They reached the flat, having purchased fish and chips as they left the station, and John quickly dished up the food while waiting for the kettle to boil.
When supper was finished, Sherlock's thoughts turned back to Fulham.
"Was it really necessary to kill her?" He asked.
John put aside his empty plate.
"If you want to remain at liberty; if she'd passed your description to Barrymore you wouldn't have lasted a week." He stood and walked over to switch on the radio.
"What now?"
"Need to wind down."
Sherlock frowned.
"Let me read to you?"
John hesitated.
"You don't exactly strike me as the story-teller type."
Sherlock chuckled.
"Maybe I'll surprise you." He stood up and headed for the bookshelf, running his fingers along the spines until he found one he thought might suit.
"What have you chosen?" John settled back onto the couch.
"Neverwhere."
"Appropriate." John grinned, and as Sherlock started to read he closed his eyes and relaxed.
It wasn't long before Sherlock felt a weight against his arm and he realised John had slipped across the couch and was dozing against him. Putting the book aside, he eased the blond head down into his lap and softly stroked his friend's hair.
And he wondered if he should share with John the secrets held fast in his brain