A short non-slash fanfiction about John and Sherlock on Valentine's Day. The characters of course belong to the BBC show writers.
"It's not a date." John said quickly.
"I know it's not." Sherlock replied just as fast.
"I just don't want to waste my money." John rationalized.
"Of course." Sherlock's tone was unconvinced, though John assumed he was just teasing him again.
It was Valentine's day and John had bought tickets to a nice dinner theatre weeks ago, but this morning Sarah had phoned him to say she felt like death warmed over and that he'd better not come round unless he wanted to catch a really nasty flu. He told her he didn't mind, and went over with flowers anyway, but she'd been asleep when he arrived and didn't come to the door. When he phoned from the steps and woke her up she'd whispered miserably that she really couldn't even make it to the door, and that she was really sorry, and they'd make it up in a week or so. So he'd returned home with the bouquet of roses which now sat on their own mantle next to the skull. "Really John, you shouldn't have." Sherlock had teased him, knowing full well how sensitive he was to people thinking they were a couple. But that had given him the idea. Why not? After all, Sherlock was his best friend, and it would be a shame to waste the tickets. Although Sherlock would have thought him ridiculous for it, he felt just a little sad realizing that this and most other holidays had always been 'just another day' to him. So after debating with himself all afternoon he'd hesitantly suggested that Sherlock go with him while Sarah was out of commission.
"Dinner theater, how dull." Sherlock mused from his customary place on the couch.
John felt a little relieved, although he didn't really know what he was going to do with himself the rest of the evening.
"Though not as dull as hanging around here I suppose." Sherlock suddenly changed his mind. "What time?" he glanced up over the arm of the couch at John.
"Uh..." he pulled out the tickets to check "7:30?"
"Well why not. It'll be better than watching you mope about and resort to some sappy romance on the telly."
"It'll be better than you finding some new way of destroying the flat in your boredom too." John jibed.
Sherlock shot him a good-natured glare, then flung himself up off the couch and drifted off to his room, presumably to find some clothes.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
An hour and a half later they stood together in a rather sloppy queue in the courtyard of the restaraunt-theatre amid the rest of the couples that had arrived early. It was a bit nauseating actually, when you weren't mutually engrossed in your own date's eyes, but Sherlock entertained him with the dirt on their neighbors, having apparently warmed up to the idea of going out.
A few people had given them interested stares, which made John blush in a way that didn't exactly help defer the conclusions he wished they weren't making.
"I don't see why you care." Sherlock commented, "You'll never see them again." John spluttered some nonsensical protest, and Sherlock just smirked back at him. Then after a few moments of silence he said slowly, "John, I think that one fancies you." John was about to tell him off for teasing him one too many times today, when he glanced over and caught a very obvious 'checking you out' stare from a young man nearby in the theatre uniform who was apparently overseeing the guests in the courtyard before the doors officially opened. John stared back like a deer in the headlights. Suddenly his view was blocked by Sherlock who was now looming quite close over him, holding him by the shoulders.
"What are you doing?" John muttered in a panic.
Sherlock leaned even closer to whisper in his ear. "Letting him know you're not available, obviously. He looked as though he was plotting a chance to meet you."
"You're not serious." John said, shaken.
"Of course I am." he put one arm round him now, shooting a possessive glare over his shoulder. "Don't worry, I think he's getting the message." John stood stiffly with his nose practically buried in Sherlock's scarf for a moment, completely dumbfounded, but admitting to himself that being embraced by Sherlock was indeed less mortifying to him than being openly hit-on by another guy who was actually interested would have been. Sherlock glanced once more over his shoulder, and then stood back. John glanced furtively in the man's direction, but he'd wandered to another part of the yard and was looking elsewhere. Thank heavens. He shifted nervously, trying to shake his self-consciousness.
"Sherlock, do I really..." he didn't know how to say it, "do I actually look gay to people? I mean, they're constantly assuming we're together. Do they look at me like that often and I just don't notice?" He stammered unnerved.
"Yes." he replied matter-of-factly. John looked horrified. "Well, you are..." he seemed to be reluctant to say the word, "adorable, John." He flinched, but Sherlock quickly added, "I'm sure they don't all jump to that conclusion when you're by yourself, but in the company of a tall striking man it's a natural assumption." He quirked a brow at him. John opened his mouth to protest his arrogant remark, but it was true after all, so he shut it again, and just shook his head in resignation. "You know if you didn't blush like that, people would probably stop teasing you." Sherlock remarked. John glared up at him, and Sherlock returned his usual smirk.
It wasn't long before it was time to go inside. As they handed their tickets over to the man who'd been staring at John, Sherlock glowered at him and ushered John ahead of him with a hand on his waist as an extra precaution.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
John settled gratefully into his seat thinking wistfully of Sarah and fell into imagining nursing her back to health while Sherlock craned his head no doubt taking in the traces of petty crime in the room. Their meals had been pre-ordered so as to keep the waiter's interference with the production at a minimum and allow everyone to be served at once. When their salads arrived John remembered to ask Sherlock "Oh, would you like the chicken or the fish? I ordered one of each."
"Hm?" Sherlock turned back to face him, "Oh, food is food," he said dismissively with a wave of his hand, "whatever you like."
"Well I hope you're going to eat some of it." John grimaced, "It cost me enough."
"Do you want me to pay you back?" Sherlock asked. John instantly wished he could take his words back.
"No! no, I didn't mean that. No, I'm honestly,... I want to treat you." He expected Sherlock to just go back to his people watching, but instead he regarded him with a strangely thoughtful expression. He looked on the verge of saying something, when the lights dimmed and the show began.
During the play John found himself distracted wondering what all really did go through Sherlock's mind, and if perhaps he was more normal on the inside than he realized. He had actually tried to save John some embarrassment. As awkward as it was, he'd shown consideration for his feelings. Interesting. Perhaps, he just needed practice having friends. Not that John expected him to ever change much in his manner or moods, but he felt very glad and honored that he could be a real friend to him. It struck him then, that he was really glad this day had worked out as it had. He'd have many other days with Sarah, and she'd have many other special Valentine's days to come. But this was Sherlock's Valentine's, probably the only one he'd ever actually 'celebrate' and John was so happy he'd taken the chance to share it with him. As he glanced at his friend in the dim light he couldn't help feeling his heart swell a bit. Yes, he did love him, not romantically, but perhaps more deeply than anyone else in his life at present. It was a strange realization. Sherlock, the mad sociopath, was truly his best friend. He smiled at him, although he wasn't sure if he could see it.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
As they stood to leave Sherlock touched his arm, standing rather close over him once more. "John," he glanced down a moment, speaking quietly, "I know I'm not an easy companion." Then he looked him in the eye. "You're a good friend John. Thank You."
He wasn't quite sure what came over him, those simple words were so poignant he could have almost cried. John ignored his pride then and hugged him, awkwardly, but it was heartfelt. After a moment he stood back to look up at him with a hint of a smile "You're my best friend, Sherlock. Thank you."
Sherlock's familiar quirk of a half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and they both smiled at each other in satisfaction. "Happy Valentines Day." John said.
Sherlock hmfed, in reply and they turned to go.