"John! John, is that you?"

"Yes, of course. Who else would it be?"

"Well seeing as how all of London knows where I live because of your ridiculous blog, it could be anybody coming through the front door."

John Watson heaved a sigh as he stepped into the flat, a paper bag heavy with groceries in one arm and the very rarely charming but never boring Sherlock Holmes' dry-cleaning draped over the other. He scanned the living room quickly, checking for any new damage the detective could have done while he was away. Satisfied with the relative neatness of the room, John made his way into the kitchen just as his flatmate burst into the room from upstairs.

"We've been presented with a delightfully interesting new case! A whole family was murdered! Isn't that wonderful?" Sherlock said, his voice dripping with excitement.

"For you maybe," John replied as he began putting away the groceries. He opened the fridge and instead of grimacing at the several plastic bags whose contents were very bloody, he simply pushed them aside and placed the carton of juice on the shelf.

"Don't be so depressing, John." The doctor shook his head in dismay, closed the fridge and turned as he heard the muffled footsteps of his flatmate enter the kitchen. John's navy eyes widened and he let out a small chuckle.

"I see you've forgotten your trousers again." The detective stood in just a long-sleeved shirt, a pair of white socks, and blue plaid boxers.

"Not quite. I was in the middle of dressing when you arrived. What does it matter anyways? It's just you," Sherlock muttered as he began rummaging through the groceries. "No cigarettes?" Disappointment flickered momentarily in the man's silver eyes and John smiled, reaching into his coat pocket and retrieving a pack of Sherlock's favorite cigarettes. "Thank you John, you never do disappoint me." He reached across the counter and plucked the pack from the smaller man's hand. John felt a small flutter in his chest and the tips of his ears burned red as their fingers brushed.

"Well, um. Good," he stammered in reply and he saw the corners of Sherlock's lips curl into a small smile. "Oh, what are you grinning about?" John snapped, absentmindedly reaching for the box of cereal on the counter.

"You, my dear John."

"What about me?"

"You're so... charming." Sherlock's voice was barely louder than a whisper but the words made John's knees weak. His hands trembled as he put away the cereal and he tried his best to fight back a smile.

Only a few moments of silence passed before Sherlock's phone went off from somewhere in the other room. The detective rushed to find it and John watched as he typed a hurried reply to whomever it was. "I suppose we should visit the crime scene, Lestrade is growing impatient and it's really rather annoying." Sherlock turned toward the front door, beckoning John with a wave of his hand.

"Sherlock! Hold on a minute, you've forgotten something."

"And what is that?" The detective looked frustrated as he cast his silver gaze on John and once again the doctor felt weak in the knees.

"Your trousers, Sherlock."

"Oh! Well, um. Yes, of course." Sherlock veered off in the direction of his bedroom and as he disappeared up the stairs, he shouted back to John, "What would I do without you?"

"Probably the same thing I would do without you; die." John's whispered words went unheard by the detective. Besides, John could barely hear them himself for his heart was pounding so loudly in his chest it was amazing that Sherlock hadn't noticed.

In fact, there were several things about John that Sherlock didn't notice.