The distant awareness that they are being ridiculous has sat with John long enough that he can almost ignore it. It doesn't matter as much as the feeling of Martin's hand curled around his, or the weighted glances they exchange, or the assortment of possibilities he's mentally ticking through regarding what they might do once they're back home. He still feels that itch to overwrite their last investigation as thoroughly as possible. Granted, the bar is set in the bloody bathypelagic zone, but that's why he doesn't want to simply clear it so much as he wants to render it obsolete. When they next think of investigations that went a little awry, he'd much rather they thought of this.

Which means this needs to be memorable.

He's running some risk of overthinking it as they make their brisk way to the Bramford. But then Martin giggles, a sheepish, giddy sound that startles John out of his head and back into the moment. He glances over at Martin, an answering smile tugging at his own lips. There's no need to plan anything; he knows what Martin likes, and he wants to make him happy, and that's always been enough. He'll just... play it by ear.

So when Martin unexpectedly rounds on him the moment they're indoors, tugging him into a kiss by the strap of his bag, John meets him eagerly. His hands settle at Martin's waist, and he makes a soft, delightedly scandalized noise in the back of his throat — the closest he can get to 'Mister Blackwood' with his mouth otherwise occupied — before he starts to slowly back Martin down the hall, towards their door. Breaking the kiss, John pauses just long enough to murmur, "Cheeky." And then he presses forward again, ducking a little until his lips find the soft arch of Martin throat.