A while later, after Sherlock had declared that he had exposed everything the body could possibly say, both him and John finally had left the crime scene. They had taken so long, it was nearly morning, the very fact eventuated through both the tired workers who were reluctantly leaving their warms homes around them.

"I'm starving," announced John, as they stood in the cold, determining their next move.
"There is this store a couple of streets away. Open all night. You'll definitely like the food."
"Holmes, you really do know your way around everywhere," John muttered, as they both started walking. Sherlock didn't comment, but a fleeting smile appeared on his angular face. Immense knowledge of his surroundings was something that Sherlock Holmes took great pride in. More than anything, it pleased him that John noticed it too.

Despite the time, and how long they had been up awake, John wasn't actually hungry at all. Since his army days, when they would simply forget to feed their soldiers (apparently it was a training technique about endurance, or something equally ridiculous), he had learnt to a customise his body to limited food.

But for some reason, Sherlock was under the impression that John needed to eat. One of the very first things the good doctor realised about his eccentric friend, was that he thought best when doing mundane things, like going to dinner. Even though Sherlock never eats anything whilst working a case, the ritual allows his mind to wander, and Sherlock is able to focus his thoughts on the problem at hand. So John learnt to push the idea that he needed regular meals, because he could see how much it helps his friend.

This evening was no different. John could see that Sherlock had something he was trying to work out, a problem in the forefront of his mind, meaning that he wouldn't be able to rest until he can make sense of it. So John instantly declared that he needed food, just so Sherlock would be able to solve the mystery that he desperately needed to untangle.

"Who do you think was the murder?" John asked, as they walked along.
"His boss. Or his lover. Most probably the boss."
"I'm sorry, but what? How could you have possibly worked that out?"
"His clothes."
"They told you he had a lover?" John didn't even need to scrunch up his face, for Sherlock to realise that his doctor did not understand.
"He was wearing cuff links. And the smell of his aftershave had seeped into his coat. There are limited reasons behind that."
"Maybe he just wants to look his best?"
"There is vanity, and there is the responsibility ingrained into society about giving a good impression in certain situations. That man had definitely intentionally dressed himself well. For either his boss, or his lover."

Sherlock pointed into the darkness beside them "In there John." The doorway was practically invisible to passerby's, in its dark little patch. With no idea how Sherlock could have ever discovered it, John followed him inside. It was cosy, fitting a maximum of about twenty people. But the food looked great, so by the time John had order something to eat, he had actually convinced himself that he was a little hungry.

Sherlock lost himself in his thoughts before they had even taken their seats, in the far corner of the room. There was something in the way he was fidgeting, unable to stop moving that caught the doctor's attention.
"Are you okay?" John asked.
"Ofcourse."
"Are you trying to work out your next move?"
"No need. I have already texted Lestrade. He is on his way to pick them both up."
"And he will be able to tell who the murder is when he speaks to them?"
"No. But their shoes will give them away."
"Right." John, offcourse, had no idea why someone's shoes could determine if they killed a man. "If you've solved the case, what's going on?"

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock looked generally surprised, as he looked at his friend over the tiny table.
"You are thinking about a case. I can tell."
"You… can tell?"
"Yes. I can. So, what are you working on?"

John could see the way Sherlock was looking at him. Shocked. That he, a war doctor, could read him, like he could read others.
"It's… not a case."
"Oh?" John raised an eyebrow as he took his food with a nod to the young male waiter. Sherlock's eyes flicked away from his doctor long enough to see the waiter's smile. Normally, people were predictable. Sherlock knew of the simple rule: others found him attractive. He was tall, brooding, and was well aware of the effect the angles of his face had on those around him. Didn't matter if it was a married women, or a young guy, he tended to catch all of their eyes. Yet this waiter, with his hair a little too long, seemed completely oblivious to Sherlock Holmes, instead, he only looked at Dr John Watson. Sherlock was a little unsure on what he thought of that. John, however, was rather interested in his dinner/breakfast, that he didn't even see a thing. The waiter drifted away, and Sherlock brought his attention back once again.

"So what is it then?" John finally asked, with food in his mouth
"Its Donovan."
"What's wrong with Donovan? Is she involved with a murder!"
"What? No. Honestly John, the links you make-"
"You said that she-"
"Regardless of that, John, there is something very wrong with Donovan."
"What's wrong with her?"
"I can't seem to be able to read her."

John actually stopped eating.
"Woah. I'm sorry. Did you… Did you just say that you can't read Sally Donovan? Oh my god. That is unbelievable!"
"Yes, yes. I know. For the record, she is the one making zero sense, John. This is not my fault." Like a child, Sherlock actually pouted, blaming the Donovan for absolutely everything.
"Well, what is she doing that so confusing? What can't you read about her?"
"It's… she's looking."
"At what?" John actually scoffed a little at his crazy friend.
"At me."

John put down his fork.
"All seriousness Sherlock, are you taking again?"
"NO. John. She watches me. And you. Both of us, really."
"She's probably just checking we aren't ruing evidence or getting in the way."
"You mean, you haven't noticed? How could you not! They smile at us!"
"They? When has there been a they? Who exactly are we talking about here?"
"How can you not have seen! Think back to before. Tonight, at the crime scene. Donovan spent the entire time watching us. And then Lestrade joined her. You must have seen them? They stood at a distance, never interfering."
"And they just smile at us?"
"Yes! Do you remember seeing them?"
"Well… Yeah, I do."

John scrapped the last of his food into his mouth, before speaking again.
"Does it bother you? The two of them smiling."
"No. Well. Yes. It's just, it makes no sense! Why would they do that?"
"It's not exactly the end of the world, Sherlock."
"Your wrong! This is a big problem! They are becoming illogical. Unpredictable. I can't have them around if they aren't going to behave themselves, John."
"Sherlock, you can hardly push them away cause they smile at you. That's unreasonable."

Sherlock feel silent, clearly trying to understand the detective inspector, and his sidekick. John sighed, reluctantly giving in.
"You need to understand them, don't you? You won't be able to focus on other cases until you solve it."
"They must be able to justify their actions!"
"I… I know what they are doing."
"What? JOHN!"
"Calm down Sherlock. I'll tell you," John sent a quick look around the room. When he turned back to his friend, his cheeks were slightly pink, as though what he was about to admit was somehow, causing him embarrassment.
"I think… they are shipping us."

Sherlock actually raised his eyebrow and lent a little bit back.
"Shipping… as in the transportation of goods via ships? Are you quite sure that is what they are doing?"
"Yes I am sure, and no that's not what I mean. Shipping as in… they want us to get together. To date."
"Why would they care if we date or not? And why is that called shipping?"
"I don't really know… It just is. And I have always thought that people are emotionally invested in those within their lives. I assume, Lestrade and Donovan just want us to be happy…" John actually looked a little dazed as he said that. Sherlock wondered if he was considering it, but a split second later, John was back. "Anyways, you'd probably make more sense of it. You are the one who reads people, remember?"
"Right."
"Do you wanna know what I think is most interesting, Sherlock? If what you say, about the smiling and watching, is right, which means that they are actually shipping us together, I want to know what made them change. Everyone knows how much Sally doesn't really enjoy you being around, and through extension, me too. You said it doesn't make any sense. And you're quite right. It really doesn't."

They both leaned back in their chairs, John to stretch out his slightly stuffed belly, Sherlock to sort through some of his thoughts.
"I know when she changed. When Donovan started… almost caring about us." Sherlock told the good doctor.
"Yeah?" John didn't even look surprised at the news that Sherlock had already worked it out.
"It was the day that she got shot. The day she died. But why would that change how she acts? It still makes no sense at all."

.
"Actually, Sherlock. That makes perfect sense."