Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything pertaining to it or Conan Doyle's original stories except my own ideas and writing. All rights go to the rightful owners.
There were many things John found irksome about his sister. For one, though she was older, she loved to act younger than her brother's 23 years. Excessive partying and booze were the status quo for Harry and her friends. Two, she always abandoned him when it came to dinners with their parents. What was that about? As if John enjoyed being the center of attention. And three, Harry loved to make plans and then skimp out last minute, as though the earth would stop rotating for her and her only. But it didn't, and John had already been walking into Chinatown when Harry called to say that she and Clara were far too busy to meet him there.
John had sworn at the payphone in his hand, wanted to smash his beeper against the pavement, but managed to realise that he wasn't even surprised. This wasn't the first time Harry had flaked, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. John had come all this way–he may as well try to enjoy himself.
He took the map from his pocket in an attempt to find the little restaurant they'd made plans to eat at. Just because Harry hadn't shown didn't mean John couldn't have a meal. It was past noon, after all, and he hadn't eaten since seven. He was grateful that Saturdays offered him the chance to go out and about; studying to become a doctor was somehow harder than he'd imagined. Which is to say, he'd known it would be difficult and exhaust him, but not to the extent it actually did.
John's gaze fell again to the map in hand. Where was this restaurant? All he could see were people and his senses were being assaulted, something he knew he should've grown used to considering he attended university (and had Harriet Watson for a sister).
Not paying any attention, John collided with another person in his path, evidently walking backwards. John lifted his eyes to complain, his gripe on the tip of his tongue, but it died quickly when he looked at who he had stumbled into.
Tall, with dark hair cut short that gave the impression that if allowed to grow it would become corkscrewed. A charcoal coat fell nearly pass the other man's knees and hid the body underneath, but John could tell he was lean. And the eyes. The only way John could think to describe those would include an allusion to the Milky Way. But with more and brighter colors.
"Pardon me," he said, in a voice an effortless purr. His polite smile crinkled those eyes of his, laughter lines visible. John fell back a half-step, feeling pushed. Was this guy some kind of model? John had never met one of those in real life. He could tell his sister he'd met a model. Wouldn't she be jealous.
"No; it's–my mistake. Sorry." John tried to look normal, but the smile on his face was probably very awkward and he wanted to promptly disappear from here, right bloody now. He sidestepped the stranger and made to walk away, kicking himself for being such a blithering imbecile.
"Excuse me?" that voice called to him.
John stopped in his tracks. He turned to look over his shoulder. "Yeah?"
"I may have gotten the completely wrong message here, but I… I was just looking for this Chinese restaurant my friend referred to me. It's just across the street." No. Not possible. "If you weren't too busy, would you care to join me for lunch?"
John could not believe it. Was this guy seriously asking him on a date? Seriously? John, the short, nerdy doctor-to-be? Holy shit.
"Yeah; I–" John released a breathy laugh and held up the forgotten map. "I was actually looking for the same place."
The other young man smiled, extending a hand. "Sherlock Holmes."
John took note of the interesting name and accepted his hand in a shake. He didn't want to let go. "John. John Watson."
"Pleased to meet you, John." They began the walk across the street and John thanked Harry, wherever the hell she was, for not being in Chinatown.
"Likewise. You don't happen to attend uni here?"
"I do. I have my own flat at 221B Baker Street."
John had to work very hard not to gawk at Sherlock. "Your own flat? Jesus; wish I could be so lucky."
"I am fortunate, though the bills like to test that." John grinned, walking through the door Sherlock opened for him. He claimed a table beside the window and sat across from Sherlock, the entire situation feeling unbelievable.
A date with Sherlock Holmes, a student and flat owner with eyes like the galaxy. Bless you, Harriet. Bless you.