#johnxsherlock

“No words needed” Day 5/30: Kissing 

colored and shaded a couple of baker street boiz 🐝🔎

In the first episode “A Study in Pink,” when they’re in the restaurant and they’re talking about relationships and then the whole like john and sherlock being weird about the gAyS or whatever that scene is and like sherlock is all I’m flattered but like I’m married to my work or sumn like that,, Sherlock is so intelligent and can read someone’s body language and shit so like john must have been totally looking like that’s what he meant- like b r u h john was giving off major bi signals and sherlock was like wOaH tHeRe bUdDy,, wE jUsT mEt

Say My Name (M) | John accidentally says the wrong name during sex with his date.

This is a lighthearted comedic oneshot I randomly decided to write because of a conversation I had with the awesome @imaroyaltea. It’s rated mature and labeled “semi-smut” because they don’t go all the way, but there is some adultish language/terms, so viewer discretion is always advised.

John’s muscular hands sculpted the beautiful feminine curvature of his date’s body, their lips joined together like slotted puzzle pieces. Her top was the first item of clothing to go, followed by his jumper, then her skirt and finally his trousers. He reached around her back and moved her long brunette hair out of the way, fingers ghosting over the clasp of her bra. Quickly, with one motion, he unlatched it and let it fall, much like the other pieces of clothing. She moaned as he grasped her breasts, and in return, she cupped his growing erection through his pants, earning a moan back from him.

John couldn’t recall when they began to move, but they made it to the bed, and in a flurry of movements he was on top of her as they both lay, consumed by sheets and comforters made that morning. The duvet crinkled under their weight as they shifted, his hips slotted perfectly in between her shaved, caramel legs. He rolled them, his groin creating a much needed friction between their eager and ready bodies.

John had just managed to reach over into his bedside table to grab the condoms he kept hidden in there, before his pants were ripped off and thrown to the floor. He gasped as the cool air of his room hit penis, and shimmied the girl’s down, leaving them both bare and wanting. Hungrily, he found himself licking his lips, and attacking the soft skin of her neck.

She moaned, and switched their positions so that she was on top. She sunk down John body in her gorgeous bareness, and all he could do was watch in awe. His date grabbed the base of his penis and teasingly licked the head with her tongue, making his body twitch. Then she placed her soft pink lips around him, and slid down, sending shivers down his spine.

John almost lost it when her lips met the skin at the base, where her hand had been seconds previous. He resisted the urge to buck his hips and moaned, head already reeling. Then she began to suck and oh god-

“Sherlock~!” He gasped out, before everything froze. Immediately his date pulled off of him and crossed her arms, glaring daggers.

“That’s not my name.” She fumed, visibly angry.

John could only blush, embarrassed. Of course she’d be mad, what else did he expect. He just moaned the name of a bloke, who happened to be his bloody flatmate no less. Why had he done that?

“Sorry, uh, how about we ignore that, and continue?” She raised a brow at him, but leaned back down, picking up where she left off.

John moaned again, this time making sure he didn’t say his friend’s name. Though it wasn’t long until his body was losing control, and again the name slipped past his parted lips like silk through his fingers.

The girl once again pulled off, but this time had no intention on coming back. With a huff she quickly threw her clothes back on, and John was left running after her as she made her way downstairs into the flat.

She just made it to the door when John stopped her, begging for her return. He was now only covered by the fabric of his pants, which hung loosely from his hips as his erection was only half hard now. Running really wasn’t a turn on.

“Sarah, please wait-“

“That’s not my name either, John.”

“Nicole?”

“No.”

“Bridget.”

“It’s Brenda. Not Sarah, not Nicole, not Bridget, or Sherlock!” She snapped, before casting her gaze into the living room.

It was then that they noticed the lean figure, whose body laid across the surface area of the sofa. John blushed, as he realized the other male was watching, and no doubt hearing their argument. Brenda, who apparently caught on who the person was, stood tall before leaving, slamming the door behind her. She left John standing there, almost naked, completely dumbfounded.

The presence on the other side of the room made itself known once more as they lifted their head, causing him to glance over. Sherlock’s and John’s gazes met, his multi-coloured eyes piercing into his own dark blue ones. It was then that the doctor noticed his friend’s eyes cast downward, landing upon his deflated dick behind his wrinkled pants.

He drew in a breath, finding himself excite at the thought of Sherlock liking what he saw. And apparently he did, because as John felt himself harden again, Sherlock slipped off the couch and made his way over. Again, the shorter male gasped, blushing under the scrutiny of his detective friend.

They stayed what seemed like forever, just a mere few inches apart, before Sherlock was leaning down elegantly, alike most of the stuff he did, and whispering into his flatmate’s ear.

“How about we go back upstairs and make you say my name again?” He inquired, to which the older male found impossible not to accept.

Sherlock was released from the hospital about two weeks after being admitted. He was well enough to leave, and was prescribed an ointment that he would have to apply for two more weeks to make sure the skin on his back didn’t scar too badly.

Of course, Sherlock was more worried about staining his clothes rather than permanently maring his skin. John actually sat in the room every morning and evening Sherlock had to apply the ointment, and even bought him undershirts so that he wouldn’t be so worried about his clothing.,

The… romantic side of their relationship was more… complicated. They had gotten numerous cases back to back since Sherlock had returned home, and during those times, Sherlock had made a rule of ‘no romantic contact’ during cases. That meant no hugging, no cuddling, no holding hands, nothing. John was starting to wonder what the point of declaring their feelings were if they weren’t doing anything romantic.

One day John had been at home reading the paper during this bout of nothing but cases when Sherlock tugged the paper out of his hands and practically threw himself over John’s lap. This was completely out of nowhere… and now Sherlock was just lying longways across John’s chair, not saying anything. John didn’t exactly know what to do, or what to say to this.

After a minute of silence, Sherlock looked up at John expectantly.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Aren’t you supposed to start cuddling me or some insipid thing like that?”

Seriously, he’s doing this now!? The fact that he was expecting this kind of thing while also being a dick about it honestly pissed John off. He had been patient and understanding, but Sherlock was pushing it.

“You’ve been saying ‘no romantic contact’ for the past three weeks, so this is a bit sudden. What do you expect me to do when you’ve just been focused on The Work and acting antisocial like nothing happened?”

Sherlock just gave John an unamused look.

“You have been irritated by the restrictions being in place, I assumed you would have been eager to start romantic interludes once more.”

“Well maybe if you did something nice, I would be more inclined to be romantic.”

“How about dinner at Le Bistro du Breton?”

Well, that was one way to make up for the lack of romance. Le Bistro du Breton was a five star French gourmet restaurant in central London that was practically made for people like Mycroft or the Prime Minister. Thing was, you had to make reservations a week to three weeks in advance to even get a table for two, and the food was astronomically expensive. John thought Sherlock had been too focused on cases to even think about romantic gestures to even make a reservation.

“How did you… when did you..?”

“I made a reservation three hours ago for tonight at eight (the owner owes me a favor). I had foreseen that you would be irritated about the restrictions, and decided that a proper date at an expensive venue would help us ‘make up’ so to say.”

“But isn’t it insanely expensive? I heard just one bottle of wine costs £2,000.”

“I have an inheritance, and the last case paid me over £9,000. It wasn’t even a particularly interesting case, but you’ve been moaning at me about money and bills since you’ve moved in. Since we are living together, and our relationship has moved beyond friendship, it would be proper for me to pay my part.”

Sherlock took a case because John nagged about money? That was honestly one of the nicest things he had ever done for him. This was the same man who when given a five figure advance by that prick Sebastian Wilkes, he said, ‘I don’t need an incentive, Sebastian.’ John didn’t know why such a small thing like taking an uninteresting case was such a big deal, but it was the first time he didn’t feel like his ‘moaning about money’ had gone to waste. Not to mention it was a stolen art case, and Sherlock had even declared it a five after the fact.

But, of course, he ruined the moment of endearment.

“But you will not be wearing that horrid brown suit you wore when you had that date with Sarah.” He sat as he stood up and started pacing, “It is a black suit black tie establishment, and I do not wish to embarrass myself by being thrown out for inappropriate attire.”

“Prick.” John remarked.

It wasn’t like John had planned on going to major social events when he left for the army, or even when he was sent home. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t think anything would happen to him after his tour in Afghanistan, let alone an explosion from a psychotic crime boss. It wasn’t on his list to get brand new clothing when he returned home.

John looked at his watch and saw it was almost 11 am. They had more than enough time to head to a store to pick out a nice suit for the restaurant. He sighed.

“Fine, we can get a suit from-.”

“My tailor’s establishment.” Sherlock cut in. “I’ll only accept the finest suit on this date as it is one of the finest restaurants in London.”

This… sounded a bit like a case. The way that Sherlock was coaching John about appearances was similar to how they had to go undercover a month ago, and Sherlock had gotten every possible garment to use on the case. Not to mention he hadn’t finished their current case yet, which made John even more suspicious. John gave his - Sherlock, a skeptical look.

“You’re making us go undercover, aren’t you?”

Instead of denying it, Sherlock gave a roll of his eyes.

“Is it not possible to multitask by going on an actual date as our cover?”

“Wait, hold on,” John said as he got up. “You were going to trick me into a date so that we could catch our suspect?”

“You are a terrible liar, John, and I’m sure my brother plans on exploiting that fact.” Sherlock took out his phone, clicked pushed a few buttons, and showed John a picture of a man who was heavy with black balding hair, an expensive looking suit, gold chains, and rings. He looked like a classic mobster if John had ever seen one. “This is the lynchpin in our case: Antonio Mendoza. He heads a sex-trafficking/smuggling ring here in London, and will be dining at Le Bistro du Breton tonight at 9:30. I had planned our dinner so that we would not only be seen as part of the crowd when he arrived, but also have an actual date before we pursued and arrested him. The owner was more than happy to assist me by removing a different date from the roster tonight as he had a brush with Mendoza a few years back, almost putting him in jail for drug possession charges.”

It was true that John wasn’t a terribly good actor, he’d been rubbish in school plays, but it kind of stung that Sherlock would state it so bluntly. It didn’t exactly excuse the fact that Sherlock was trying to trick him… yet it probably wouldn’t be them if they didn’t solve a crime on the side, would it? Still, he shouldn’t have lied to John to make it ‘convincing’.

“You didn’t have to lie to me about that.” John said as he gave Sherlock his phone back. “I mean, I’m okay with catching a criminal as part of our date, but trying to trick me into it isn’t okay.”

“Unfortunately, I was given conflicting reports as to whether he was dining with a woman, or with a business associate. If his dinner is with a date, your acting wouldn’t matter as he would be distracted, but with a business associate, your lying would be able to be detected.”

“Then why not create a contingency plan?”

“I have everything planned out.”

“Well then let me pitch a solution to our problem, because there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go on a date with someone in my place.”

“But it wouldn’t be a real date if I took someone in your place, so why would you care?”

“Because-!” John obviously needed to explain what he was talking about, so he took a deep breath. “Listen, it’s not a thing of it being real or not, I know it wouldn’t be real, but where the hell would I be if you needed me? And honestly… I don’t want to… share you, if that makes sense. Unless we had agreed to something where you would, say, have to seduce someone for information or chat someone up to trick them, I’m just not okay with it.”

Sherlock looked to be analyzing him. John hoped that from Sherlock’s observations, he would understand that John didn’t want him to just take someone else on their date, no matter if it was for a case. He had waited for almost a year and a half to finally tell Sherlock how he felt, and now that they were (sort of) together, he didn’t want to waste a perfectly good crime-solving date that would be their first date.

Eventually, Sherlock sat down in his respective chair and crossed one leg over the other.

“What is your solution to our situation?” Sherlock asked.

John sat down in his own chair and answered,

“If Mendoza is such a shallow man that he’s easily distracted by attractive women, why not have a Yarder go in undercover as an attractive date to a different undercover officer?”

It seemed pretty simple: Mendoza objectified women, therefore they needed a sexy woman in the restaurant to distract him. It would probably work whether or not he had a date. He hated that they would need to objectify a woman to get their suspect, but they didn’t exactly have other options. Sherlock clasped his hands under his chin and studied John intently before he said,

“And there is absolutely no way you would let me take an actor or undercover Yard officer as my date?”

“Basically.”

“And why would it be such an issue?”

“Well - I mean - you’re actually very… attractive, and we sort of told each other that we like each other more than friends do, so I would think it’d be obvious why it’s an issue. Just to be clear, Sherlock, how many relationships have you actually been in?”

“Ten, four in secondary school, five in university, and one that was… complicated throughout university.”

“And how did those go? Did you feel jealous at all when they hung out with other people? Or made a last-minute cancellation to do something else?”

“Actually, no, to me relationships were just side-projects to the main goal of going through schooling and solving cases, or at times to go and get high. There had been a few sexual exploits within those relationships, but also a few I cannot remember because I was high at the time.”

That just halted everything in John’s mind. Could Sherlock have an STD because of those times he was blacked out. Just doing heroin in a drug den alone would be a high risk of HIV or AIDS from unclean needles, but could there be other diseases because of the random sexual partners? As a doctor (and lover of sorts), John needed to know if Sherlock had any diseases because of his years of drug abuse.

On top of that, Sherlock saw relationships as ‘side projects’. Really? What did that make their relationship? Was it another boredom-filler for him? If that were the case, John would call the whole thing off if Sherlock was willing to use him that way.

“And before you ask your question, I shall answer it: Mycroft forced me to have STD testing whilst I was in rehab, and it came back negative. I haven’t had sexual intercourse with anyone since my second year at University.”

“Really? You haven’t had sex with anyone since Uni?”

“There hasn’t been a need for that form of stimulation in any way except manual.”

“Uh huh…”

John looked down at his shoes in thought. He didn’t exactly know if Sherlock considered their ‘relationship’ a side project, it was honestly hard to tell. For all he knew, Sherlock could just be pitying him since they were good friends. Then again, Sherlock didn’t do pity unless it would directly benefit him… maybe he would ask during the date.

***

The trip to the tailors was surprisingly brief (Sherlock had secretly gotten John’s measurements by going through his wardrobe), so when they returned to the flat, Sherlock updated him as to who Mendoza was.

According to the intel, Antonio Mendoza was the oldest of three brothers, age 53, originally from the Philippines though his parents were from Spain, and he was the head of a sex trafficking/smuggling ring. He would actually make some of the sex slaves carry drugs inside of them when they crossed the borders into different countries for ‘maximum efficiency’. If they brought him down, the entire network would be brought down.

Why Sherlock had been brought in was because the Prime Minister’s daughter had been kidnapped by three men after she had left her school, and Sherlock had been tracking down her kidnappers. From his intel, Mendoza hadn’t sold the Prime Minister’s daughter into slavery, rather he had been keeping her as leverage to get a considerable amount of money and immunity. He also liked to do business deals and go on dates at Le Bistro du Breton because of the food, hence why they were going there tonight.

John had decided to take a quick trip out beforehand as he wanted to look his best for their date… crime solving… (he didn’t exactly know what to call it). He had gotten a haircut since his hair was a getting a bit long, and looking a bit younger with shaggy hair worked in other situations, not on an undercover date at such a high-class establishment as Le Bistro du Breton.

When he returned home at around 5 pm, Sherlock was in his chair in his thinking pose. He hadn’t moved since John had left an hour ago, so it was possible that he didn’t even know John had left. That hypothesis was disproved when Sherlock gave him a once over, and said,

“You changed your hair.”

“I told you I was going out to get a haircut.”

“It looks… shorter than you usually keep it.”

John sat down in his chair.

“Well the longer hair works for going to a Chinese Circus that’s actually a smuggling gang, not so much for going to an extremely expensive and posh restaurant.”

“Do you expect me to use obscene amounts of product in my hair to flatten it and slick it back?”

“Funny.” John said with blatant sarcasm. “Is this your way of telling me you hate my haircut?”

“I was merely making an observation… and I do actually like your short hair.” Sherlock said with a faint blush. He was silent for a moment before clearing his throat and standing up. “We should start preparing for tonight. I ordered a limousine that will arrive at 7:30.”

Apparently, that was the end of that conversation because the doorbell rang, and when Sherlock came back upstairs after answering it, he was holding a suit bag from his tailor’s shop. Damn they’re fast was all John could think.

They got ready as Sherlock relayed his plan, and didn’t in fact slick his hair back with ‘obscene amounts of product’. It was a bit disappointing, but the detective was so vain about his appearance that he’d probably kill anyone if they changed his hairstyle. Not to mention the suit he was wearing was just bloody fantastic on him.

John didn’t really consider himself high maintenance. He was happy most days to wear a t-shirt, a jumper, a pair of jeans, and his work boots, and he’d add a tie if he was going to work. However, he tried to look his best as this restaurant was incredibly expensive, and he needed to blend in with the other patrons.

Promptly at 7:30 pm, the limousine pulled up outside of Baker Street and took them to Le Bistro du Breton. When they arrived, John was absolutely shocked at how extravagant just the outside of the restaurant was. He had passed by it multiple times during the day, but never at night when it was open. It was a very tall building with columns lining the front, and the entire exterior was white marble. The windows were tall and gave it a somewhat of a colonial feel, but you could tell looking inside that it was modern. There was a section on the outside where people could dine outside lining the front entrance, and the lights that hung above that area were twinkle lights on strings, most likely for romantic couples. At the top of the building was a large glass dome with warped glass that made lights from inside shoot beams outside toward the buildings on either side.

John put on his best and most gentlemanly smile as he exited the limousine and held out his hand for Sherlock. If he was going to act like a proper gentleman, he was going to have fun with it. Sherlock, however, had his ‘poker face’ on, but John could tell from the look in his eye that he was actually enjoying this. Sherlock took his hand and exited the limousine, and John shut the door behind him.

“I’m not taking your arm, we don’t need to draw homophobic attention to ourselves.” Sherlock muttered as they walked to the entrance.

“Doesn’t that defeat the whole purpose of blending in if we don’t act like we’re on a date?”

“Mendoza is homophobic despite also circulating young men and boys in his crime ring, he’d try to have us removed if we acted too much like we’re on a date.”

“Then we’ll tone it down when he gets here.”

As the doorman opened the door for them, John couldn’t help but stare at the incredible interior of the building. The ceiling had an enormous glimmering chandelier in the center of the main dining area, along the walls were rounded booths for parties of about twelve, the walls were decorated with various paintings, plants, and even statues. John knew for a fact that he didn’t belong in a setting like this, but it wouldn’t be too hard imagining Mycroft or Sherlock in there.

“Focus.” Sherlock whispered.

John merely rolled his eyes and allowed Sherlock to lead him to the hostess, who seated them at a table in the middle of the restaurant. John hadn’t noticed until they sat down that there were tables on the second floor lining the windows. All of them were either rich looking couples he had possibly seen in the tabloids, or businessmen having a dinner meeting. It seemed that the prestigious reputation served the place well.

“I can see why it’s so…” He couldn’t exactly pick the right word. There were too many to describe it.

“Exclusive? Expensive? Prestigious?” Sherlock supplied.

“All of the above.”

John looked at the wine menu, and almost had a heart attack from the prices. The lowest price he could find was £500, but the most expensive was £2,500. He wouldn’t be surprised if the food was even more expensive than that because it had some rare fish or something in it. Sherlock merely sat his menu down on the table as the waitress came and asked for a red wine that was £1,300.

When she took their wine menus and left, John didn’t exactly know what to say. He was still kind of wrapping his brain around the fact that he was on a date with Sherlock Holmes, someone he thought was well out of his reach. Why the hell would he think John Watson, the crippled soldier and adrenaline junkie, was anyone worthy of his affection? Better yet, why did Sherlock not date anyone?

“So…” John started awkwardly, “Why don’t you usually date?”

“Normal people are incredibly dull, and most likely wouldn’t approve of my lifestyle. If I were in a serious relationship with someone who would worry too much about me, they’d try to systematically pull me back from The Work, or force me into an ultimatum of ‘your work or me’. Not worth my time.”

Well, that was… blunt. John thought. Honestly, it was hard to find someone who would go along with their lifestyle of crime-solving, and fate just kind of threw him and Sherlock together.

“And I just fit the criteria?”

“That’s not the only reason.”

“Enlighten me.”

Sherlock sat forward in his seat and clasped his hands under his chin. He looked to be seriously considering his next statement.

“I’m not very good at expressing sentiment, John, and I try to not to allow myself to feel sentiment as it can cloud my thoughts. I’m sure you understand that when I tell you this, it is not what I am accustomed to.” Sherlock paused for a moment, then continued. “Aside from your willingness to help me with The Work, you are also an unaddressed component in the equation I thought I had calculated accurately for what I previously referred to as chemical misfiring in the brain because it can overwhelm the frontal lobes which is the seat of higher reasoning.

“At times, I have considered distancing myself from you so that I could not be clouded by such chemicals, but each time I imagined those scenarios… it pained me on an… emotional level; one that I had previously suppressed for years. The way I feel when you enter my personal space, or tend to a wound I have obtained, makes me feel emotions I had thought I had locked away for years, and I hope that by being in this relationship, we can continue to move forward as a couple.”

The detective looked like he was incredibly embarrassed to be admitting to anything ‘sentimental’. Did Sherlock really see caring as a disadvantage? Or had Mycroft brainwashed his little brother into believing that rubbish? Either one of them wouldn’t have been surprising to John.

When they fell into silence again, John took that as a cue to look at the dinner menu (hopefully without having a stroke over the prices). While figuring out what to order, a random memory went through John’s head: The Blind Banker case. More specifically, when Sherlock had introduced him to Sebastian Wilkes. Sherlock seemed to be rubbing it in the prick’s face that he had a friend at all, and Sebastian was just acting like an arse throughout the entire case. There must have been something that happened between them in university or Sebastian wouldn’t have made fun of Sherlock when they first walked in. John needed a good segue though.

“What was it like in Uni for you?” John awkwardly asked. “Pretty sure you’d be deducing the teachers to pieces and telling them they’re wrong at all hours.”

“Dismal.” Sherlock answered as he sat his menu down. “I only attended because my mother and father sat aside a considerable fund for university, and I wanted to leave the village we were living at. Extremely boring.”

“So basically, it was a case of spending your parents’ money?”

“Also gaining knowledge to do The Work. I had started doing small cases within the village I lived in, but I required more skill and knowledge to be a consulting detective.” Sherlock eyed John suspiciously, and rolled his eyes. “You want to know about my classmates’ treatment of me.”

“Well we met one of them a few months ago, and he was a total arse, so did you do something to warrant that?”

Sherlock sat back in his seat with a carefully blank expression. He looked to be considering his response carefully, but didn’t want to reveal too much. If John was pushing the limits, he’d drop it in a heartbeat. He didn’t want to make Sherlock uncomfortable on their first date. The wine arrived, and the waitress gave them some more time to order their food.

“It was specifically Sebastian who started the crusade of insults and rumors on campus. We… were involved on occasion.”

“What like… friends with benefits?” John asked as he poured them both wine.

“If you call having intercourse when not having any current sexual partners, then yes.”

John was having trouble imagining Sherlock being friends with benefits with anyone (not that he wanted to imagine Sherlock sleeping with someone else), and with Wilkes of all people? They must have been desperate if they were having sex every now and again. John cleared his throat.

“Sebastian seemed smart enough to trade stocks, but not enough to believe when his coworker was murdered. Wouldn’t he have been below your standards?”

The detective shrugged.

“It originally started at a party I had been invited to. He was semi-intoxicated, as was I, and we spent a night in bed together. It became a habit that if he didn’t have a current partner, I’d be his solution to his libido, and if I was bored, I’d ask him to pay me a visit in my dormitory. It was a suitable arrangement for a few months.”

“So, what ended it?”

“I had been unaware that he had been ‘bragging’ about our exploits to his friends. Apparently it is common for young men to discuss sexual experiences with friends, and thus it circulated across campus.” That little shit, was all John could think. “Some of the acts we did in bed were not exactly… normal. I had asked him to-.”

“Not in public, Sherlock.” John cut in.

“Is it not normal to discuss sexual interests with a potential partner?”

“Not in a packed restaurant where everyone can hear you.”

Ok, so Sherlock’s interest wasn’t entirely vanilla. John could always ask about it a different time, and if he was honest, his wank fantasies sometimes delved into kinks. There wasn’t anything wrong with that. John leaned back in his chair.

“Okay… he told people things you liked, and they started to make fun of you?”

“As well as the extent of my deductions skills, referring to it as a ‘trick’. He’d ask me to show off at parties if we were ever both in attendance, only making my reputation less desirable, and chasing away any opportunities to date. Sebastian was an utter idiot as he was unaware of the consequences to his actions.”

“But that kink thing couldn’t have been that bad, could it?”

“I was called cream freak for the rest of my time at University (quite hypocritical as the kink would be accepted by men among heterosexual females) … but I was able to give Sebastian retribution for the rumors that he spread about me.”

“Oh yeah, what’d you do?” John asked as he sipped his wine.

“I revealed to everyone that he had a deformity in which his urethra came out of where his testicles connected with his penis.”

John almost choked on his drink. No wonder Wilkes was such an arse: he was compensating for how his penis was deformed! And wait… cream freak? That could either mean Sherlock had some sort of food fetish, or a different one… Best not to think about that now.

Thankfully the awkwardness of the conversation ended when the waitress came back and took their orders. John decided that maybe he could use a bit of that money Sherlock got from the case, so he ordered Beef Bourguignon, meanwhile Sherlock ordered the Truffade. It occurred to John that Sherlock hadn’t asked about his past at all; then again, he probably already ‘observed’ everything he needed to know.

“What were the circumstances in which you were shot?” Sherlock asked after the waitress had left.

John was slightly taken aback by the question, but recovered quickly. Figured that Sherlock would eventually ask about what sent him home from Afghanistan, he just didn’t expect it to be out of nowhere. John didn’t exactly like talking about what happened, it hurt to remember at times... so he decided that the best way to discuss it was to just be direct.

“We were traveling in a caravan to a nearby village in three vehicles. There were some American troops we were supposed to trade intel with in order to make our next move, but while we were traveling through what we thought was an evacuated village, we were ambushed. I was trying to pull one of the wounded soldiers behind a building, but I didn’t know there was a sniper nearby, and I was shot.”

John could still vividly remember when he was lying on the ground, bleeding out onto the sand. He could still smell the gas from the vehicles exploding, could still hear the gunfire and shouts for help, could still feel the intense pain from his wound. He vaguely knew that someone had taken out the sniper, but he was terrified. He was barely worried about Carter, who had a third degree burn up his leg, he just wanted to live. The jeeps had been destroyed in the ambush, and it would be another eight hours before help would arrive. The last thing John remembered before blacking out was being put on a stretcher having been bandaged haphazardly by a newly recruited pro, and thinking that he was done for.

“Not many in your squad survived, I assume.” Sherlock said carefully.

“There were only six of us left after the attack. Twelve died, two of them were good friends of mine, Calvin and Addy. They were engaged; they met when we were in training.”

Those two were head over heels for each other. They had been stationed in Afghanistan for two years when they got engaged, and it had only been a few months after that when the ambush happened. They had been at a party when Calvin had proposed to Addison, he even bought a ring off of one of the street traders. Calvin had said,

‘I know it’s probably fake, but when we get home, I’ll buy her a real one.’

To think that just one wrong piece of intel had ruined everything.

“And yet you haven’t contacted any of the surviving members of your squad since you were originally hospitalized. It’s too painful for you. You can’t stand talking about the ones you had lost in that ambush.”

Read me like a book, why don’t you?

“Not just that.” John took another sip of his wine and leaned forward on the table. “I guess I want to leave it all behind me. I only really get together with my friend Bill on occasion, but he was assigned to a different squad in Iraq when we were both deployed. I just like my life now, and I don’t want to… dwell on the past, I guess?”

John honestly wouldn’t trade having this life for anything in the world. He may not have been in the military anymore, but he still had crimes to solve, a… partner he adored, and great friends/coworkers (if you could call them that). For the first time in a long time, he was content with his life. Sherlock at this point had his fingers clasped under his chin in his signature thinking pose and looked very thoughtful. The rest of their date had gone much of the same way. John would ask about something Sherlock hadn’t really discussed before, Sherlock would indulge by asking John a question he probably already knew the answer to, it was nice. By the time they had finished their food, their target had arrived. Sherlock was in clear view of the entrance so when he had his ‘game face’ on, John knew that Mendoza had arrived. “Don’t look in his direction, I’ll describe everything to you.”

John merely nodded and ate some of what was left of his food. Sherlock had the look in his eye that only appeared when he was deducing someone. Within about twenty seconds, he spoke again,

“It’s a mix of a business meeting and a date. He is currently carrying a .9 mm under his coat, but I know you brought your gun with you. The woman is a prostitute from his crime ring, but the clothing she is wearing are high end brands. Mendoza is obviously trying to impress the man he is having dinner with by selling her off to him.” Sherlock had been acting like he was talking to John fondly during the explanation. “In thirty seconds, I’ll send a fake text so you can go outside and call Lestrade to start moving in. You have your ringer on, correct?”

“Yeah, just in case Lestrade calls.”

Sherlock reached down to the side away from Mendoza and took out his phone while also taking a sip of his wine. He was texting while sipping his wine like it was nothing. Ten seconds later, John’s text alert went off and he looked at the phone. The text read,

 [Go to the East side of the building to take the call. There are at least 15 couples in the outside seats, avoid them overhearing you. – SH]

 John made a b-line to go to take the call, and went to the east side of the building as instructed. A thought crossed his mind for a moment that he sure did what Sherlock wanted a lot… not exactly an equal partnership, was it?

Pushing those thoughts aside, John made the call to Greg to start moving his officers in. He noticed someone odd watching him as he reentered the building. He looked like the stereotype of a bodyguard - Mendoza had bodyguards watching the building! How could he not have anticipated that!? He shot a quick text to Sherlock about it, and went back to his table. Sherlock was putting his phone away as John sat down.

“I know.” Sherlock said.

“And when were you going to let me in on that?”

“When the moment arose. And that moment will come to fruition in two minutes. I had Lestrade’s men wait five blocks down. Keep up conversation before they arrive.”

John didn’t exactly know what to say, so he started talking about his rugby days. He wasn’t even halfway through the story when Lestrade and his men arrived outside. Mendoza started to panic and rushed to get up but John shouted “stop!” and pointed his gun at the man. In response, Mendoza grabbed the girl he was with and pointed his own gun at her head as he held her in front of him as a human shield.

“Mendoza, you are surrounded, there is no way out.” Sherlock stated.

Mendoza looked between John and Sherlock, and without a moment’s hesitation, Mendoza pushed the girl away and upended his table while shooting at Sherlock. Everyone started to panic and rush out of the building, but Sherlock and John went after Mendoza. The crime boss ran through the kitchens and knocked over trays, bottles of wine, even carts to stop John and Sherlock, but they easily jumped over them. John was starting to wonder how Sherlock could do the things he did in a suit because he was feeling constricted by his attire.

They made it to the back alley where Mendoza was catching his breath. Apparently, he didn’t fancy exercise despite having all the money in the world to hire a personal trainer. John was able to pin Mendoza to the ground and easily disarm him while Sherlock went back inside to get the police.

“Your… boy there,” Mendoza wheezed. “Would fetch a… high price. Lots of… stamina.”

“I could shoot you if I wanted to and say you were trying to get away.” John growled. “I’m a soldier, and you’re a crime boss. Who would they believe?”

Usually John wouldn’t make threats like that, but if there was anything he was protective over, it was Sherlock. Not to mention this arsehole was talking about putting Sherlock into prostitution, the fucking creep.

Thankfully, Sherlock and the other officers arrived in no time and put cuffs on Mendoza. When John got up, he realized he had ripped his pants on the knee when he had tackled Mendoza. So much for spending all that time and money on getting a proper suit.

“Don’t worry about the suit.” Sherlock said, almost reading John’s mind. “It’s easily fixable.”

They managed to interview the girl Mendoza came in with and get her to a hospital. Mendoza, his bodyguards, and the other man confessed when interrogated by Sherlock which revealed where the Prime Minister’s daughter was, and the duo got home at around 3:00 am after giving their statements. The adrenaline was still pumping a bit, but John was still knackered.

When they got in, John collapsed into his chair after just chucking his dress coat onto the sofa. Sherlock, however, went into the kitchen.

“Would you like some tea?” He asked.

“Ta, just milk.” John answered.

Sherlock rarely ever made tea, but it was always nice when he did it. Now if only he’d actually take the time to cook and clean, that’d be extra nice. Soon Sherlock entered the sitting room with two mugs of tea and handed one to John. He took his spot across from him in his leather chair, and they sat in silent for a few minutes. It wasn’t exactly an awkward silence, more of a companionable silence, until Sherlock asked,

“Good first date?”

Sherlock seemed to be looking for approval in his question. Was he really trying that hard to impress John? If he was, it was incredibly sweet.

“Not exactly a normal first date.” John answered. “But it wouldn’t be us if it was normal.”

“It would have been incredibly boring if there was no crime lord involved.”

John must have done something to tip off that he was still furious at Mendoza for what he had said, because suddenly Sherlock looked very contemplative. He took a sip of his tea and stated,

“Mendoza said something that upset you.”

The soldier sighed in confirmation.

“He… said you’d fetch a good price because you have a good amount of stamina.” John was a bit embarrassed by the second part. “I told him that I could shoot him and no one would believe that I was unprovoked.”

“You feel incredibly protective over me.”

“I mean, I figured shooting the cabbie during the Study in Pink case would have shown that.” John couldn’t help thinking about what Sherlock had said about his previous relationships; it was hard not to think about, honestly. Their whole date could have been something to fill in the boredom, and John wasn’t okay with this relationship if that was the case. “Plus, you know, you said relationships were just ‘side projects’, so it might not be a big deal to you.”

Sherlock looked slightly taken aback by John’s statement. Hopefully that meant that he was wrong, and that this relationship was different, but with Sherlock Holmes nothing was ever certain. Instead of giving an answer, Sherlock sat his tea aside, and moved to stand in front of John’s legs.

“When I said I saw relationships as side projects in school, that is not what you are to me. Do not think for one minute that your… affection is something that I would throw away on a whim. What you feel for me, and what I feel in return, it is something I hold dear and do not wish to end any time soon. I would not throw it away even if I was threatened with death.”

That was… incredibly touching. It was common knowledge that Sherlock didn’t do ‘sentiment’, so it must have been incredibly hard for him to say all that. The feelings were mutual, of course, but it was probably obvious to the detective. John hesitantly wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist, and felt Sherlock card his hand through his hair. John would have liked to kiss him, but they had only been on one date, so it probably wasn’t appropriate to snog him senseless yet.