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It was a scorcher, rare for London weather.
The sun was bright in the cloudless blue sky. Against their better judgment, the baker St. gang had decided to check out some kind of festival happening a few blocks away. All three of them were wearing some variation of shorts and a tee-shirt, even Sherlock, who usually ran cold and opted for long sleeves.
At some point, they’d all gotten sick of the sun and settled into the soft grass under a tree to enjoy the shade after buying some ice cream from a nearby stand.
Sherlock had used his ear-defenders as a headband to push his overgrown hair away from his face and taken his sunglasses off, laying them down in the soft grass as he munched on his ice cream.
John tried not to stare, but he had to admit the man was pretty. Was that a normal thought to be having about your best mate? Who knows, he’d rather not look too deep into that.
Sherlock looked up abruptly, meeting John’s gaze with sharp eyes. For a moment, John panicked. With the way Sherlock looked at him, he swore he could read his mind sometimes. Sherlock’s eyes then flicked to the little styrofoam cup in John’s hand.
“Watson, may I try your ice cream?” He asked simply.
“Oh! Yeah mate, here.” John held the little cup out for Sherlock to take a spoonful. Instead of using his own spoon as intended, the detective leant close, and chomped down on the scoop already on John’s spoon.
John didn’t comment, but a flush that was from more than heat tinted his cheeks.
“Hm. Still not a fan of strawberry.” Sherlock informed him, licking his lips before taking a large bite of his own ice cream, as if to cleanse the taste of John’s.
Sherlock’s gaze fixed on him again, and John hoped he wasn’t red.
“Here, try mine. Lemon.” Sherlock leveled a spoon full of light yellow ice cream at him, his spoon. John swallowed and bit down on the spoon, still in Sherlock’s grasp.
“Mm! Pretty good.” He was pleasantly surprised, it was faintly sour, but mostly tangy and sweet.
Sherlock nodded his head approvingly.
“Y’know, I think they’d go pretty well together.”
“Perhaps so.” They smiled at each other.
Marianna, crouched a few feet away scratching Archie, caught John's eye and waggled her eyebrows at him.
"Watson, have some of my water, you look quite flushed." Sherlock offered his water bottle. John felt his face heat up more as Marianna laughed.