"It's her grandson, John! All the signs are there!"

John rolled his eyes for the twentieth time that afternoon. They'd been arguing over this for ages, and Sherlock's bloody "If all else fails, whatever remains must be the truth" theory had left Sherlock with the idea that the grandson was somehow responsible, and had left John with an increasingly bothersome headache and an empty stomach. 

"Sherlock, I doubt her grandson would murder her, and then toss her on the beach with a bunch of cats. There's got to be some other solution."

Sherlock ran his hands through his hair distractedly. The water from the incessant rain that had begun pouring down a couple of hours ago fell in dainty drops from his brown, curly locks. John had the sudden urge to run his hands through Sherlock's hair, so he gave in and reached out a hand to twirl a springy length of hair 'round his index finger. He'd expected Sherlock to bat his hand away irritatedly, but the lanky detective blushed lightly, and gave John one of those rare smiles that the doctor so dearly treasured. It made the man look twenty years younger, and since they were alone, John couldn't resist pressing a gentle kiss onto Sherlock's cupid bow. When he withdrew, John couldn't decide whether Sherlock looked surprised or proud.

Or absolutely besotted.

"You'll get it in the end. You always do. Hurry up so we can go get dinner at Angelo's."

Sherlock nodded briefly. 

"Of course, John. Thank you."

"For what?"

Sherlock looked almost sad for a second, but the expression passed from his face so quickly that John figured he must have misinterpreted. 

"For this, all of this that you're doing. I know it must not come naturally to you, being with a man. With me, really. So thank you."

John raised a hand to Sherlock's cheek, and caressed it gently.

"I won't lie to you. It is hard, especially since it's so new. But that's just it, isn't it? Everything is new with you. New, and hard, and wonderfully complicated, and I couldn't be happier. You don't need to thank me Sherlock. Maybe get milk sometimes, though." He smiled playfully up at Sherlock. Sherlock smiled down, looking like he'd just been given a knighthood. He wrapped John in his coat gratefully, and nuzzled his cheek. 

"Still. Thank you."

John smiled in awe at Sherlock's words.

Sociopath my arse