"Seriously, stop it--he's never going to bring us bread at this rate--"

There was nothing for it. The entirety of London could have been watching, and he wouldn't have known it.

He reached over, laying his free hand on John's shoulder to steady himself. It was a gesture of easy intimacy, and a very damning one--one that even the casual observer would have picked up on in a flash--but, at least for that moment, Sherlock was comfortable. Visibly, openly happy.