Warning : Okay guys, another chapter. Still French, still struggling with the language, but at least this time, the lovely Velvet lies helped me and actually accepted to beta this thing (thank you so much!)

I made some changes since her beta, so it's quite possible that some mistakes remain, all of which are mine. This story has no real plot, it's more about me trying to make sense in English with bits and pieces of Sherlock and John's life together. This part is far less serious than the last one.

Thanks for all the nice reviews. I will try and answer to everyone this time around.

Love of a Sociopath : Food Shopping !

Food shopping, John decided sourly, had been invented in order to alienate one's mind. During his time in the military, dining at the mess with his fellow soldiers or chewing on rations, he couldn't have cared less what he was eating. After his returnfrom Afghanistan, he was so locked up in his own misery that he would eat just about anything he could get his hands on without expending much effort – including some questionable takeaways – without really tasting any of it.

And then… Sherlock happened. It wasn't so much that meeting the detective meant the peak of gastronomic bliss, but it did change his view of a 'normal' meal. Sherlock never went to the supermarket, and if he ate once a day, it was a miracle. He knew what seemed like half of the restaurant managers in London, all of whom felt grateful toward him for some reason or another. He ate at their restaurants for free ("eat" might be an exaggeration, since he seemed keen on contenting himself with coffee or tea most of the time).

Nevertheless, the newfound peace he gained living with Sherlock gave him a corresponding renewed appetite for life, and everything in it. Sex of course (Sarah could attest to that), having a drink at the pub, walking down the streets of London, going to the movie or to a concert, and food. Delicious, well-cooked, aromatic food. Mrs. Hudson, bless her gentle heart, despite her protests, went to the supermarket for them most of the time. Only, where do you keep your vegetables and meat, when the fridge has a head or some other body parts in it ?

Anyone else would have had it out with Sherlock by now, but John, always practical, knew such an action would have no profits whatsoever. So he decided to simply divide the space in the fridge and try and keep the food in individual sealed boxes.

He was almost done with his convalescence, and all that was left of the bullet he received from Moriarty's mignon was an unpleasant memory and a slight pain in his right side if he twisted too quickly. Mrs. Hudson was visitingan ill friend in Wales. She hadn't wanted to leave him while he was still recovering - and it had taken a lot of persuading to get her to go- but not before she'd tidied the flat. For all the good it did - the minute Sherlock came back from the morgue carrying who-knows-what in a biohazard bag, he burst into a typically childish tamtrum, and spent all afternoon "putting things back where they belong". John had thanked her, though, and assured her that they were perfectly capable of looking after themselves. She left on Wednesday, the boxes in the fridge full of cooked dishes. With Holmes' eating, or rather, non-eating habits, it should have lasted them the two weeks of her trip. But of course, it was that time of the month (yes, John wasn't above such a passive-aggressive sarcasm, he was tired!). And as such, with no reason whatsoever, Holmes suddenly decided that he needed to eat properly, three times a day. Thus, by Monday, the fridge was empty, and he had to go to the supermarket. He had wanted to take Holmes with him, but the world's only consulting detective was, conveniently, nowhere to be found. Two phone calls and three texts later, John had to face the fact that Mr. Sherlock Holmes couldn't be bothered by so trivial a thing as food shopping.

He was in the vegetable section, debating which kind of tomato he should buy, when a high pitched "John Watson!" rang in his ear. He looked up to see a tall, willowy blonde with far too much make up and a decidedly fake smile hurrying over to him. He knew her.

"Gerda." He tried to make his greeting convincing. "Hey, it's been a while… hem… How… How have you been ?"

She smiled some more, rather coquettishly.

"Well, very well indeed. I divorced last year, George wasn't doing it for me anymore. Too boring. Not at all like you were." She winked.

They had dated for a while. He was at Uni with her. She was sexy, wild, and fascinated his eighteen year old self . It was more about sex than anything, and the sex had been good. Then she'd broken it off for a better prospect, and ended up married to a wealthy older man whose name he'd forgotten. It had happened a long time ago, and looking at her now, he didn't feel any kind of residual attraction. She couldn't hold a candle to Sarah. Kind, strong, funny, naturally beautiful Sarah. He tried to imagine his current sweetheart with that much make-up- he couldn't. And she couldn't compare to Sherlock, either. Nobody could. There was no intense passion, no cold, implacable intelligence in her eyes, nor any pulsing excitement in her stance.

He tried not to dwell on the fact that he had unconsciously put Sherlock and Sarah on the same level of affection/relationship in his mind. Bad enough that his flatmate seemed to think they were fated to become lovers, and that most people around them appeared to agree ! No, he decided quickly, it wasn't like that. Sherlock and Sarah were currently the two most important people in his life. Harry too, of course, but it was different, she was his sister. They were his best friend and lover. It was perfectly normal to think about both of them, he told himself firmly. No attraction toward Sherlock whatsoever.

Never mind that, someone who thinks about Sherlock Holmes as one of the most important people in his life should be very worried.

Gerda seemed a bit uneasy in front of his long silence, so he asked her if she lived in the area (mainly to be sure never to return to this store if it was so). Thankfully, she said she didn't and that she was just visiting one of her friend for the week.

"But we should definitely catch up sometimes." This she delivered with yet another come -get-me wink.

He didn't know what to say, but he was saved from answering when an all too familiar voice said:

"You definitely shouldn't buy these, John, they were treated with a special kind of mosquito repellent that could kill us as well as the mosquitoes."

He smiled, genuinely this time, and turned to look at Sherlock. The detective was holding one of the tomatoes carefully between his fingertips and studying it as if it was a valuable piece of evidence. Gerda looked over too, and he could see she was very appreciative of Sherlock's male beauty. He felt oddly irritated by that. Nevertheless, his good manners kicked in.

"Gerda, this is my flatmate- Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is an old friend of mine, Gerda Reilly."

Gerda was about to say something, probably some greetings, when Holmes raised an eyebrow disbelievingly.

"Old friend, eh ? Old lover, more likely, John, I believe. One who wouldn't mind giving it another try, despite being married."

Sometimes, you can see catastrophes coming a mile away, with an inexorable certainty, and find yourself incapable of stopping them. It was becoming an discomfortingly familiar sensation.

"Ex…Excuse me ? "

"Your ring. You've just removed it, probably because you saw John, here. Your hands are a dirty, most likely from handling farm-fresh produce, but there's a clean area where your ring was . Moreover, your wallet belongs to a Mrs. Halliday, according to its label. As it is the exact same shade as your bag, I dare say it is yours. If you were recently divorced, as you claim, you would have changed the label, most women do, especially ones as brazen and opinion conscious as you are."

John closed his eyes, torn between mortification and helpless laughter. Gerda opened and closed her mouth twice, before turning an interesting shade of pink and leaving quickly with a mumbled "talk to you later, John". The doctor smiled and turned toward the lanky form of the detective.

"Excellent, Sherlock. Positively charming. Remind me not to introduce you to any more of my friends in the future."

As expected, Sherlock just shrugged uncaringly.

"She wasn't your friend. And you should thank me, I just saved you from an embarrassing discussion about you not wanting to have sex with her ever again. Besides, if people are incapable of owning to their behaviors, they shouldn't display them for all the world to see."

"Usually, people don't see them like you do, Sherlock."

An expression half-way between intense irritation and pity crossed the detective's face. John suspected he felt as if people were being especially dumb just to bore him. He shook his head with serene amusement and put back the infamous tomatoes.

"So, you came. I didn't believe you would."

Sherlock waggled his hand dismissively.

"I had nothing else to do. I've just solved Lestrade's last case, a decidedly uninteresting burglary . Suspect left a cable mark on the door frame. It naturally led me straight to him."

Naturally, thought John, wryly, do I even want to ask ?

"We need some more milk," he said instead, "and perhaps some lamb for tonight's stew."

He stopped dead when he saw the strangely uncomfortable look on Sherlock's face. His friend was seldom uncomfortable about anything.

"We're eating out, tonight."

"We are ?"

"Yes."

"Why ? Do you have a suspect to keep watch on ?"

"No."

Oh yes, now, he was really suspicious. He frowned, trying to decipher his undecipherable friend. Sherlock sighed.

"Are you coming with me, or not ? Might be interesting, more interesting than a dull stew at home…"

Needs must, John supposed.

"All right. But we still need milk."

Sherlock beamed at him before heading in the general direction of the dairy products. John followed him with a smile.

"So, a cable mark…?" He inquired, not really thinking about it.

And regretted it almost as soon as he'd said it. Sherlock was all too happy to oblige. Geniuses did live for their audience after all...