John can't help but bite his lip, circumventing a bright smile by making it only half of one. "Hullo. Okay," he says, and he hasn't felt quite this lame about things since he knocked on Q's door that time after their first meeting.
But Q looks good. Really good. And if he says anything else, they're not at all going to get out of this flat. He made reservations. They made plans. They've absolutely got to not have sex immediately.
Flowers surrendered, he puts his smoke out in the nearest ashtray (have the multiplied since meeting?) and definitely watches Q's ass as he goes to situate the flowers (not all roses, because John knows a cliche when he sees one, thanks).