John watched.
And he remembered the case of the lady in pink.
Sherlock jumping over roof tops.
He remembered Sherlock's tantrums and sudden mood swings.
His restless pacing between cases.
His impatience.
He also remembered his nicer touches, like when he did the shopping or made tea.
He remembered their conversations and little rows.
Particularly one certain Cornwall conversation.
He had never known Sherlock to be fond of dogs. Yet a clever Jack Russell had won the genius' heart. John had been surprised at the young man's besottedness with the animal.
And touched by it.
"Do you find me attractive, John?" he had asked, and added, "Do you think I'm sexy?"
John had evaded a straight answer: "A lot of people would think so".
"But what do you think?"
John had sighed and gathered all his courage to reply: "If – mind you – if I should ever consider dating a man, it would possibly be you."
"Possibly."
"Probably."
"So I'm your type."
"I don't have a type."
"But you'd find me attractive."
"Yes," and then there had been a long pause, in which both seemed to imagine the situation, until John challenged the other man: "What about me? Do you think I'm attractive?"
Sherlock had watched him with a frown that he could not quite place and said, "I'm not sure I know what attraction is".
So John had told him.
Attraction was physical (at which Sherlock had sneered).
Attraction was also sexual (at which he had made quite clear that he didn't do sex).
Attraction was emotional ("Emotion is a weakness found on the losing side," Sherlock had quoted his brother).
Superficial attraction basically translated into 'Let's have dinner' ("Ah.").
But it could also mean admiration, fascination, curiosity. Wanting to know somebody. To understand him. To become a bit like him.
At the last part, Sherlock had nodded, "If that's what it means, my answer would be yes".
Knowing him. Understanding him. Becoming a bit like him.
"In which aspect?"
"In every one. I already told you you were stimulating."
John smiled.
Then he saw the box.
He frowned.