Sherlock's stomach did a happy little flip at that, and he smiled, slipping his own arm around John's waist. "You let your job get in between us, though. But that's okay, as long as you're enjoying it," he whispered under his breath, almost hoping that John wouldn't hear. He needed to voice it, though.

John didn't hear it, thankfully, as he was enjoying his tea and the donuts. Much, much better than in Afghanistan. He smiled happily and blinked lazily, tired from the long flight, but unwilling to sleep right now.

Internally sighing in relief, Sherlock drew pointless patterns on John's thigh. He should cherish these moments. One day, he might get the phone call – and then these memories would be all he had because he'd know that John wasn't coming home. "Remember when we used to play in my mum's back garden, and I deduced that you were late to my place due to eating donuts because of the stain on your shirt?" He giggled. They had been about six, that time.

John laughed softly at that memory. "Oh, I've always been a bad friend," John said, chuckling. "I brought you some the next time, though, so we could eat them together." He smirked as his eyes closed, eyelids heavy. "But we've always been good friends, haven't we?"

"For as long as you've liked jam," Sherlock smiled, eyes fondly glancing over his friend's tired features. "Let's finish our tea, and then you should get some real sleep, huh?"

John nodded and forced his eyes open. "Sorry that I'll be wasting time sleeping," he mumbled, staring down at his cuppa. "I'm just... it's a long flight."

"I know, I understand," he said, draining his cup before sitting up a little more and giving him a hug. "You won't be wasting time, you'll be recuperating, which is what I want." He gently rubbed his arm.

John smiled gratefully and finished his tea as well. "Thank you, Lockie. Shall we go to Angelo's tonight?" He gave his friend a grin and tilted his head, a characteristic he has had since they were infants.

Sherlock grinned back softly and nodded, "That'll be nice. I haven't been in ages." Just at that moment, Mrs Hudson came upstairs. The landlady gave the soldier a big hug and cried happily, "John Hamish Watson! Where have you been? Has your job become so interesting that the once-a-term holidays are no longer necessary?"

John laughed softly and patted the elder lady's back. "I missed you too, Mrs. H," he said, hugging her tightly and even lifting her off the floor. He kissed her cheek and let her study him. "Do I still look good?" he asked playfully.

She blushed slightly, laughing, "Yes, you still look very handsome, Mr Watson, now please – put me down!" The detective concealed a giggle at the rather adorable display, watching with eyes that danced with mirth. It truly was amazing to have his friend back.

"You can have it as often as you want, dearie," she cooed, "and /please/ try and get some food into your friend," she added with a dramatic sigh, "the dear's not had a proper dinner since you were last here! Always working away on assignments or off on cases and immersed in work, barely know when he's around, nowadays! You would think he's in mourning." Sherlock gave her a look.

John frowned and looked back at Sherlock, measuring him. He was indeed thin. Thinner than normal, actually, and there were bags under his eyes. John forced a smile on his face and turned back to Mrs. H. "Oh, we're going out for dinner tonight, at Angelo's."

"Aww! That's sweet! I must be off now, love. Got some other tenants to check up on about the noise. Enjoy yourselves, both of you!" She blew them kisses and bustled off.

John blinked and stared at the empty spot. "One would think she'd take it easier now, but no.. she's still the same." John turned around, still grinning. "So, shower and bed. Will you wake me up at 5.30?"

"Of course, I'll take your bag up to your room for you. I've left a fresh towel, too," smiling sweetly, the beginning detective let his friend pick a change of clothes before taking the bag upstairs.

John smiled too and took his clothes into the bathroom, where he got out of his green uniform until he could let the water pour over his tanned, muscled body. He sighed happily and turned around. Goodie, he had missed hot showers like this.

Back in John's room, Sherlock unpacked the other's bag for him, putting everything where John usually put it, and turning on the heater so that the room warmed up for him. Seeing everything was perfect, he smiled and left the room so that the other could have his privacy.

John took his time showering, so it was almost half an hour later that he stepped away from under the spray, drying himself off with the fluffy towel. He dressed up in his pants and pyjama bottoms, but belatedly realised he had grabbed a button up instead of his pyjama top. So, shirtless, he exited the bathroom.

Sherlock had quite some trouble tearing his eyes away from his friend, and even when he managed to, the image of the half wet, toned, slightly tanned figure of John's refused to leave his mind. He gave him a little smile, before going back to his laptop and saying, "Certainly, John, I understand why every single girl you meet wants to date you."

John's cheeks had flushed a little under Sherlock's intent gaze. "Erm, yeah, well..." Awkwardly, he rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging. "It's what you get when you're in the army, Lock. You sure you don't want to switch careers? We could go on doubledates.."

Sherlock burst into laughter, looking back up at him, "John, I have no intention of dating. But more importantly, I love my job, and boxing is good enough for me. I would never be anything else but a detective – and when I get out of Uni, I'll be established as the only consulting detective in the world. The only reason I would ever choose a different path is if it would ensure your happiness."

John smirked, but then his face turned pensive. "Wait…why would you choosing something else make me happy? Don't be ridiculous. We're just…friends."

"If you wanted me to do something else, I would, John. And I might be just a friend to you, but to me, you're my only friend."

John closed his eyes. Stupid, John, well done. "You're not /just/ a friend, Sherlock, you're my best friend, and you know it." He fell silent, not sure how to respond to this. He was too tired to deal with it now. "I'm off to bed, don't forget to wake me, please."

"Of course," he smiled, nodding, "I'll wake you at five thirty." This time Sherlock didn't look up from his laptop, still feeling just a tiny bit hurt by the 'we're just friends' comment.

John nodded and slowly walked up the stairs. When he reached his bedroom, he saw the parcel on the bed, but he was too tired to open it right now, so he just pulled the covers back and slipped under the sheets. He was asleep when his head hit the pillow.

Sherlock went back to his work. When he had finished typing up the essay, he saved it, and then went to go visit Mrs Hudson to make sure she didn't need him to go pick up anything for the shepherds' pie John wanted her to make him sometime. It turned out that she had quite a bit of shopping to get done, and so, Sherlock decided to be thoughtful and go do it for her.

John was woken up by someone gently nudging his shoulder. He groaned and rolled onto his back. "Wassa time?"

"Five thirty-five," Sherlock responded softly, kneeling by John's bedside, "we have to go to dinner in an hour or so, remember, sleepy-head?"

John gave a sleepy grin and nodded once. "Yeah, you're right." He yawned widely and lazily covered it up with his hand. "And you got me a present, I noticed," he mumbled, rolling onto his back. "You didn't have to."

"No, but I wanted to," he said, playfully ruffling his hair. "Now come on, get up and get changed, I'm waiting downstairs." With a wink, grinning at John's sleepy smile, Sherlock turned and left the room.

John looked after Sherlock, a light happy feeling in his chest. Suddenly, he had more energy, so he jumped out of bed and got changed in tight jeans, a dark blue button up with the sleeves rolled up, and even messed his hair up artfully with some gel. Content with how he looked, he applied some cologne, and then went down the stairs with the parcel in his hands.

Sherlock could have downright proposed to John in that moment when he saw him come downstairs. He looked...gorgeous. There was simply no other word for it. His toned physique and muscled arms, and the adorable way his hair looked when messed up was enough to send anyone one of control. Sherlock, for his part, was wearing a deep, wine-red shirt and grey skinny jeans, and a tight vest over the top to match the jeans. He smelt just lightly of his usual cologne, and his hair was past help, so he had just run a comb through it and left it as it was.

John looked up and met Sherlocks eye. His own blue ones drifted down, scanning Sherlock's appearance. "You look good," he said, a lopsided grin on his face. "New clothes?" He walked past Sherlock and put the parcel on the table.

"New since you last visited, yes," he answered with a smile, leaning against the desk, "and thanks. You look pretty dashing yourself."

"Thanks. Your outfit.. its.. It's nice," John said, once more looking at Sherlock. "You're too skinny again, though. You should eat more."

Sherlock just looked away and nodded absently, "Yeah…" he mumbled. "Guess I should."

John's eyes softened. "Ey, I'm not angry. I understand that Uni is taxing these days. Now, let's open this and have dinner later, yes?" He set his hands on his hips before he tugged at the strings, folding the paper away.

"Okay," he smiled sweetly, nodding, though he still seemed slightly out of it. "Go ahead."