[ He brought tea. The doctor's eyes rest on the mug placed before him, then flicker up to Sherlock. Even if he doesn't do it, an arch of a brow is implied. The last time Sherlock tried to apologize to him with such a gesture, he'd laced the beverage in question with what he thought might be a hallucinogen. He was wrong, of course, but it was the thought that counted, wasn't it?
It's the thought that counts.
John reaches for the drink a moment later, lifts it to sip. His brow furrows just a tiny bit, but he swallows. ]
Mm. It's cold.
[ But he doesn't give it up, even takes another begrudging sip. He knows why Sherlock is here. He's also aware of how he himself acted and he's a bit sorry for it. But just like Sherlock isn't outright saying it, with being here, with giving this, neither is John. ]
no subject
It's the thought that counts.
John reaches for the drink a moment later, lifts it to sip. His brow furrows just a tiny bit, but he swallows. ]
Mm. It's cold.
[ But he doesn't give it up, even takes another begrudging sip. He knows why Sherlock is here. He's also aware of how he himself acted and he's a bit sorry for it. But just like Sherlock isn't outright saying it, with being here, with giving this, neither is John. ]
What do you need?