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The case had brought them to the Campania region in Italy, down south. Mycroft had been adamant that Sherlock solved it as soon as possible, something to do with money embezzlement, human trafficking, a pair of Dolce & Gabbana shoes and a compromising picture of an important Italian former politician — no, not that one. John was still lost on the minute details, and he really didn’t want to know because the fewer shady things he knew about, the safer he felt. It had taken Sherlock three days to solve the case, and it had landed them undercover in a busy photoshoot with male Russian models. There had been a chase, tackling and formalities with the police, and by the end of the day, Sherlock and John walked back to their hotels in silence, tired and just needing sleep. They had managed to book one of those joined bedrooms, so they both walked into Sherlock’s bedroom, then parted with quiet good-nights as John went to his own, just to flop onto his own bed and sleep like a baby for eleven hours.
*
When John opened his eyes the next morning, he groaned. Under the heavy sheets, he was soaking wet with sweat. He got out of bed instantly, feeling awful and just plain uncomfortable. It was so fucking hot, Jesus! Deciding to take a cold shower, John quickly removed his sodden T-shirt and boxer, and made his way to the en suite.
Twenty minutes later, showered, shaved and ready to spend a day leisurely in Italy, John knocked on the door of Sherlock’s room, hoping the detective would be up already. ‘Are you up, Sherlock?’ he asked through the door, which opened a few seconds later to show an angry-looking detective.
‘Why is it so hot, John?’ Sherlock asked, eyes wide, hair sticking to his forehead due to sweat. John would have laughed at his friend if he wasn’t so busy trying to very much ignore that ridiculously slow bead of sweat that was making its way down that pale neck.
‘Erm, I think they didn’t turn on the air conditioning,’ John said after clearing his throat. ‘How about you take a cold shower, put on some fresh clothes and we go outside? It’s supposed to be sunny all day.’
Sherlock rolled his eyes but nodded. ‘Anything to get away from his horrible place.’
So John waited as Sherlock took a quick shower and put on his clothes — just the trousers and shirt today, with the sleeves rolled up, because even he knew the jacket and coat would be way too much. John himself was wearing khakis and a blue polo, trying to remain as cool as possible in this horrible heatwave. He checked his mobile while Sherlock got ready and found out that that was supposed to be the hottest day of the year. Sighing, the said it to Sherlock, who groaned as they made their way out of the hotel.
‘Why can’t we just go back to London, then?’ he asked petulantly. John shot him a slight glare.
‘Because I’m tired as hell of coming to all these beautiful places on cases and not being able to enjoy them because we go home as soon as they’re over. We’re in Italy, Sherlock! Let’s go to that beach you mentioned, get some ice cream, enjoy out free time!’
Sherlock rolled his eyes, but didn’t complain any further. He had been much more pliant to John’s wishes lately, and John didn’t know if he liked it or if he should be prepared for some terrible experiment Sherlock was planning in silence. He ignored those thoughts and just enjoyed the delicious Mediterranean wind brushing against his face, smelling slightly of the sea on the coast. They walked leisurely towards Spiaggia del Fornillo beach, one of the best beaches in Italy, according to Sherlock — not that John believe he had ever actually enjoyed any of the Italian beaches, he probably just memorised the statistics. It was a beautiful place, indeed. The sky was particularly bright, not even one cloud in the way of the powerful blue. The water was clear and of different shades of blue and green, and there were boats floating all across the coast.
Closer to the sand, there were lovely little cafes, food stands and restaurants. Sherlock led the way, walking towards one that seemed the emptiest, even though they were all mostly full due to the warm weather and the fact that the summer holidays had the warmest parts of Europe all occupied with tourists. John was content to just walk after Sherlock, not really minding the view at all. The seaside view, that is — John Watson was not in any way whatsoever admiring his best friend’s bottom and how deliciously lush it looked wrapped in those trousers. John cleared his throat and felt himself flush, so he made a point of looking anywhere but at Sherlock, who entered the establishment of his choice, motioning for John to sit in one of the tables on the deck with a view to the sea.
John chose a table that was further away from the other patrons, since he knew Sherlock found it hard to relax with too many people around him, and John really did want Sherlock to enjoy a bit of an overseas holiday. Especially since Mycroft was paying. He leant back on his chair and kept enjoying the winds and the delicious scents and just the sound of people having the time of their lives around him.
Soon, Sherlock joined John, placing a small bowl in front of him.
‘Ice cream?’ asked John with a smile. He noticed that Sherlock had a bowl for himself.
‘Not ice cream, gelato,’ Sherlock corrected. ‘I got you strawberry, since you prefer more bittersweet tastes.’
John smiled wider, picking up his spoon. ‘So what’s the difference between ice cream and gelato?’ he asked, using a very thick mock-Italian accent for the last word, which earned him a chuckle from Sherlock.
‘It’s made differently. It’s softer than regular ice cream, made with little or no air. Also less fat,’ Sherlock explained, humming in pleasure as he tasted his ice cream. John tried his and almost moaned it was so good.
‘This is delicious!’ he said, surprised, as he licked his spoon. He missed the lingering look Sherlock gave his tongue before catching himself and turning away with a simple nod in agreement.
‘Indeed.’
‘Thank you,’ John said, quietly. Sherlock looked at him and nodded once more.
‘It’s just gelato, no worries.’
‘No, I meant… Thank you for staying, and all that. I appreciate you making an effort, that’s all.’ John shrugged and went back to his gelato. Sherlock gave him and meaningful look and placed his spoon back on the bowl.
‘As I said, John, you are my best and only friend, and if accommodating your needs more means I get to spend a relaxing day in one of the most exquisite Italian beaches, enjoying lovely ice cream and good company, I don’t see why I would disagree.’
John burst out laughing. Trust Sherlock to be blunt. But it was a really sweet gesture, and John really did appreciate it. He placed a hand on Sherlock’s forearm and winked.
‘Cheers, mate.’
Sherlock blushed slightly and looked down at his food. He cleared his throat. ‘Eat your ice cream, John.’
John grinned. ‘It’s gelato, Sherlock.’