"Christ," John murmurs, impressed. He doesn't think he's seen such tidy work that wasn't done by machine, and he can't imagine how difficult or finicky it would be to do as much by hand. He almost asks if he can take a closer look, but the beep from the kettle reminds him that there's tea to be made — and a more pressing, if less safe, topic of conversation than Jack's embroidery skills.

John straightens, then turns back to the tea station so prepare them each a cup. "Eliot does have a rather developed sense of style," he muses as he plunks a teabag in each mug and pours hot water over them, "so that does seem like the sort of gift he would appreciate. As to whether it's romantic..." John cants his head briefly, then shakes it. "I'm of the opinion that nothing is inherently romantic, quite frankly. If that isn't your intention, then that isn't what it is." The alternative — that some otherwise neutral gestures are off-limits because someone, somewhere, might potentially get the wrong idea — is absurd.