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"Sherlock?" John's voice drifted down from his room. The detective was hunched over a rack full of smoking test tubes, a barely audible grunt resonated from the back of his throat to let the doctor know where he was while he added a powdery mixture to one of the vials. Audible enough, apparently, since the doctor continued while he walked down the stairs, "I'm going out." "Again?" it could have almost been a whine, if it hadn't come from Sherlock. John gave an exasperated sigh, "What do you mean again? You've barely let me out of your sight since the Moriarty incident." If he hadn't been watching he might've missed the flinch that the detective almost managed to hide. John took the next low grunt as a sign to leave, barely hearing the "We're out of milk" as the door-clicked shut.

Sherlock forced himself to wait 5 minutes before following John, using the time to watch him from the window. Thankfully, when the detective got out, the doctor was still in sight; apparently the psychosomatic limp must have made a reappearance; that would have to be taken care of later though. For now though Sherlock's attention set more on where and what his doctor was up to. The first stop was a pub just 5 blocks away, but the shortened trip didn't make his observations any easier. Every few feet he'd have to duck around a corner or behind another person, (incredibly difficult when he had to double over to conceal himself.) Finally they made it into the building, John sitting at the bar, Sherlock in a darkened corner. His brain, at least, was free enough from worrying about John to order a drink to stay inconspicuous. To keep the doctor's suspicion at bay the detective entertained himself by deducing people's lives. With just a few sideways glances he found that the couple sitting to the right of him was unhappy, sweetly exchanging false smiles. He knew of course that the woman was married to two men, (given away by the mismatched rings, the guy hadn't noticed yet) and obviously the man was into the relationship for the money, his poor etiquette (even by Sherlock's standard) and him eyeing the pearls around the woman's neck. Satisfied that he had waited long enough he chanced a glance back to his current case, instantly surprised. There John was sitting at the bar, chatting up a woman. He watched on intrigued, the blonde occasionally brushing his hands against hers, or touching her arm, even so far as sweeping strands of fallen hair away from her face. Taking a moment to think Sherlock concluded that he was going to have to try these himself.

Slowly the evening passed, the woman didn't stick around long, though John didn't seem to mind. From where Sherlock was sitting he could tell the doctor hadn't drunk much, although he seemed to have a pleased smile, amusing himself by spinning back and forth on the barstool. Sipping the last of his banana daiquiri, John paid his tab and headed towards the door. The detective had just enough time to snatch a bar menu to keep from being discovered. He once again slowly slipped from the pub to follow his partner. This time he wasn't exactly sure on where John was going, he was slightly surprised by how well the doctor seemed to be navigating the darkened streets. Although they've been together for a few months now, he must have been paying attention all the times he was drug around. There was a prideful smile pulling at the brunette's features. Breaking his thoughts Sherlock watched as the blonde entered another building, a bookies shop. Another feeling of pride swelled, he knew the soldier was anything but a saint, but he was always amused when what John thought to be his well kept secret came to light. At least he was responsible and only bet a few pounds on the races. Watching on Sherlock's thoughts once again wandered to night's earlier conversations, and John was right, Sherlock hadn't let him out of his sight since Moriarty, but he didn't intend to do so any time soon. And again the detective was roused from his thoughts by his phone vibrating. Curiously Sherlock swiftly pulled out his phone and checked the messages.

To quote a certain consulting detective; I'm bored. –John

Chuckling he responded with,

My problem how? –SH.

He decided not to put his phone away and watched as John's phone apparently received his response. The smile returned to the doctor's features as he tapped away.

"It's not. What're you up to?" –John

"Working on a new case –SH,

"I'll be right there –John"

There was only a moment of panic since Sherlock quickly composed himself, amazed by how quickly John could get his coat on and head towards the door, and tapped out

"No need, the case was so easy that I could tell Lestrade is out sick and Andersons running things. –SH"

Thankfully John was across a crowded room and got the message before getting half way towards the exit. He watched as the doctor slowly returned to his spot, his shoulders slightly sagging, and the light that had invaded his eyes die. He'd make it up to him, eventually. Finally becoming bored and not wanting to go home yet, Sherlock decided to cut the ruse and start towards John. He waited until the doctor's attention was set fully on the something else. Thankfully he was fairly drunk and not much seemed to rouse his awareness. Slowly the detective slid up behind the blond and slipped his arms around the doctor's waist, resting his chin on the crown of John's head.

Instantly John tensed, afraid of who was behind him, not looking down at the slender arms that were suddenly around him. He heard the intruder sigh and say, "relax" in a low familiar voice. Immediately the doctor relaxed against the taller man, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. He cleared his throat and tilted his head backwards to look at Sherlock, "How long have you been following me?" To answer the detective shuffled an arm upwards to look at his watch, "When did you leave?" he asked sarcastically. With a huff John somehow slid further back into his partners arms. Slipping Sherlock's hand upwards he checked the time seriously and was surprised to see that he had been out for more than 4 hours. Slowly a smile drifted back when he figured out how long Sherlock had actually followed him. With a yawn John turned, linked arms with the detective, and leaned his head on the others shoulder. "Let's go home." Sherlock grunted happily in agreement as they made their way out. While on the street the brunette's curiosity got the better of him. "So, when did you start?" taken aback John answered honestly, "Since before I shipped out." With a satisfied sigh, Sherlock replied, " I told you no one was a hero." He then placed a chaste kiss on the top of John's head. An exasperated puff of air ghosted out in front of them. "Piss off."