JOHN

John didn't notice it right away.

After cases involving for example comic characters or demonic dogs, John knew better by now than to have prejudices because a case seemed weird — actually, the more a case seemed silly, the more expectations John had about it. But the cases Sherlock accepted lately didn't look very challenging at first, and surprisingly stayed unsurprising.

When questioned after the first of such an occurrence, Sherlock had said that he had decided to investigate that case because he had been too bored to refuse even a boring case… But it was now thrice that that excuse — John knew that simple matters were usually more prone to irritate Sherlock further than to make him feel better — had been offered.

So, on their way to Angelo's (yes, the solved-case meal ritual had been resumed right their first case after Sherlock's return), after — can you imagine! — returning a strayed cat to its rightful owner, John was pondering about Sherlock's more than probable ulterior motive when the pieces clicked.

"A lovely person, that Amanda, wasn't she?"

Lovely? Since when Sherlock took notice of that kind of things anyway? And Sherlock was eyeing him while trying not to let it be noticed... You bet it got crystal clear, right then.

It came as a shock: Sherlock, playing matchmaker?!

It was infuriating how time and again Sherlock took decisions on his own which could affect them both – and there was pain, still, about the last time it had happened: the wound wasn't raw anymore, because Sherlock was alive and thriving; but the scar would never fade.

About this time in particular though, John couldn't decide if he should feel more offended or hurt. But he decided it was simply Sherlock being Sherlock (theorising and testing potential solutions, and being just too innocent and so genuinely unaware about how human relations actually worked to realise how this one could either feel like a diminishing or a rejection, or both, in John's eyes), and finally chose to simply relish on the fact that Sherlock would go SO out of his ways as to voluntarily endure such commonplace affairs for him — for them.

He was still kind of amazed when they took their habitual seats. Billy hurried over to their table with the usual cutlery and candle. And suddenly John felt like thunderstruck.

"We won't need this."

John instantly took the candle out of Billy's startled hands before he could leave: "Don't mind him. Of course we'll have the candle. Thanks Billy."

Sherlock looked both surprised and contrite, and started as soon as they were alone: "But I thought—"

John tried to calm down. He was definitely overreacting, and he knew it. But Sherlock refusing the by now sacrosanct Angelo's candle, the first time they were eating there since the revelation of is current 'troubles', was apparently the droplet that was finally making the vase overflow.

"I understand, Sherlock, and I'm actually grateful that you actually HAD the thought. But the thing is, being protective can have the counter effect of what one hopes to achieve." Sherlock was eyeing him with utter attention now, clearly expecting further explanation, and John couldn't help but sigh helplessly. "You want to know what hurts me? What hurts me is you jumping off from a building and believing I could ever be all right enough after it." Sherlock seemed ready to cut in, so John quickly went on. "You've explained your reasons, and I've forgiven you, simply because you are the most important person ever, to me, and because, luckily for you, I know you enough to understand how you work, even when you act like a massive idiot, and I will never condemn you for being you, because I like you just as you are. But it was wrong, Sherlock, in so many ways." John deliberately dropped the still-way-too-sensitive, uncomfortable subject and came back to the situation at hand. "And what hurts me is you suddenly trying to couple me to the 'lovely' women who by chance call on us for help, and objecting about a bloody candle you never gave a fuck for before, all because of my actual silly condition regarding you. But that candle here? I've earned it. You can't take it away now as if it means nothing, because it is intimacy, and so yes, newsflash, we ARE a couple. What we do, or better said don't do, in bed or wherever, is completely irrelevant. You pick food from my plate without feeling you need to ask for it, for God's sake."

Damn. That wasn't a vase, it was a dam, huh. John inhaled deeply, twice, to close the floodgates.

Sherlock was silent. He looked quite stunned, actually. Then he cleared his throat — maybe to see if he was now allowed to speak — and finally talked as John kept silent.

"Noted. It won't happen again."

John only sighed helplessly in answer. What was Sherlock speaking about? The candle? The matchmaking? The faking of his own death? Probably strictly the first, but maybe all three. It didn't matter anyway.

John knew that Sherlock meant what he said. And he knew that Sherlock always kept true to his words. But there was little solace in that knowledge. Because Sherlock had already uttered those words, but had nevertheless played him again only a few weeks later; so the first 'it won't happen again', after the Baskerville case, hadn't been a pledge not to hurt him deliberately in the future: what had been promised was not to drug him again, at least not through a drink, and even, not through sugared coffee. Sherlock was nothing if not practical, and technical. So the only certitudes John got now from the second occurrence of that promise were that Sherlock wouldn't refuse the candle next time at Angelo's; that Sherlock would stop taking cases simply for their potential involvement of a John fitting woman; and that Sherlock would never jump again from the roof of St Bart's and have John witness it. It said nothing about others restaurant's candles, nor about actually stopping to search for a possibly suitable mate for him, nor, unfortunately, about jumping from others roofs — and even less about not faking his death once more…

So, there was a crux, knowing this, because how could he ever trust Sherlock again? And yet, precisely because he knew this, the frightening truth was that John actually didn't mind; that John could simply accept it and get past it. People always made promises they never kept in the end, after all. At least, Sherlock would keep his, if only on his own terms. And John could acknowledged that, if only that.

"Good."

Sherlock nodded, but kept eyeing him somehow hesitantly.

"And you should know that you are, to me, too."

The most important person. John couldn't help it, he smiled at the rare and thus precious expression of sentiment. Then he smiled even wider as he saw the evident worry in Sherlock's features had eased away thanks to his first smile.

He shared indulgently. "I know. Why would I otherwise be able to disregard the bullshit you constantly put me through."

Sherlock grinned — a much more common expression on his face, and one that always warmed John's heart, when it was the grin which lit his eyes up, as it was now, because Sherlock joking was not that common, and was a privilege bestowed upon John only: "Because you're an idiot?"

John playfully rolled his eyes in return. "Look who's talking... Now, I'm starving. Shall we order?"

Living with Sherlock was still the same. Never boring, often nerves testing, and always just so, so right.