Truly John, does your supply of jumpers know no end? John sighed, hanging up his coat.

A knit pine green jumper with four buttons from his sternum up the neck and ridges at the hems and shoulders was donned on his arms and torso, two buttons left undone. This was a jumper that Sherlock had not seen before, and ooh! it appeared to be a Christmas gift from Mary. How nice. Its cold, Sherlock, John told the consulting detective who was in a chair at the desk in the sitting room, laptop open and staring up at him. We live in London, which is known for being cold. And on top of that, its winter. A man can never have too many jumpers. Sherlock huffed lightly, never having taken his eyes from his laptop. John made a relaxed groan as he sat in the chair opposite to Sherlock, the laptop and the desk between them. John looked at Sherlock, and for a moment the men sat in companionable silence. But then John cleared his throat. So anything good? Sherlock hummed. Woman stabbed to death with a spoon. Crime of passion not worth my time. How many jumpers would you say you have, John? John scrunched his eyebrows together. I dont know seven? I never really counted. Why are you suddenly so interested in my jumpers? Mm. Seven most men only have one maybe two. I myself dont own one. Sherlock How often do you wear them nowadays, John? Daily? Twice a week? Three weeks out of a month?

Almost every day at home, considering its winter. Sherlock, come on, tell me what this is about. The detective smiled at him over the laptop before shutting it. Just catchi ng up on the two years Ive missed out on. Any additions to your collection while I was away? John huffed. You mean while you were dead and I was just a shell of myself? Sherlock frowned at him. Im truly sorry about that, John. John just waved his hand. Yeah, yeah, I know. He groaned softly and leaned back in his chair. I did get one or two while you were gone. Mm. Did you have a fondness for them when you were a child? A bit. My gran made them for everyone every Christmas like Mrs Weasely, you know? I dont, Sherlock said just as John finished his sentence. John chuckled. Right of course you dont. And you liked them? Well, mine was always a weird tannish/orange colour, but it was quite comfortable and my parents couldnt stop me from sleeping in them at night. Mm. So you really liked them. A bit much for a boy, but yeah. Anything else? Sherlock was quiet for a moment. He opened his laptop and unlocked it before he started typing again. John sighed. Right. Ill Ill make tea then, shall I? He waited a moment for a response from Sherlock, but got none. John got up from the wooden chair and wandered into the kitchen to start the kettle. A few minutes later both men had a fresh cup of tea at their elbows as they worked; Sherlock on his laptop and John on his smartphone. Whenever you get a new one, email me. Mm sorry? John asked.

A jumper, John, Sherlock stated. Whenever you get a new one, let me know. I want pictures. Why? Sherlock was silent for a moment. He paused typing on his computer, but then slowly resumed. With our current arrangements, I am unable to catalogue things about you as often as Id like. And that includes knowing whats in my wardrobe? Sherlock, again, paused. Yes. A moment of quiet fell between them. Yeah, alright. Sherlock looked at John. Really? John shrugged, pouting his bottom lip briefly. Why not? Youd probably just break into my flat for it anyway. I would not! Yeah, you would, John said with a smirk and a slight sing-song in his voice. Something on his smartphone caught his attention. Oh email from Lestrade. Triple murder it looks like; bodies found in the sewers. Really? Sherlock asked. Details? Water washed away most of the evidence, he says. Forensics are scratching their heads. Hardly a surprise, Sherlock said. He shut his laptop, closing it on a spreadsheet of Johns jumpers and his likelihood of wearing each one. Come on, John, grab your coat. The game is on. End