sherlock played one of John's favourite melodies. John leaned back on the sofa, steaming cup of tea in hand, enjoying the familiar sound he missed so much in Sherlock's absence. Suddenly, a question popped into John's head. "Sherlock," he said absently, "how do we announce the fact that you're back to Scotland Yard?" The melody abruptly stopped, the note cut off with a slight squeak, but the beautiful music resumed almost straight away to fill the room once more. Sherlock didn't reply, but John didn't miss the smirk that flickered across his face. Shaking his head and grinning, John sank back into the cushions closed his eyes once again, allowing himself to be carried away by the flowing notes.