Put the Violin down part 3

Continuation of Violin - where Sherlock finds John

John saw Sherlock whisk past into the kitchen from his peripheral vision, and creased his eyes shut again. This was beyond awkward; two adult men not talking to each other over something that didn't happen. Or wouldn't happen. Wait – what would that something be? He daren't think about it.

To escape the oppressive air forcing its way down his throat he threw the cushion on the patterned floor and stood, stronger on his feet with the resolution that some fresh air would do him good. Quietly, with practiced stealth, he limped down the stairs of 221b Baker Street and slipped out the door, closing it gently so as not to disturb any mind twisting experiment Sherlock was currently conducting in their kitchenette.

Now he was out, he didn't know where to go. There was nowhere else to go; he had just walked out of the only 'home' he had known since returning to England. But he could smell something gorgeous wafting down the street from the general direction of Angelo's cafe, so he followed it like a bloodhound faithful to the call of jam filled pastries; sandy blond hair ruffled in the breeze as if by a phantom hand. The same breeze crept cold fingers up his chest, regardless of the thick woollen jumper he had worn since – since, he didn't know. John decided he didn't precisely care at that moment, and continued down the street hugging himself warm. Life was so complicated sometimes.


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Sherlock's eyes darted across the room. Where was he? He began a mental inventory. John; absent (Come on don't be obvious man!)John's Coat; present (unplanned outing at this time of night – somewhere familiar) John's shoes; present(he is in slippers – not far) ANGELO'S!

Observations stacked neatly in his mind like invoices, he set the chipped cups down with a splash, adding to the canvas of tea stains already gracing the wood. Heedless of the mess he was creating, Sherlock grabbed his trench coat, closest pair of shoes and the green coat hung over the chair, and then bolted from the room.

On his way down the staircase he whisked past Mrs. Hudson "Off dear? Shall I..."

"No time Mrs. Hudson, I must find John!" He cut her short with a peck on the cheek and a spin of his heels. Bursting out the door he threw his head left and right, arching his back to peer into the darkened streets searching for his bemused flatmate. He had something he wanted to tell him.

There he was, a clearly cold man drifting through the streetlights, in the direction of their regular tea shop as he had predicted.
Now, Sherlock was well known for despising exercise of anything but the mind, but his lithe body and long legs made quick work of the cobblestones between them.  

"Sherlock? I... what are you doing here I thought you were... um..ex..per..i..ment..ing?" John inquired quizzically, drawing out the last word in his confusion.

"Oh, yes. Right. No." He gestured weakly towards the green coat. " I was... you forgot your coat" he finished lamely, laying the offending article of clothing around John's shoulders; shoving his hands deep into his pockets and his chin even deeper in his scarf. "Shall we go in? " He nodded his head towards the warm orange rectangle that was the door to Angelo's.