Sherlock was practically leaning out the window when John stepped into the living room. Smoke was curling out of his lips and fleeing into the London air. John had to give him credit, he was trying not to offend John's olfactory senses and doctor's sense of well being. Besides, John really didn't have the heart to stop him from smoking just yet, he'd known many patients who had just quit a major substance to fall to smoking, alcoholics and the like. In the future he'd be confiscating Sherlock's cigarettes but for now he was content to see the detective mostly healthy and content.
"Oi, try not to fall out." He jested, his words twisted with a yawn. The only sign he got that Sherlock heard him was a half smirk playing at the corners of the pale man's lips.
John made his way to the kitchen to start on the tea, seconds later there was hot smoky breath against his ear.
"You smell like an ashtray." John elbowed Sherlock softly away but Sherlock persisted, chuckling and wrapping his arms around John's waist.
"Make a cup for me." Sherlock demanded with his usual lack of manners, and John complied with his usual amount of patience. They were soon entwined on the couch with their mugs steaming on the table next to them.
That was their routine now, John fancied himself a replacement for Sherlock's usual pastimes, shooting the wall and etc. He often found the detective curling up in his arms and settling back to think. There was something almost catlike about it, especially when you realize that both cats and Sherlock have a habit of wanting attention only when you're in the middle of doing something.
Things had returned to normal. Well as normal as their life could be. The only truly strange incident happened later that same day, after a rather frustrating phone call with Harry. John stormed back into the apartment, grumbling. Sherlock pretended not to notice, not even looking up from his book.
"Unbelievable." John sighed, collapsing onto the couch and tossing his phone onto the table. "I'm not supposed to be her bloody babysitter." He closed his eyes and just lay there for a bit, he was so focused on his own thoughts that he didn't notice when Sherlock quietly closed his book and stalked over to the side of the couch.
"John."
"Mmm? What is it?" John sighed.
He felt Sherlock's lips brush against his forehead and travel down towards his ear where he whispered: "John, you are invaluable to me."
John blinked, not sure if he should be flattered or confused.
"Thank you." The detective nodded as if this summed everything up, and it took the doctor a moment to realize what he was being thanked for, the nightmare of the past few days had seemingly vanished from his mind already. He was surprised enough already to hear Sherlock...the infamous Sherlock Holmes saying thank you, but hearing him own up to something that had left him vulnerable was even more amazing.
"Idiot. It's my job to look after you. Who else would put up with you?" John laughed, still bewildered. Sherlock smirked and rolled his eyes.
"No one. Just you."