So be it. Sherlock takes John's side, then, and that's the end of it. The end of the question, anyway – there's plenty more to say on the subject, most of it in jest.

“Mmm, don't know,” he says thoughtfully, “got to think about your reputation, your career – nobody's going to want to hire a Healer who snogs psychopaths. Particularly bad business at St. Mungo's, I expect; good luck there.”

He clicks his tongue, a bit of sympathetic fussing. Where they'll go today he doesn't know exactly; probably one of the higher floors, but he hasn't planned. No particular room in mind. Normally he would know, have worked it all out precisely, but this way gives them more time to wander which, for whatever odd reason, he finds desirable.

Definitely peculiar, though. He never has favoured such things before.

“On the other hand I must be quite good at it now, given how often it's come up. Also quite good at plotting murder, that's a popular one, though one would think if I'm so fond of it and so practiced I'd have managed to actually off someone by now which, regrettably, doesn't seem to have happened yet.”