A/N This is a bit of fluff for Christmas. I was forced to write it after I was assaulted by Christmas music at my local supermarket. Lets pretend it was a Tesco even though I am firmly rooted in the USA. I am planning two to three chapters and aim for a T-rating. (It may need to be up graded later.) I have no Beta nor has this been Brit-picked, so please correct me when necessary. Also this is slash; it's all I am capable of writing. I hope you enjoy it.

Ritual Disclaimer Sadly, I do not own the rights to Sherlock Holmes or John Watson. Those rights belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Moffat and Gatiss.

Date Night

Chapter 1

John hung the last strand of fairy lights across the mantle. A small tree, hung with garland and ornaments from Tesco, stood in the corner near the window. Christmas music and a cheery fire completed the festive scene.

John waited eagerly for the return of his flatmate. OK, eager was not the right word. Cautiously might be the better word, or better yet anxiously. Yes John waited anxiously.

No doubt Sherlock would dismiss the decorations as tedious reminders of a holiday that commemorates a false religion or some such drivel. John could deal with that and the accompanying complaints about the clutter and mess. As if the flat was not already cluttered with books, papers, experiments, harpoons and skulls.

No John was anxious for another reason. Tonight was The Night. He was going to finally confess his feelings of love and attraction to his male, sociopathic, asexual, married friend. Well Sherlock was only married to his work, but maybe that made it even more hopeless. Quickly, John said a short prayer to Saint Jude, the patron saint of lost causes.

After pacing for several minutes in a reasonable imitation of said flatmate. John ran upstairs to his bedroom to check out his new ensemble.

He had intended to buy a new suit for the occasion but felt he looked ridiculous in every one that he tried on. There was no way he could compete with Sherlock's elegance. So he settled on the tightest black jeans that he could find, accompanied by a skin-tight black silk tee-shirt and a hand tailored navy sports coat. The completed outfit had fit him perfectly, making him "delectable" according to the tailor. Then the smirking tailor had asked John out for coffee; John blushed at the memory.

That was fine, really, just fine. It meant that the ensemble was attractive. John desperately wanted to be attractive tonight.

He checked his new boots; a sales clerk assured him that they were the height of fashion. Then, with nothing left to check, he returned to the sitting room to pace in time to Feliz Navidad.

Sherlock stormed up the stairs in a funk. The tantalizing level 8 case brought to him by Lestrade had fizzled to a 2.6. Case solved. Nothing to do, he was bored already.

He strode into the sitting room and was accosted by tawdry Christmas decorations and the travesty of music on the radio.

"John, please put an end to that caterwauling from the radio. It is enough that my eyes are assaulted by the twinkling of your festive lights. Surely my ears can be spared another pointless rendition of Deck the Halls." Sherlock flung himself onto the sofa, his dark curly hair bouncing into his eyes.

Sherlock shut his eyes when the music abruptly ceased. He secretly enjoyed John's Christmas decorations. It made the flat seem like home. He had very much missed this comfortable feeling during his years away. He had very, very much missed his flatmate and best friend.

After his two-year absence, Sherlock had been amazed and relieved that John was still living at 221B Baker Street and that John seemingly wanted Sherlock back as his friend and flatmate.

"So your case went well? It's already over?" asked John from his chair near the fire. Sherlock noted John's nervous tension in his furrowed brow and the fidgety drumming of his fingers. Why? Why is John nervous? He is going to tell me something, thought Sherlock, something I won't like.

"Yes it's over. It was nothing; Anderson should have been able to deduce this one. The murderer practically signed his name at the scene of the crime. He's in police custody, and I am bored. Bored!" exclaimed the exasperated detective.

Sherlock continued, "I see that you have recently showered, shaved and put on your favorite aftershave. Also you have been pacing." He glanced at John sideways; he knew that John did not like to be deduced. "You finished decorating early and have not prepared or ordered dinner. Obviously you are going out for dinner. So, going out on a date then. It must be a first date, given the pacing, so someone new. Is it that new receptionist at the surgery? You told Lestrade that you admired her hair and her figure."

Sherlock turned to see the effect this had on his flatmate. He hoped to irritate John since John was going to irritate him by abandoning Sherlock for a frivolous date.

Good John was blushing and rubbing his hands together. Serves John right leaving me to be bored to death. I'll probably die before his date ends in its inevitable failure.

"Sherlock you didn't hear a word I said," groused John. He chewed his lower lip in frustration. Sherlock suddenly wanted to chew on John's lip too. He quickly rejected the thought and tried, without success, to delete it.

"Sherlock, I said yes I am going out to dinner. I have tried twice now to ask if you will come with me to dinner. I made reservations. I got tickets to see the Nutcracker Suite," Johns blue eyes shone with affection as he smiled at the stroppy man strewn atop the sofa. "So will you come?" John asked.

Oh. Is this a date? Is John asking me on a date? Sherlock thought frantically. No, John is straight. Besides what if a date didn't work out? Sherlock could not risk losing his best and only friend. Any attempt at romance between the two roommates was bound to fail, and then John would leave.

"No John, I don't think so. Tchaikovsky is an overrated composer with trite and predictable music. The Nutcracker is not even one of his better pieces. He himself did not care for the work," Sherlock said watching John's hopeful expression change to anger, then hurt and disappointment. "Besides it's going to snow tonight. We are much better staying in tonight."

John carefully arranged his face in a neutral mask, one that he had perfected during his years in the military. John tilted his chin up defensively. He was used to hurt; he hadn't really expected this to work out well anyway. But surely the consulting detective could have agreed to dinner and the ballet, just to avoid boredom.

"Sherlock you just said that you were bored," said John evenly. "This is dinner and music, and by the way the Orchestra received very high praise from the reviewers. It will be less dull for you if you go out and do something until the next case comes around."

"No John, I think not. It is easier to tolerate boredom here. At least I won't have to put up with dull people and their insufferable prattle," answered Sherlock. John's mouth twisted in pain and he covered his eyes briefly in defeat. Then the neutral mask returned.

"Suit yourself Sherlock," John gave Sherlock a weak smile that did not reach his eyes. "I'm going upstairs to put on some clean clothes. If you change your mind, I'll be leaving in 25 minutes."

John went up stairs with the bitter taste of rejection in his mouth. God, couldn't Sherlock have let me down easily? So I'm a dull person who prattles insufferably. Oh God I must have misread all the clues as usual. How could I ever have thought that Sherlock Holmes would be interested in me.

I'm a loser with a capital L.

John put on his new ensemble and denied that his eyes were tearing. It must be an allergy bothering his eyes, probably from Mrs. Hudson's new lemon scented cleaner.

Sherlock was acutely aware of the hurt and defeat in John's eyes when he left to go upstairs. Sherlock had managed to hurt the one person he actually cared about.

It's for John's own good, Sherlock justified to himself. I would be a terrible romantic partner. I'm selfish and self-centered. I would ignore John's feelings and needs, at least while I'm working on a case. The rest of the time, I would be jealous and possessive. I don't have any experience in keeping a relationship going. I couldn't stand it if we started a relationship and then it didn't work.

Then there was the physical side of a relationship. Sherlock had tried sex and found it messy and emotionally draining. Yes the physical sensations had been pleasant but without emotional ties, the experiences left him feeling empty.

Of course that wouldn't happen here. The emotional ties between the two friends were already forged from steel and titanium.

Not to mention that Sherlock had never felt this attracted to another man before. Thoughts of biting John's lower lip were the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Sherlock thought about John's hair. How it felt the few times it brushed his hands-the one time it brushed his chin and sent chills down his spine and into his groin. Sherlock thought about how John's strong, capable hands would feel on his body. And John's body, trim and muscular and…

And that lead to the next very good reason not to pursue a relationship with John. John was too distracting; sometimes he distracted Sherlock from The Work. If John was distracting now, what would it be like once Sherlock got a hold of that tight and oh so attractive body?

Besides, John was straight. He had said so 119 times to Sherlock's certain knowledge, although he hadn't mentioned it once since Sherlock's return. Still, I've worked myself up for nothing. This was not a date; John simply desired my company as a friend. John has plenty of dates and always with women. Of course John's last date with a woman was before The Fall, as John called it. It is possible that John is a bit more flexible in his gender preferences than I previously imagined.

Nevertheless, the other reasons remain; it would be best to keep our relationship on a firm but friendly footing. I have managed to bury my feelings and desires before. I will do so again.

There, I have all but forgotten my ridiculous feelings. I shall now lay here and be bored. Perhaps I will search for my emergency cigarette supply after John departs.

"Sherlock, I said I am leaving now. Don't you ever hear me? I guess you block out all that insufferable prattle," said John with an affectionate smile on his face, however the crease between his reddened eyes revealed his unhappiness. He smoothed the front of his new navy blue coat. It emphasized his broad shoulders. His jeans were tight enough to leave little to the imagination. Sherlock watched John's arse move when John walked over to the table to get his wallet and keys.

"Sherlock, what are you staring at? I said, I will be home probably after 2300 hours; I mean 11 o'clock. OK? I have my mobile if you need anything. Right?" John forced another smile for his silent, wide-eyed flatmate.

"So everything's alright?" John asked again. Sherlock is unusually silent, and what the hell is he staring at?

"Fine, I'm fine," said Sherlock at last. "John I never meant that your prattle was insufferable."

"Um, right. Good night Sherlock," said John, shaking his head. The way Sherlock was staring; something must be off with this outfit. John checked his reflection in the door feeling like a fool. He was fool who had wasted two paychecks on awful, unattractive clothing and tickets for trite, predictable music. Then John headed out, slamming the door in frustration and despair.

"John, wait!" yelled Sherlock surging to his feet. The door slammed shut. Sherlock rushed to the window. John marched stiffly down the street. Marching was not a good sign. John had also neglected to put on an overcoat. A few snowflakes fell as Sherlock watched John's blond head disappear around the corner.

Stupid. I am so stupid. Of course it was a date. John has never, ever dressed so well or looked so good. He obviously wanted me to come with him as his date. I rejected him. I hurt him for nothing because now I want to go as his date.

I am an idiot. John is much less distracting when I can watch over him. I should arrange to have him with me 24/7. Now I have to worry about him.

Wearing that outfit, he'll probably be attacked by a sex fiend. Then again, he could be robbed; he never pays enough attention to his surroundings. Of course, he'll never be able to get a taxi on his own and he'll have to walk and tire his leg out or worse get hit by a bus. If nothing else, John will freeze to death because he forgot to put on a jacket.

The way he looks tonight, John will certainly be picked up by someone. He'll fall in love with them and leave me. I'll never find another friend. I'll never know what his lips taste like or how his skin would feel under my hands.

I am risking losing John by not dating him. Idiot. Stupid idiot.

Sherlock frantically punched in the number for Mycroft's phone.

"Mycroft, I need to go to the Nutcracker Ballet. I need you to get me in there tonight…Please," demanded Sherlock."

"Good evening to you Sherlock. I assume this has to do with a case you're working on?" drawled Mycroft.

"Yes, of course. Can you get me in?" asked Sherlock who simultaneously looked up the ballet's time and location on John's handy laptop.

"I see that Dr. Watson already has two seats booked for tonight's performance Sherlock. I hope that this isn't a plot to sabotage another of the doctor's dates?" asked Mycroft.

"No of course not. Can you get me in or not?" snapped Sherlock.

"Sherlock, Dr. Watson was spotted on CCTV leaving your flat wearing a very expensive, tailored, new coat, and he has reserved seats for two at the ballet. The doctor is surely not a fan of ballet. He is on a date, and I will not assist you in disrupting it," said the British Government with finality.

Sherlock sighed; he hated asking Mycroft for anything. He really hated letting Mycroft in on his personal life. Sherlock remembered John's nervousness and shining blue eyes before Sherlock rejected him. Then Sherlock remembered the defeated look on John's face afterwards, and John's red eyes. Oh God, I made him cry? Then John marched away, brave but alone. Unacceptable. John is worth any sacrifice, even if I have to bow to the almighty Mycroft.

"Mycroft, I was supposed to be with John tonight," spat Sherlock, his face rigid with effort, his neck muscles taut. "I made a mistake. I was supposed to be his date. I would like to remedy my mistake. Will you assist me or not?"

Mycroft was silent as the earth shifted in its orbit. The mighty Sherlock Holmes had asked for assistance, admitted that he made a mistake and announced that he was finally going on a date with John Watson, all in the same evening.

"Yes of course Sherlock. You now have a ticket waiting for you. Have a pleasant evening and good night," said Mycroft shaking his head in amazement.

Sherlock ran to dress for date night.

TBC

A/N Reviews greatly appreciated ;)