It was not long after the late night failure that John decided to stop trying so hard. Sherlock seemed happy enough as it was, and, truth be told, so was he. Maybe, it would simply be easier with time? John pondered this as he sat at the end of the couch, Sherlock being sprawled across most of it, not quite watching the cooking program which was currently on the telly.
Without thinking, he reached out a hand and rubbed Sherlock's foot, not remembering for the moment the good number of reasons why he should probably not do that. He did remember, however, as Sherlock made a small groaning noise, but he didn't stop, as it was clearly not a bad kind of sound.
John couldn't recall Sherlock ever objecting before to touches on his feet, though he knew that he had touched them, but same as his hair, he figured that there were spots that hadn't ever been a problem, not even before Mycroft decided to... help, in his Holmes-ish weird fashion kind of way.
John pulled both Sherlock's feet into his lap, and started to actually watch the cooking show as a more reasonable recipe came up, all the while rubbing the genius' sock clad feet, until Sherlock actually moaned regularly, which felt more than gratifying to John at this point.
This close to Christmas, murder rates were, somewhat ironically, picking up, or perhaps Mycroft had pulled some strings to help keep his brother busy, and they were out most days. Sherlock had taken to holding John's hand during their frequent taxi rides, something the former soldier (oh, who was he fooling, he still was as much a soldier as ever, just a somewhat different kind) saw as a good sign that Sherlock was opening up a little more, not just to him for once but generally.
They worked as well together as ever, their partnership not having changed much at all with their relationship. They had been a little bit out of sync at first, as Sherlock had just returned, and John had been forced to try and be patient with the frequent little tells that showed just how much Sherlock had reverted back to coldness away from his influence.
Everyone already thought that they were dating, so they had not bothered much with talking about it. Harry didn't care and Mycroft had deduced, so the only ones they had actually told had been Mike, Molly and Lestrade, as well as a surprising visit out into a very nice, but not as grand as one might imagine, country house to introduce John to Sherlock's elegant, though strangely normal parents. As well as, of course, announcing the exciting news to a very elated Mrs Hudson. "It is about time, boys!" had been her given comment.
John thought of this hours later as he bent his head forward a little bit while he was writing a new blog post, having much fodder for them these days, to lend Sherlock more space to rub his neck. The consulting detective continued to touch him at every opportunity when they were alone together, and John found it much easier to enjoy it now that he had more ways in order to reciprocate.
As John tap tap tapped away on his computer, he found himself relaxing under the familiar, loving touches, and knew that Sherlock could see his smile reflected in the computer screen. Things might not be very normal, by most people's standards, but they were good.
Hey, look, it is the original reference to my signature! (Yes, TapTap is a laptop writing sound. Bet you didn't know that's what it was!) All recognisable content belongs to its respective owners.
TapTap
