Oneword: Nourish

John settled into the armchair across from Sherlock with a bit of a sigh. He had already written up their last case, replied to all the comments, checked his email, done the shopping, put away the clean dishes, and visited with Mrs. Husdon for a while. Now he found himself in the curious predicament of boredom. He steepled his fingers under his chin in an imitation of his friend, who was occupied with a thick textbook on pathology.

"Bored."

Sherlock lifted his gaze to meet John's and lifted an eyebrow, unamused. "And?"

John smiled wistfully and wished he'd learned an instrument as a child, so as to practice on it at times like these. He wondered if anything good was on the telly, but the prospects on a Saturday morning were grim. "Let's go somewhere," he whined, "I'm sick of just sitting around with nothing to do."

"YOU can go somewhere," Sherlock drawled, turning to a new page on influenza, "I'm busy." He read for a moment longer, skin burning under John's focused gaze, before adding, "I brought you a book."

John raised his eyebrows, "You what?" It was unlike the detective to bring John things unprompted, so of course there must be a catch.

"It's on my bed, if you're interested. I thought it might nourish your vivid sense of imagination." He smiled gently as the bored doctor wandered into his bedroom and back, running his fingers over the worn cover of the Odyssey.

"Thanks," John smiled back at Sherlock, "It's just what I needed." He settled in for a good read and figured he would deal with any ulterior motives later.