Author's Note: These little dabbles come from my John and Sherlock Q&A blog, obviouslydeduced (on tumblr), so the plot will be better understood after visiting the website. The lengths of the uploads will very, but I can promise you that most will be short. They are spur-of-the-moment fiction whims that I process when I can, but I thank you warmly for reading them. And now I present to you: A Walk Through Troubles!

Sherlock had been on countless walks in his life; afternoon strolls as a toddler with big brother Mycroft and mummy, ambles in the spring durning secondary school to regain his self-awareness (also to contemplate the reported evidence of recent murders), and many trudges- typically in wicked rain- to scrutinize if it were time to reveal his breathing self to John after he faked his death. All without being realized by the violinist were important walks. Though sawing through his instrument was an obvious indignation to continuos thinking, Sherlock reacted positively to traveling around a designated area- especially with a chosen companion.

John wouldn't call himself cross with Sherlock's recent behavior, but it was irritating him more that usual.

There had been an odd lack of cases in the previous weeks and it seeped through the consulting detective like heat on snow fall. As a consequence, John was coming close to his boundaries with patience. He wished dearly to help Sherlock, but his ideas were slowly fading away. The doctor was lucky for one decent thought that would strike Sherlock's mind.

So there the two men were, one striding, the other attempting persistently to catch up from behind, walking through their nearby park. John's fingers were kept twisted around each other (while in his pockets- he didn't need to upset Sherlock) in hope for luck that his last strive to keep the violinist entertained would not prove futile.

"Explain the conclusion to your recent experiment," John stated, while finally matching his flatmate's quick pace.

Sherlock's eyes widened slightly- his eagerness breaking through the stoic mask he owned- and the selected side of his mouth was pulled taut into a slight smirk. "Well, with only examining the fingers, I realized that Molly's trite assumption was incorrect. A paper cut would have never killed a man. There was dirt under the nail, which after testing, revealed that he was a cigarette addict. Though I do not currently understand why Molly couldn't see this simply regarding to his mouth, his cause of death was quite evident. Nothing too complicated."

John's chin tilted upwards, since he was incredibly short for his age and he muttered the words "Brilliant, Sherlock" while his eyes met the violinist's.

Sherlock's eyebrows pressed into a line. "Oh, it was nothing."

"No, it is. You're very talented," John assured, bestowing a flick of a nod to the other consulting detective before placing his eyes back onto the ground.

A very brief and faint snort was released of of Sherlock's mouth. "Really?"

John smiled, his fingers unlocking themselves from each other. "I'm positive," he chuckled amusingly, glancing upwards for another brief moment.

"Why, then," Sherlock grinned, "thank you."

"The pleasure was all mine." John babbled, grinning widely himself in return.