John would be a creature of habit if he had ones that he could attend to. Aside from his morning tea ritual, though, most of what he'd do at home isn't available. Searching the papers and his blog for likely cases that might interest Sherlock doesn't hold any particular relevance when the man's off in some other universe. Going to the clinic isn't an option, though John supposes that will sort itself out in a few days with the position at the Academy. Calling his mates out for a trip to a football match or the pub doesn't work, either, when he hasn't many to speak of.

He has acquaintances, though, and he recognizes Will's mop of hair on the bank side of the river walk. The dog by his side makes the picture of a man fishing all the more idyllic. Odd to think just a short time ago this place had been iced over and infested with pixies.

Continuing his stroll past Will does hold some preference what with the awkward end of their texting. Tip-toeing around someone who's in the same situation as himself would be stupid, though. John licks his lips, then makes his decision. He strides off the path and down to where Will's set up camp.

John's body language is tense as he comes to a halt a polite talking distance from the other man. "Looks like you've found a nice hobby." He switches from tense to awkward as he rolls his good shoulder unconsciously. "I wanted to apologize for the other day. Got a bit more intense than I meant to."