Damn Sherlock, John thinks. Getting me all flustered first thing in the morning, just before we leave the house.
Sherlock had shouted when John was nearly halfway across the flat, but John heard him. Nearly fell over.
He played like he hadn't, though, unsure of what to say and sure he didn't want to yell it across the damn bloody flat.
So he finished getting dressed, did some breathing, and came downstairs. "Did you say something?" he asked, only half-hoping Sherlock would ask it again.
"I asked if you wanted tea," Sherlock lies flawlessly. If John didn't know better, he would believe him in a second.
"That would be lovely," John says with a smile, playing along.
Sherlock pours him a cup. "Sugar?"
John, taking the opportunity, walks up behind his tall, slim partner and wraps his hands around Sherlock's hips. He leans in and presses his lips to Sherlock's shoulder.
And he whispers, clearly and honestly, to the first question.
"Yes."
Sherlock smiles.
Part two of two; 'Question' and 'Answer'.