I do not own Sherlock. He belongs to BBC.

This is just a little something I came up with while battling insomnia. Apologies for mistakes.

Some hearts are diamonds.

Sherlock Holmes had always been proud of his mind. Yes, he was indeed brilliant but the downside of this brilliance was a fact, that SHerlock needed constant stimulation of his brain. When the lack of it started to geto n his nerves, he became almost un bearable to live with. And he did hate everything and everyone including himself at those times. One of the things he had recently turned to was analyzing John Watson. His flatmate, his coleague of sorts, his personal medical aid in times of need and in those of no need at all. A friend. Was John a friend? The definitions of a person whom you consider a friend had varied from time to time when Sherlock had actually bothered to google the term. Yes, he was familiar with the basic ideas, but human emotions seemed to hi mat most times unnecessary and preposterous.

John Watson had moved in almost a year ago and Sherlock had had many moments of realization about his friend…colleague or whatever he had decided to call John that day. And this man, shorter and sandy haired man with those amazing eyes of his… he was an enigma for Sherlock on many occasions. So when Sherlock got bored, he tried to analyze John.

Of course, it did not take him long to see that doctor's shoes were covered in mud from one partiular place in town where he usually get his lunch if he was working that day. His jacket was wet because it had been snowing that day and John had not used a hat so his hair was wet. He had used an umbrella at some point though…no he had not used an umbrella, he had been in a car. Possibly Mycroft's car. Sherlock did not particulary care why John had been in Mycroft's car this time. He had stopped caring about those facts some time ago after a heated discussion with his brother in which the older Holmes had promised to always deliver John home in one piece and untouched. And if Sherlock knew something, he knew his brother. His brother kept his promises because of their past. And because of their future.

- „Hello, Sherlock, care for some tea?" – it was the first phrase John offered and that got the detective out of his specal mind place and made him actually look at john for the first time that day. The doctor had left while the detective was in his own bedroom trying to understand which ball would fall first to the ground from his window. Not that he cared.

- „Good afternoon John. Tea sounds lovely." – that earned Sherlock a smile and that smile was a source for new ideas in detective's head.
Did smiling to somebody declare a deeper meaning to the smile or it was just a smile. Did John's mood got better after he had smiled at Sherlock or did he try to fake it. Although he would have noticed any faked emotions from John's facial expression, the doctor had turned his back on the detective still on the sofa.

- „I went grocery shopping", - the doctor's voice once again cancelled the last thought that was running through Sherlock's head. – „And I got milk and fresh tea and sugar. Have you eaten yet?" –

-„I was going to order take out with you tonight and watch Doctor Who on the telly"-

- „You mean I was going to order our take out Indian food and then provide you with tea and cookies afterwards while you are trying to glue yourself to Doctor's face" –

Sherlock could only offer a grin in return and John threw his head back and laughed that amazingly melodic laughter which always sent a chill through Sherlock's upper body and he could feel the hairs on his neck stand up. This was one of those thing and now he remembered. John's laugh was fascinating. It had many colours and shades, tones and the meaning of those was always so refreshing to hear.

Sherlock Holmes was a brilliant man that was for sure. But he always enjoyed these quiet evening with John or sometimes John and Lestrade. Even Mycroft seemed more tolerable when he decided do drop in for a visit on some of these evenings. He usually drank wine and did not insult Sherlock's lack of social skill or personal hygene or any other of the trivial things he sometimes offered his opinions about. They watched Doctor Who and Lestrade played Scrabble with John drinking beer. Nice and quiet evenings when the mind of the detective was snoozing in the corner in his mind place. It did not happen often and if it did, it would have gotten Sherlock bored.

- „You make excellent tea, doctor Watson"- he had no idea where that had come from.

- „Thank you master detective" – and that had just earned Sherlock another smile.

Life was good.