Hello everyone! I'm so sorry I haven't updated in such a long time. University is killing me with how much reading, and other assignments I'm required to do. I do apologize for not updating more regularly. None of my other stories are discontinued, simply on hold until I have time to focus on them with worrying about my other grades. Anyway, here's a simple one-shot with John/Lock if you don't like, please don't read. I own nothing but the plot. Everything else belongs to their respective owners. Please review! I lose confidence without feedback (and I know it's just a one-shot, not a lot of depth). Enjoy reading everyone!

5:30pm-

Don't forget about dinner tonight.- JW

5:32pm-

I won't.-SH

5:33pm-

7:30 Sherlock. Don't be late.-JW

5:40pm-

I won't forget John. Now please, let me work.-SH

John smiled down at the text, and resumed making his tea that steeping on the counter. He knew Sherlock was busy at the lab running some sort of unimaginable test on a dead body that would somehow lead to the murderer. But it was also Friday, and Friday was date night unless one of them was sick, working on a pressing case, or kidnapped. No excuses. Okay, there was a little be a lee way in date night, but this one was special, and he didn't want Sherlock to forget about it. This one would make it the tenth month mark. And though that didn't mean much to Sherlock, too much sentiment as he put it, it meant a lot to John. They had endured a lot of hell over the past few months, and it was thanks to multiple miracles from a higher power that they had survived, and managed to remain together on top of it.

John moved to his chair, grabbing his book from the table end and read for a bit before it was time to get ready. Things had only managed to settle down in the last week or so, and John was decidedly going to take advantage the peace. With one case on Sherlock's plate that would likely be solved by the morning, and no others lined up, John was happy to know that he could have some much earned, and very much deserved private time from his boyfriend. He'd never had guessed Sherlock was the cuddly type in bed, but then again, many of the new things he was learning about Sherlock in bed defied expectation.

When it was time to start getting ready to leave for their dinner reservation, John was feeling ridiculously happy, and very anxious to see his partner. Sherlock's schedule defied definition. It wasn't that he didn't eat or sleep (though never enough in John's opinion) it simply was that Sherlock ran on a different time block than John. More often than not of late John was in bed before Sherlock, and awake long after the dark-haired love had left.

Pulling his coat on, he headed down the stairs to hail a cab, the wood creaking as he took his time.

"Oh, Hello John, dear," said Mrs. Hudson suddenly, as she was about to enter her own flat and noticed John approaching.

"Evening, Mrs. Hudson, how was your visit to your sister's?" he asked politely.

"Oh she's fine. Bit of a whiner about her son lately, but he's in that rebellious phase, you know how it is," she said giving him a knowing smile. John returned it, but didn't comment. He didn't actually. A rebellious phase of his life could perhaps be considered joining the army, but he never really hit a point of resentment to his parents growing up and wished to be starkly different.

"Yes, I'm sure," he finally said and made his way towards the door.

"Finally having date night are you?"

"Yes, things have slowed down enough there's no reason it can't happen."

"Well that's good, it's about time you two had some special time together," she said and began entering her own flat. John sent a curious look to her back before heading out into the chilling autumn evening. Something about Mrs. Hudson made John certain she knew far more than she let on normally. He wrapped his coat up more tightly around himself and stepped down to hail a cab, thankfully getting one almost immediately. He gave the address for Angelo's restaurant and sat back to enjoy the relaxing drive. John sent a quick text to Sherlock, letting him know he'd left and would be there soon. He didn't receive a reply, but before he had time to consider it, the cab had arrived outside Angelo's. He got out, paid the cabbie, and stepped inside the warm and inviting atmosphere.

"John Watson!" bellowed a mighty voice. Angelo appeared from the side of the restaurant and gave the man a proper handshake.

"Hello Angelo, doing well are you?" he asked, eyeing the place and noting that though it was a Friday, there weren't many guests to entertain.

"Yes, very well. Come, sit. I have a place all prepared for you and Sherlock," he said, leading John to a table with a window, but more secluded in the back of the restaurant. "I knew you'd be getting together at some point," he remarked casually, setting down a candle for the table as well.

"I'm sure you did," John replied with a smile and took the seat that faced the door so as to watch for his date to come in. It, surprisingly, took very little for him to become comfortable with the idea of having Sherlock as his boyfriend. He didn't classify himself as gay, not really. But Sherlock was, well he was Sherlock. The man had a voice that could make you melt, a mind that could amaze, and the ability to love John in return.

Angelo said nothing, but assumed the boys would be ordering their usual, and knew to wait for Sherlock to arrive before sending the food out.

"Anything to drink?" he asked.

"Some sort of wine, I think. I'm feeling celebratory," John replied with a casual smile. Nothing could bring him down right now. Angelo nodded in understanding and was about to show John the wine menu when John stopped him.

"It's not really my area of expertise. Whatever you think will fit best for me and him, alright?" John replied. Angelo gave a small chuckle and left, returning moments later with a bottle of some sort, poured it for John, and left the man in peace.

John checked his watch.

7:28pm. Hm, cutting it close, John mused to himself. But he could easily have had to finish up something last minute and it prolonged the journey. Or even traffic. Just to be certain, he sent Sherlock a quick text.

Angelo's got the whole setup for us. I'm amazed. –JW

Ten minutes later, John was still contentedly sipping his wine, slightly concerned that he hadn't received a response from Sherlock, but chalked it up to him being on his way. It wasn't unlike Sherlock to be late, he rather lived by his own timetable than anyone else's.

7:50pm

No word yet, but John suppressed the worried sensation in his gut and continued waiting, but still no text from his beloved.

8:10pm

Irritated, but unwilling to give up John gave up on sending a text and tried calling him, but was only met with a voicemail.

8:18pm

He hadn't received anything from Sherlock, and was beyond irritated. He finished off his third glass of wine, and asked Angelo to bring out his dinner. The man's face dropped slightly but he understood and would have the food sent out straightaway.

8:40pm

John was furious. He stared crossly out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the detectives head in one of the oncoming taxis. Sherlock had still not replied to his texts, or bothered to call him back. Angelo came over with a sad smile took his finished plate.

"He's not coming, is he?" John stated, rather than asking. Angelo took a moment before replying softly, "No mate, I don't think so." John nodded his head sharply, and asked for the bill immediately. He was done waiting at the restaurant.

Back at 221B, John was radiating a mixture of anger and disappointment. Sherlock had forgotten. He'd forgotten the day that he knew John was looking forward to this week. Mrs. Hudson had the misfortune of meeting John as he came in, and received a rather rude bark on John's part. He'd had to apologize later, he knew that. But at the moment, he was too angry over Sherlock's behavior to care. John sat on the couch, arms crossed and waiting, simply waiting for the detective to arrive home. It was so like Sherlock to forget something important, or rather, something sentimental to John.

He ran his hands through his hair angrily, but a sigh of discouragement left his lips. Could he bring such expectations to his relationship with Sherlock? Things had been so busy recently; they didn't have much time together, and therefore paying attention to each other's needs had been placed aside. Granted neither one of them brought very many pressing needs to the table, but that wasn't to say they didn't have them. Sherlock, for example, was extremely physical when he needed to think more clearly. According to him, it allowed him to make sure John was safely within his grasp, physically connecting with John, and therefore able to put his subconscious fears aside and focus on the task before him; or, on the other occasion when Sherlock was a cuddle monster. Nevertheless this day had been very important to him and Sherlock had known that.

John waited, as patiently as one could manage, but the longer the clock ticked on, the more upset John found himself. There was no message from Mycroft, so John could – for now – presume that Sherlock was safe.

"Damnit Sherlock," he muttered to himself. But before he could continue his internal monologue further, he heard the door open downstairs, the outside door. Heavy footfalls came soon after, definitely Sherlock's. John felt his face tighten suddenly, but forced himself to breathe deeply and relax. If he were to come at this with hostility, Sherlock were merely make a face, and storm off to their room, followed by locking the door, and John would find himself sleeping in his old bedroom again.

"John, you'll never believe what I discovered in the lab today, Molly and I were running this test, very delicate because it involved acid, you see. Anyway, as we began running this test we found the most peculiar substance within the fibers of the murderer's coattail. Now naturally we began looking for where in all of England this substance could exist, because it is so rare that I hadn't even considered it being on this isle, but then again–," he was cut off but John.

"Sherlock. Stop talking," he said, keeping his voice in check, afraid of what may come out of it if he didn't. The taller man looked at him with a quizzical brow, but remained silent nonetheless.

"Did you solve it?" he asked softly.

"Yes, John. Of course I did," he replied condescendingly, but there was a playful smile on his lips.

"When?" John asked flatly, keeping his eyes away from the beautiful sea-green ones above him that if he knew he looked into, he'd lose his resolve to bring it up.

"Earlier this evening of course, and then I…Oh," Sherlock stopped. His eyes lowered to look over John, realizing what he'd forgotten.

"Dinner…at Angelo's…" his voice trailed off.

"Yeah, dinner. The one you said you'd make."

"I didn't hear my phone go off."

"Obviously, or you would have shown up when you said you would!" John said, voice rising.

"John, I was doing tests to catch the killer, it was not a conscious action–," he cut off.

"Because it never is a conscious action! Sherlock you've forgotten this even when you knew how important it was to me. Because the test was more important to you at the time."

"Oh come on now John, don't be ridiculous," Sherlock replied with a role of his eyes.

"No! You stop being ridiculous. It may seem like nothing to you, but I was looking forward to this evening! Angelo helped me make it perfect, and even then you didn't show up. You could have at least told me what was going on, rather than standing me up at a restaurant in front of others!" he was almost yelling now, like Sherlock cared whether or not they disturbed the neighbors.

"John, we can make it another day, next Friday perhaps," Sherlock suggested.

"No, don't bother with that now, you twat!" John said spitting out the last word. Silence hung between them.

"But I'm glad to know your phone is working, and that it wasn't something more serious, like you being kidnapped for example," he muttered angrily and stalked off towards the kitchen to make tea, regardless if it was actually almost midnight. Sherlock moved with him.

"John, I'm sorry. I got so caught up with the test results, dinner completely slipped my mind." But John was in no mood to listen to his excuses.

"Oh yeah, I'm certain it was. It was so much more bloody important than our evening together that we specifically set aside in order to have time for one another. No don't, don't try and give me another excuse. If Molly was there, she obviously could have run the test on her own and then you could have shown up. But you didn't. Because you forgot," he took a deep breath to steady himself as he listened to the kettle beginning to boil.

"Because something else was more important."

"John, please, I didn't forget on purpose. I'm terribly sorry that things didn't turn out how you wished them to. I'll make it up to you, please," he said, moving to wrap his arms around John's waist. Sherlock felt the muscles tense beneath his touch, rather than relaxing as they normally did. He wasn't simply angry. John took the whistling kettle off the stove and stood stock still as Sherlock leaned against him. Sherlock used the opportunity to turn him around within his grasp, keeping a hand on his chin and tilting it up so he could gaze into his favorite ocean blue eyes. Eyes that were normally so full of intense happiness, and were now clouded slightly with sadness. Disappointed. John was disappointed in Sherlock's behavior.

"I'm sorry," he said, leaning his forehead against John's.

"I'm sorry I put my tests above what you planned. I didn't mean to make you feel uncared for, I got distracted. I do want to think of your needs John, I really do. It's not natural for me to think in this manner, and I know some slip ups are going to occur whilst I'm trying to manage the new consideration. Let me make it up to you," he whispered, pressing his lips against John's skin. Sherlock felt his relax slightly, followed by a sigh. That was a good sign.

"I'm not mad Sherlock, not anymore anyway," he said after a minute, finally moving to wrap his arms around Sherlock's lithe frame.

"Just disappointed," Sherlock finished for him. Neither one of them said anything. Sherlock pressed soft kisses into John's hair, unsure of what he was supposed to say in a situation like this to make John happy again. John's happiness meant the world to him, and he did truly feel bad that he had missed the dinner his lover had gone through so much trouble to prepare for him.

"We haven't had any time together lately," John said, muffled slightly by Sherlock's purple shirt. The Shirt. It was the one he wore when it was meant to impress John, when it was going to be time spent together. Sherlock hadn't meant to forget, no one ever really means to forget about something. Sherlock wouldn't have worn this shirt if he didn't think they would have been spending time together later.

"I know, so many cases have been coming in. One after another," Sherlock moved to cradle John's face in his hands.

"But we have time to ourselves now. I ruined dinner. But let me make it up to you with dessert perhaps?" he said with a suggestive eyebrow raise, and smoldering eyes that could turn John to putty. John looked up at his lover with suppressed lust behind his own eyes.

"Will you make up date night tomorrow?" he asked hopefully, knowing that since Sherlock had discovered who the killer was that he would be free tomorrow, and John knew he didn't have to go into the clinic at all.

"Well, it is technically tomorrow John," he said smoothly, unable to curb his habit of being on top of the conversation. Sherlock dipper his head to kissed the side of John's neck gently.

"And yes, I plan to."