Sherlock sipped at his tea with his right hand while his left was covered by John's. He didn't want to let go. There was something... familiar about John, something that he couldn't put his finger on.

And that bothered him.

He liked knowing things, and not knowing, it irked him. Why was there a need to be close to John, and why did he seem so.. familiar?

"When do you need to take your next dose of painkillers?" Sherlock asked, not really sure what to say. The silence was relaxing but it was also a bit awkward. Even at the best of time Sherlock's was not good at holding a conversation, and now he had no idea what he should talk about.