A/N: Last one my dears!
John and Mary both stepped out of the airport and breathed a collective sigh of relief. It had been hectic getting off the plane and through customs, and the two of them were glad to be past it. They were glad to be home, too. Not that anything on the honeymoon had been bad, but it was always nice to be on home turf.
Mary turned to John. "I've promised Susan I was going to go see her after we landed. Meet you back at the flat?" she asked, and John nodded.
"Yeah, I'm probably gonna take a nap anyway; I'm exhausted. Give me your bags and I'll take them home." Mary handed them over and with a peck to John's cheek, she caught a cab and drove off.
It was a while before John was able to hail his own taxi, but when one finally pulled over John sat on the seat gratefully, dumping their luggage in the space next to him. He directed the cabbie to his flat and sat back, leaning his head against the window and closing his eyes. He couldn't wait to get home; he'd had little sleep during the honeymoon and airports always made him tired, and it was the same for train stations. He wasn't keen on people bustling about him, being generally rude and just as tired as him. So yes, he was looking forward to a nice sleep.
"Pleasant trip?" the cabbie asked in a gruff voice, and John opened one eye, glancing at the back of the man's head.
"Yeah, it was fine." he said, hoping the cab driver would drop it. When the cap-clad man didn't say anything else, John closed his eye and resumed his dozing.
"Italy, wasn't it?"
John's eyes flew open, and he sat up. "How did you–?" He began to ask, but when he looked in the mirror and saw ice-grey eyes smiling back at him, he groaned.
"And what possessed you to be a cab driver today?" he asked, and Sherlock smirked, whisking off his cap.
"I thought I'd be nice and pick you up."
"Rubbish. What do you want?"
"Lestrade has summoned us to a crime scene." Sherlock announced.
John sighed. "You." he said. "He's summoned you. Greg would at least have the decency to let me settle back home before asking me somewhere."
"This is more fun than going home."
"My bed was looking very inviting."
"I've got crisps."
"I've just had a meal on the plane."
Sherlock was silent for a few moments, clearly thinking of a comeback. John closed his eyes during the wait and considered the possibility of dropping off before Sherlock spoke again.
"I'm driving."
So close.
"Yes, you are." John said. "Where did you even get a taxi from?"
"Borrowed it off someone who owed me a favour."
"And they don't own a restaurant?" John asked, feigning shock. Because, really, it was ridiculous the amount of restaurants they visited where they didn't have to pay for their food because Sherlock had aided the owner.
The detective didn't answer and John glanced at his luggage. "Can we at least stop by my flat so I can drop off my bags?"
"I'll lock the car."
John shook his head and smiled slightly at the image of the two of them climbing out of a taxi at a crime scene and leaving it parked on the side of the road.
Ten minutes later and Sherlock parked the vehicle opposite an alleyway where flashing police cars were stationed and officers were milling about. During the short journey the heavens had opened up and it was now pouring down with rain. As they got out of the car Sherlock grumbled about the effects the miserable weather would have on the crime scene and John grumbled about the warm, cosy bed he knew was waiting for him back in Kensington.
Sherlock glided past all the officers and Lestrade and went straight for the body of a young female sprawled out in the middle of the alleyway. He completely ignored the pelting rain that soaked his coat and dampened his curls, and instead crouched over the woman to look for anything of use.
John sidled up to Lestrade – who was the only person on the scene with protection from the rain – and stepped under his large umbrella. Greg frowned across at the person next to him, prepared to tell them to get back to work, but raised his eyebrows when he saw a soggy army doctor stood next to him looking miserable.
"John!" he exclaimed with a smile. "How are you?"
"Fine, thanks." John smiled back. "Haven't missed this weather."
"I'll bet." Greg agreed. "You're looking tanned. Italy was nice and hot, then?"
"Yeah, it was great. Dare I ask how England's been?"
"Bloody awful." Greg answered. "Hasn't stopped raining for the past fortnight and it's been freezing."
John smiled and rubbed his hands together.
"When did you get back?" the DI asked.
"'Bout an hour ago."
Greg frowned. "And upon your return, you decided your first port of call was a dreary crime scene?"
"I didn't decide." John replied. "Sherlock decided for me. I got into the cab I didn't know he was driving and he drove me here."
"Idiot." Greg muttered, though it looked as though he wanted to say something stronger.
"Agreed."
"Can't he see how tired you are?"
"It's not that obvious, is it?" John asked with a frown.
"What? No, no, you look lovely. I'm just saying he can't expect you to be rearing to go after a long flight."
"Preaching to the choir." John murmured with a tired smile. "Hopefully he'll get it soon and then I can go home."
"Ridiculous!" Sherlock boomed, striding over to where Greg and John were standing. "You can't seriously be this idiotic!"
"Sherlock." John warned quietly.
"The evidence is right there! Look at her left shoe, for crying out loud, and then you've got what you need! Come on, John!" And with that, Sherlock stormed past them and headed for his commandeered cab.
"Barely even five minutes. I think that's a record." John said. "I'd better go, actually. Don't think he's willing to wait for me."
"He missed you, don't worry." Greg smiled.
"Of course he did." John chuckled before following the soaked detective to the taxi and sliding into the front passenger seat whilst Sherlock started the engine.
"Waste of time..." Sherlock muttered to himself as he pulled away from the pavement, and John smiled.
"Will you take me home now?" he asked.
Sherlock sighed. "I suppose." he said.
John gave him some sympathy. "I'm sure a more riveting one will come up soon."
"Doubt it." Sherlock muttered sulkily whilst frowning at the road, the windscreen-wipers working frantically to keep a clear view.
John opted for a change of subject. "My honeymoon was very nice, thanks for asking." he said cheerfully.
"You're welcome." Sherlock replied.
"The food was delicious."
"I'm sure it was."
"We went to the beach."
"How romantic." the detective grumbled dryly.
"And there was a murder a few buildings from our hotel."
"What?" Sherlock asked, glancing across at John.
"Eyes on the road!" John exclaimed.
"Why did you get a murder and I didn't?!" Sherlock whined.
"You did get a murder. And anyway, my victim's death may have been just as boring as yours, God rest their souls."
Sherlock huffed pettily and the rest of the journey was conducted in silence. By the time they reached John's flat, it had gone six in the evening.
"Come up for some tea." John said and got out, collecting his luggage before opening the apartment and leading the sullen detective up the stairs and into the living room.
When they were both laden with tea, the pair sat on the sofa and John turned on the TV for some background noise.
"So, what have you been doing this past fortnight?" John asked, sipping his drink.
"Nothing." Sherlock answered. "Lestrade didn't have anything of interest and you weren't here to entertain me. It was achingly boring." he sighed, propping his feet up on the coffee table.
"When was the last time you ate or slept?"
"Yesterday."
"Really?"
"No. It was on Tuesday." Sherlock smirked into his cup as John rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"Well, then, looks like you're staying round for dinner. Mary should be back soon and then we could get take away or something."
Sherlock shrugged indifferently, but he seemed a little less sulky.
John cleared his throat. "So." he began. "Before I left for my honeymoon I promised you I'd listen to this case you'd been on. What happened?"
Sherlock's eyes lit up and he sat straighter. "It started when Lestrade called me to say he'd found a decapitated pig in his office..."
John smiled to himself and settled more into the sofa, listening as Sherlock rambled on.
It was 10:30pm when Mary finally got back home. Susan had insisted she stay for dinner and she couldn't decline. Exhausted, she trod up the stairs and wondered if John had managed to take a nap or not. She was envious, either way, of the fact that her husband had been able to relax at home.
But it was to her surprise that when she opened the door to the living room she was presented with the sight of Sherlock and John, both fast asleep on the sofa with Sherlock's head on John's shoulder and the doctor's head resting atop his friend's. Mary smiled to herself and couldn't help but snap a picture, before she slid off her shoes, grabbed a blanket and threw it over the pair. She then sat next to John, tugging the blanket over her lap and leaning against her husband, closing her eyes and smiling when she felt John's arm wrap around her shoulders and pull her closer.
