Youth

Normality came sooner than expected to the detective and the army doctor. Of course, the media buzz had been rather muted by Mycroft's powerful hand, giving John and Sherlock the time to get reacquainted with each other without the clamour of paparazzi and journalists wanting their story exclusively for their newspaper or magazine.

All that Sherlock wanted to do was get back to work, but it seemed that the e-mails he and John were receiving were from well wishers and supporters, with the occasional journalist begging for an interview and offering excessive amounts of money. It was maddening for the pair of them. John was sick to the back teeth of Sherlock lying on the sofa, bemoaning the fact there were no good cases and Sherlock was angered by the stupid e-mails of support, even though some of them were lovely.

John got so sick of Sherlock mooching around the house in nothing but a sheet or the ratty old shirt and pyjama bottoms number, that he decided to take Sherlock out to a coffee shop to get him some fresh air. Sherlock grumbled at first, not really feeling up to going out with no real destination, but when he realised that John wasn't going to give up, he begrudgingly got dressed.

They'd been sat outside the little Italian café for less than a half hour before Sherlock got bored. Sighing a little bit, John just rolled his eyes and ate his pastry while Sherlock sipped his second coffee with a little grumble under his breath. He began to profile the café's visitors and John couldn't help but smile brightly, listening attentively. He'd really missed this and now he really felt that Sherlock was home for good.

The scream came from a little old lady down the street and John was on his feet as a young mugger yanked her handbag out of her hand and raced off down the street. Sherlock was quicker on the draw though and ran after the mugger, John having to run after him, pausing to check the old lady wasn't hurt before running after Sherlock for fear he'd get into trouble on his own.

It had been a long old time since John had done any sort of running other than for the bus, his slightly rounded belly could tell anyone that. He huffed as he rounded a corner, his knees begging for him to stop and his legs shaking like a leaf, his face had gone a beetroot red. He could feel the adrenaline keeping him going, but he began to get the feeling he was too unfit for this, possibly even - God help him - getting too old for this sort of thing.

Rounding the second corner, John ran smack into Sherlock's back, staggering to keep himself upright. Panting and leaning over to rest his hands on his knees, John looked down at the mugger. Sherlock had knocked him out with a swift right hook.

"Not to worry, John. I'll ring Lestrade, you just catch your breath." Sherlock said, hardly even panting or even sweating.

"Ooooh, I'm getting far t-too old for this, Sherlock… running after criminals is something f-for the young." John panted, holding his side, his cheeks bright red.

The mugger was stirring, rolling over to get up on his feet. John grumbled under his breath and sat on him with a huff of breath to keep him from getting up and running off again.

"Well, at least I have one use." he muttered, pouting just a little bit.

"Nonsense, John. You just need to get back into shape. When we have a few more cases, then you'll be as fit as a fiddle in no time." Sherlock said with a sly smile.

John narrowed his eyes, wishing all of Sherlock's ducks to die, having to pay attention to pinning the young offender he had sat on. His eyes caught Sherlock's and he couldn't help but laugh at the cheeky look on his face, the pair of them falling around laughing as the mugger was taken away.