Thirty-Six Questions to Fall in Love

Further Examination

"What would constitute a 'perfect' day for you?" Sherlock and John stopped along a path in the park. And Sherlock wanted to make sure he was looking into John's eyes when he answered... for the study, that is.

"A perfect day? And this is for the experiment, right?" John thought about this for a moment, tugging at his scarf as he searched his brain. "Perhaps a day with no crime. No murders, no violence, nothing like that. Just me, sitting in front of the fire with a good book and some tea."

Sherlock scoffed playfully. "That would be absolutely tedious. I refuse to believe that's your final answer. But I'll respect it nonetheless." He clearly had his perfect day all planned out, and this became evident when he so quickly answered himself. "First, I would receive a good case. Perhaps a serial murder, kidnapping; anything that would interest me. Then I would spend the day solving it, leaving enough time for me to figure out a case that I hadn't been able to solve in the past."

"The great Sherlock Holmes has unsolved cases?" John grinned. "Now that's something." John and Sherlock began walking again in silence.

John noticed that they were nearing the end of the trail so he stopped and looked up at Sherlock. "Perhaps, while we're here, we could do a few more questions?"

"Alright," Sherlock agreed.

John fiddled with the zipper of his coat, pulling it down and then up again. He didn't really notice that he did it, though Sherlock did, and found it both confusing and unnecessary. It was also pretty bloody distracting.

"John," Sherlock began, thinking back to the list of questions in his head. "When was the last time you sang to yourself? When was the last time you sang to someone else?"

John shook his head, a soft smile resting on his lips. "Unfair."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, something he did often. "I'll answer it, too. It isn't uncomfortable unless you make yourself think it is."

"Alright, fine," John said. "I was humming Umbrella by Rihanna in the shower this morning."

Sherlock giggled, his mouth turning up into a tiny v-shape. "No," he said. "You? Rihanna?"

John nodded. "Yes," he replied stoically. "And I've never sung to anyone else."

Sherlock stifled a snort, still stuck on thinking about John singing modern pop songs. John crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows as if to say, "Well? What have you got, then?"

After a moment of thought, Sherlock straightened his spine and said, "The last thing I sang to myself was..." he cleared his throat, trying to keep his dignity as he spoke quickly through the rest of the sentence in hopes that John couldn't understand what he was saying. "Don't Worry, Be Happy by Bobby McFerrin... That was yesterday. I was afraid you'd hear. And I've sung to Mrs. Hudson once. She asked me to, so of course I couldn't decline. Nobody declines Mrs. Hudson."

John nodded in agreement. "Quite right." He was beginning to improve at keeping eye contact steady, and he didn't feel as weird doing it anymore. It must have been the practice.

"Perhaps we should head back now." Sherlock looked down at his watch. "We could go to Angelo's if you wouldn't mind."

"Perfect." John smiled. It was the place that him and Sherlock went while they were solving their very first case together and for some reason everyone kept assuming they were together. "Perhaps we could invite Lestrade? So it's not just us alone together, again."

"Oh-" Sherlock flinched. "I think Lestrade works at night. But... I suppose we could ask him." His smile faded and he picked up his pace.

John noticed and he instantly wanted to take his words back. "Sherlock!" He called out as Sherlock was already a good meter ahead of him. "I didn't mean it like that. We can go to Angelo's, I'm-"

Sherlock paused and looked back at John. "If you were able to live to the age of ninety and retain either the mind or body of a thirty-year-old for the last sixty years of your life, which would you want?"

John felt relieved that Sherlock wasn't as offended by what he said. At least he hoped that's what this meant. "Probably my mind. I can always get surgery, but if I don't have my brain... then what's the point? I wouldn't be me anymore; I'd just be a mentally handicapped version of myself."

Sherlock nodded. "I concur. My mind is what makes me what I am. My traits, my habits, my intelligence. I can't see why anybody would ever choose their body. Who would I be without my mind?" he replied. Then silence again, Sherlock didn't want to go back to their previous conversation. "So we'll go back to our flat?"

John nodded, still feeling a bit guilty for declining the Angelo's offer and wanting to be agreeable to at least something. He put his hands in the pockets of his coat, catching up and walking side-by-side with Sherlock again. "Alright."