Time Strips the Gears Till You Forget What They Were For

[doctorsoldier]

Continued from here.

The trip home from New Zealand is simply not as pleasant as one should be.  John stares up at the ceiling of the plane, studying the grooves in the walls as they fit together with the rest of the fuselage.  Sarah's very quiet beside him, and not the sort of quiet that happens when one is content and sore from too much holiday

Comments

[couldbdangerous]

Sherlock and Annie exchange the usual pleasantries, the faint nodding of the head in acknowledgement, the lingering eye contact in recognition of one another, and then the silent parting. He wonders when John is going to notice that it's almost exclusively the human waiters who bother to ask him if he wants anything, or who wait for his order when he declines to make one.

Though that could just be written off as reputation, he supposes. John has blogged fussily about his eating habits often enough.

"So," he says finally, once they've been left alone, food and drink on the table between them. Sherlock will pick at the fries to keep up the illusion of eating, perhaps take a mostly harmless few sips of John's drink as the night progresses, but no more. "You're not going to tell me why we're here, then?"

He waves his hand to pre-empt the answer. "To eat and drink, yes, obviously; don't be smart, that's my job. Really, though, John; you can talk to me. I'll listen. That's what friends do, isn't it

[couldbdangerous]

Sherlock sweeps through the flat like the dervish he is, mornings. If there's an extra bit of franticness in his motions this particular one, it's only because he has, against all odds, managed to oversleep despite the fact that androids don't technically do that. Sleeping. Stasis, yes. Sleeping, no. But he'd been comfortable. Not physically; physical comfort is largely a foreign concept to an android. Temperature has no relative value, positioning and support have just as little. Stasis is also possible standing up

[doctorsoldier]

John can sit up straight without wanting to throw up about an hour later and he bleerily pulls the mobile from the table. The screen is a little cracked but otherwise, it works pretty well. Slowly, perhaps, for pulling up his emails, but he's amazed it works. "Damn things are resilient," he murmurs to himself, not giving Sherlock credit if only because it makes little sense to. He has no idea that his flatmate is a genius with electronic hardware. Just software.

He checked his messages, frowns at the texts, laughs over one of the ridiculous cat memes that Molly's sent out (which happens to include an image of a particularly attentive cat staring at something with the post script of: 'Reminds you a bit of Sherlock?'), and showers. He feels immensely better by the time that Sherlock returns.

He even has coffee brewing and has taken some medication to stop the ache behind his eyes.

"No need to kill me, slowly or otherwise," John murmurs, sitting in the kitchen. "I've not vomited."

[couldbdangerous]

Sherlock slides into the chair across from him, bag in hand. "Well, that's good," he announces drily. "Bit of a waste of a trip otherwise

[doctorsoldier]

John almost chokes on his coffee before he recovers. And a good job of it, really, too, considering the subject matter, but he returns the fond smile. His is much less strange than Sherlock's, but he believes the sentiment to be the same. Setting down the cup, he gently moves the bag into his lap. "You don't need to get me a ring if we're already married," John points out. He remembers last night just fine. Being part of Sherlock's work might have been insulting to some, but it's fullfilling to John. No one would likely understand that

[couldbdangerous]

"Shockingly," Sherlock responds, tone indicating annoyance and disbelief, "there doesn't appear to be a single person in the telecommunications industry who owes me any favours. I had to pay for it. With money and everything. And the chocolates as well, so I think you probably owe me at least one of the caramel ones."

At least one. He doesn't wait for John's approval to steal a piece, either. "And people who are married usually wear rings, John, unless they're trying to hide the fact for whatever reason. I can only assume based on your declining to wear one that either you're seeing someone else or you're ashamed of me. Or is it both? Well, it hardly matters. All of those options still make you an unutterably cruel man. I am sorely wounded

[doctorsoldier]

"It has nothing to do with shame," John said, getting into the teasing himself as he popped another chocolate into his mouth. There was a reason that expensive chocolate cost what it did... It was simply delightful. Licking his fingertips, John took another mouthful of coffee. The sugar was delightful. Absolutely what he needed to perk him up after that morning being half dead.

Immediately wanting to pry into the box to test out this new gadget, he glanced up at Sherlock with a smile before he tore the plastic open.

"On the contrary. Means I don't need a ring. I like what we've got and no one needs to define us. If you'd like to wear a ring though... You've got a collection in your costume wardrobe. Pick something simple. I wouldn't have agreed to anything too loud."

And another piece of chocolate before he went for the instruction manual.

[couldbdangerous]

"Alright, fine; but you mustn't be terribly proud of me, in that case," Sherlock responds with a shrug. "Not enough to want everyone to know, anyway. Though I suppose that's understandable, really

[doctorsoldier]

"Do you use big words just to see if I'm paying attention?" John asks, not looking up from the manual even as he turns the power on his mobile on. It makes a satisfyingly happy chirping noise and John grins, content for the moment. "Or is it an attempt to make me feel stupid for not wanting to wear a ring? Bloody things are annoying. You'll just have to go it alone and know that my love for you is stronger than a bit of metal."

He names his phone by typing on it with his thumbs and enters his email address so that outlook with retrieve his messages. He starts to copy his contacts into the phone lovingly as well and turns to snap a photo of Sherlock to attach to his contact screen.

Every time the man texts or rings him now, that stupid face will pop up. Oh, it makes John giddy.

He takes a picture of a few more things as well and practices emailing them to himself. At least he's enjoying the moment so yes, Sherlock's imperative is well taken care of for the time being.

[couldbdangerous]

Sherlock snorts and leans forward to slump over the table, cheek resting on one forearm while he traces absent designs on the table in front of John with his other hand. It's one of the classic indications of restlessness in Sherlock Holmes, this seemingly random act of expression. There's a pattern to it, meaning (or at least some aesthetic sense) inherent in the motions though they're performed more for the tactile input than for anything else

[doctorsoldier]

John's still not paying much attention, or at least, he's too busy fiddling with things that he doesn't bother to look up at Sherlock went he speaks. He just smirks and starts to search for and download apps. The device is brilliant, he determines. It's beautiful. He still can't believe it's his. Or that Sherlock would be so considerate. It has him truly tickled. Even Sarah has stopped being a bad taste in his mouth for a moment.

It's funny what being loved will do to a person.

Sherlock's silence and his actions cause John to nudge the chocolates towards him again as he taps the Angry Birds game. Oh yes oh yes. He needs his games!

"What sort of measures? Shoving me into a jacket and throwing me down the stairs to do an errand for you?"

[couldbdangerous]

"If I wanted your undivided attention, giving you something else to do wouldn't make much sense," Sherlock points out, amusement in his voice. He prefers to remain silent on the subject of what he thinks might actually work, mostly because he rather suspects they won't work if he informs John as to the procedure

[substituteskull]

If John notices, and there's really no reason to suspect he does, he says nothing at all and just allows Sherlock to read over his shoulder while he alternates between manual and device and back again. John's app choices are both in bright, colourful, well ranked silly games and medical applications. The heart monitor and breath meter seem to be specifically aimed at his enjoyment and he may have giggled here or there when he realizes how well something works

[couldbdangerous]

Sherlock straightens in silence and lays his hand atop John's head, expression vaguely thoughtful as he gives John's hair a gentle, fond ruffle. "Good," he murmurs as he steps away, letting his hand fall. "I'm glad

[substituteskull]

It's Mrs. Hudson that breaks the silence, only because she is surprised by Lestrade's quick flight up the stairs to stir her tenants when they've been so very good and quiet lately. No police, no searches, no worry about her herbal soothers-- It's been excellent for everyone, she figures, so the sight of the silver fox of the Yard does not make her pleased

[couldbdangerous]

Sherlock isn't certain he really wins. He certainly doesn't appreciate having been interrupted alone in his flat and wrapped haphazardly in a sheet after the brief shower he'd taken after John's departure. He doesn't need to bathe, generally, but he finds the process pleasing. The sensory isolation helps him to think. He might have to alter his opinion of them, though, if this is something that's going to be happening often