A/N: I got this idea from the tumblr post referenced in the summary. I hope all of this makes sense, and sorry if there are any mistakes or "Americanisms" in the story.
"Come on, kiddo. You could get free cake, too," Harry presses, tapping the screen of his laptop as he scrolls through Facebook. "Just make a post and ask if anyone wants to get fake engaged for an hour or two tomorrow morning."
John barely glances at her over his shoulder. "What's the point of even doing that?" He turns back to the screen and continues patently ignoring his sister's suggestions.
"Isn't it simple?" She passes in front of his chair as she plops onto the couch. "Free cake?" With a smile, she continues,"And you could get laid."
John practically chokes on his saliva, gasping to right his breath as he whips his head up to stare her down. Indignant and red in the face, he assures seriously,"I don't need sex."
"Au contraire, mon freré," she smiles, crossing her arms. "Your girlfriend broke up with you, what, 5 months ago? You haven't had someone get you off in that long?"
Even redder, if that's possible, John counters,"You do know I could get myself off?" He shakes his head, trying to bring himself to be embarrassed about what he just said, but he can't seem to.
"But what about that lack of human contact you always complain about?" She shrugs a shoulder in a placating gesture, taking a sweet from the bowl their mother insisted on them keeping. She unwraps it with her teeth as she says,"Just saying."
John decides then that the idea actually isn't that bad.
"I've got a response," he says later that day, squinting his eyes in the dark of the flat.
"For what?" Harry asks, coming behind his chair to peer over his shoulder. With widened eyes and a small upward curl of her lips, she asks,"You actually listened to my suggestion?"
John smiles. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it. Just figured you needed a wingman to avoid botching something." His sister pulls an indignant face, surprisingly similar to what John's looked like.
"How could I fuck up? Actually, don't answer that question," she emphasizes, pointing back at his laptop. "You'll spew shit out of your smart arse mouth. Please, just read the comment."
"'My answer entirely depends on the location of the implied bakery.'" Miffed, he glances at the commenter's name, scratching at the back of his neck. Even Harry gives a disgruntled huff as he informs,"Their name is...Sherlock Holmes."
She knocks his shoulder. "Well what are you waiting for?" He quickly taps out a reply, being sure to specify the time of Harry's outing and the bakery's name, address, owner, and phone number in the process. Silently, he hopes that's pleasing enough to this stranger.
The response is almost immediate. "'Excellent,'" he reads aloud,"'I shall meet you at exactly 8:00 A.M. in the café opposite the bakery. Look for 'the tall man in the big coat', as others would describe me.'" Harry chuckles, going to brew a cuppa in the kitchen.
"Looks like you've got yourself an odd bloke," she laughs, coming back into the living room and reveling in her brother's face. "Good thing you swing both ways," she says lightly, taking a meager sip of her tea with an irritated exclamation at the temperature.
"Yeah," he sighs softly, typing out a grateful and cooperative answer. He doesn't get a response.
John decides then that this Sherlock bloke is worth a day out.
"Hey, you want a pumpkin latté? I hear it's in style," Harry says, pointing at the menu eagerly.
"Everything pumpkin flavored is in style this time of year," John deadpans, watching as his sister's girlfriend orders the seasonal fall drink anyway.
Harry hits his shoulder. "Hey, it'll be fine, alright?" She gives him an awkward little pat as she assures,"It's not even 8 yet, so don't start thinking the bloke stood you up." John barely makes a noise of acknowledgment, scanning the place again for any man in a big coat.
5 minutes, and one pumpkin latté for John, later, it's 7:58, and the bloke still hasn't shown. He's tempted to just tell Harry to go by herself because, after all, she's the one getting married, and he just caught a ride for the cake and the date who seems to have bailed even before he entered.
Against his better judgement, he doesn't give into that temptation and stays a little longer, hopeful that this Sherlock Holmes is just someone who shows up a bit late everywhere he goes.
Then, out of the blue, an astoudingly skinny and pale man rushes through the door, his coat billowing out rather dramatically. Almost looking crazed, John clings to the man's energy, only tearing his eyes away momentarily to check his watch.
8:00 A.M.
"You must be Sherlock Holmes."
The taller man nods sharply, digging his fingers into the back of his skull. John almost tells him to stop, that looks painful, before he ruffles his hair and brings his hands down to his sides, albeit his fingers keep twinging like he's about to claw someone's eyes out.
"Quickly, come outside," he orders, turning on his heel urgently to stop at the door he just whisked through. John heeds his advice and quickly strides through the door as he holds it open, glancing furtively at him under his lashes.
"Get the light out of my pocket."
John turns to him fully with a furrowed brow, examining the cigarette in his hand that wasn't there a moment ago. "Um...what?" he asks slowly, breathing heavily.
With his face set in a hard scowl, Sherlock groans impatiently, still twitching,"I very much hate repeating myself." He holds out his trembling hand, John's eyes clinging greedily to the movement. Remembering himself, he pats clumsily down the man's coat until he finds the lighter and holds it out for him.
"I thought this would be a more formal outing," Sherlock says, irritated as he takes it and lights his cigarette. With a puff of smoke, he tugs at his shirt collar, only slightly less fidgety than a minute ago.
"Sorry?" John turns to Sherlock with a confused frown, wrinkling his nose at the fact that this glorious looking man is damaging himself with something so small.
"Here I am wearing my most flattering shirt, but here you are wearing a rather abysmal jumper," he states matter-of-factly, taking another drag of his cigarette. With a shrug of his shoulders, he allows the tendrils of smoke to blow into his face, caressing his cheekbones.
John shuffles slightly closer to the man, pinned with a suspicious glare at the movement. "I never told you to dress nice."
"Maybe so, but how will anyone believe we're engaged?" he frowns, blowing a geyser of smoke from his mouth. "We don't have an engagement ring, and we're both complete strangers with different personalities, morals, and backgrounds."
"Uhm...?"
"Luckily for you," he says with a tight-lipped smile,"I take into account the stupidity of other people - oh, don't look so offended." He waves away John's appalled expression. "Practically everyone's an idiot, and you're no exception."
With a sad smile, he passes a hand through his hair. "Way to make a bloke feel loved."
"Here is a ring - and no," he assures, seeing John's agape mouth,"I didn't spend any money on it. My brother's rather good at obtaining things for me: really the only reason he's valuable," Sherlock says quietly, rooting through his pocket and pulling out a velvet box.
He continues quickly,"I believe we should familiarise ourselves with each other -"
"Wait," John shakes his head, waving a finger to stop Sherlock,"we're really going to do all this stuff just to be convincing?" Almost as an afterthought, he adds,"All for some cake?"
He looks particularly scandalized, cigarette hanging sloppily from the side of his mouth. "Don't be ridiculous," he scoffs, more smoke following his exhale. "It's for the police more than the cake."
Wondering whether it's his business to ask, he says carefully, slowly,"Um...what?"
"The owner's suspected of arson and murder," he replies quickly, as if that answers the question. He stubs out his cigarette with a step of his expensive shoe, practically darting into the café. Startled, John follows swiftly behind, pulling on his sleeve.
"We're going to see a baker that's a potential arsonist, not to mention murderer?" he says incredulously, trying to keep up with Sherlock's gait as he heads for a table in the back.
Sherlock slows a bit. "Technically, yes, but that bakery has great reviews, and the police are stupid."
John chuckles more genuinely than he has in weeks. "And I suppose you'll put them in their place, will you?" Sherlock looks smug as he tries to hide his smirk.
"Considering the stupendous ignorance levels of their forensics team and the incompetence of their detectives, yes." He smiles, glasz eyes twinkling with something young and mischievous. "Yes, I will."
John decides then that he needs to learn more about Sherlock Holmes.
"It's astounding," he says absently, prodding lightly at the plate of food John demanded he order. John glances up from his toast and eggs.
"What is?" he asks, inching his hand over to find the salt shaker. Sherlock hums lowly, invested in his mobile phone more so than his meal, much to John's chagrin.
He shows John the post on his screen. "The stupidity of multiple nations. Some woman said she got stuck on an escalator because the power went out," he says with a very distinct wince, going back to scanning his cellular device. "How can so much ignorance be bottled up in one individual?"
John chuckles, popping a bite of egg into his mouth. "That's one of the unanswered questions of the world," he jokes, only half-serious as Sherlock shows him another post on Facebook.
"Another woman tried to cremate her pet in her oven." Wrinkling his nose in distaste at the bitterness of his tea, he continues scrolling through the phone. "I have baked numerous visceral and sometimes disturbing things, but never have I been stupid enough to think cooking my dead pet would turn them to ashes."
"Should I even ask what you've cooked in your kitchen?" John questions, taking a sip of his coffee, because this day will be particularly manic.
He looks thoughtful momentarily before responding,"I'd advise against it if you have a weak stomach, but assuming you someday want to be an army doctor, I would say ask if your curiousity is strong enough."
John notices a pattern of choking on his spit today. "Wait, how did you - ?" He stops himself, peeling a container of jam open and trying to still the whirring thoughts in his rampant brain.
"The clock on your phone is set for military time, so you obviously are familiar with it, but aren't in the army yourself." He takes a pointed sip of tea before continuing,"That would mean you have relatives in the army. You're wearing dog tags around your neck and another pair is in your pocket."
"Your sister Harry is starting to have a bit of an alcohol problem, as evidenced by her mobile phone - "
"Wait," John stops him,"you can tell she drinks a lot by looking at her phone?"
"Yes, do keep up," he says scathingly. "Now, someone in your family is a doctor, I would say mother. She obviously gave you that watch, seeing as it still counts civilian time. It has the medical caduceus symbol on it, although most people fail to realize the rod of asclepius is actually the correct - ." He pauses at John's annoyed huff and instead continues,"The point is, you plan on becoming a doctor, more precisely an army doctor."
He smiles proudly and sips his tea. "You're a bit of a gambler as well, but I'll keep that a secret. Bad habit, bound to get you in a bit of trouble, but I suppose smoking isn't much better."
"How could you bloody know all that?" John exclaims, momentarily forgetting his cup of coffee, almost spilling it over in his excitement.
Sherlock smirks. "Though none of that answers the question of why you agreed to come along with your sister to try cake with a stranger from Facebook?" His steepled hands flatten on the table, looking oddly like a cat about to pounce. "It wasn't your idea to tag along: your sister's?"
John huffs out half a laugh. "Yeah, Harry insisted that the cake would be amazing."
With narrowed eyes, he whispers,"But that wasn't the reason you came, was it?"
John's ears glow pink as he scrambles to say,"No, not really. I just thought she could use a spectator, you know," he waves a hand,"to make sure she doesn't fuck anything up."
His eyes narrow even further. "No...that's not it either. The deal had to have been beneficial to you."
"Well," he starts, feeling strangely itchy at the back of his neck,"she promised I'd, well...get laid, as she so eloquently put it."
Suddenly, his face falls, and John is left wondering how a man with these abilities and who smokes can look so much like a naïve child. "Laid?" He begrudgingly continues,"I'm afraid that's a euphemism I'm unfamiliar with."
"Wait: you can 'deduce' all of that about me, and get it all bloody spot on, but you don't know what 'getting laid' means?" John takes a disbelieving swig of his coffee, thinking minutely that he needs another cup.
Sherlock's face scrunches up. "I've already implied that, John, do keep up." He takes a passive agressive bite of his toast, which is really quite less intimidating than he probably thinks.
"It means...," he clears his throat,"sex." He watches Sherlock blink in rapid succession, taking another sip of his tea. "She promised that if I went, I would 'get laid' and stop annoying her with my 'unresolved sexual tension.'"
Blinking still, Sherlock stays almost uncharacteristically silent until he clears his throat. "Although I'm quite sure most girls would happily cling to you and feed into your libido," he starts sharply,"I am not a blushing bride, nor will I be giving you a blow job."
John really needs to stop choking today: it's very unflattering. "Whoa, whoa! I never said you had to." He shakes his head at the bluntness of this brilliant man.
A little crinkle appears between his eyebrows, which is simply adorable. "But you just said sex was why you came."
John ignores the word 'came' in that sentence. "Yes, I did, but you're more interesting than sex," he says, and the sentence surprises even him.
Apparently Sherlock is surprised as well. Pleasantly surprised, John would describe his expression as. "Really now?"
Before he can respond, Harry pounds her hands on the table. "Alright, love birds," she patently ignores her brother's indignant denial of them being in love,"We got to leave now. Clara's getting impatient."
"I think you mean you're getting impatient," Clara clarifies, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "But yeah, we're going over now."
John decides then that this is more fun than he's had in weeks.
"My god, I'm stuffed," Harry belches, holding her hands over her stomach. "The red velvet, and vanilla with raspberry..."
"Hey, you didn't eat too much," John comments, looking pointedly at Sherlock. He grabs the taller man by his sleeve, holding him under the awning to keep him dry from the London downpour.
He murmurs,"Of what I had, I could determine that it was delicious. But I'm afraid I'll have to ask Lestrade to make an arrest," he continues, pulling out his mobile and tapping out a message.
"Wait, what?" Harry squawks, pulling away from where she kissed Clara on the cheek. "What're you on about?" She pushes away from her fiancé to try and peer at his cell phone.
"As it would seem, Mrs. Shaw is terrible at concealing evidence." He groans, the noise smothered by his scarf as he slides his phone back into his pocket. "Originally this case was a 7.6. Uh, now it's only a 3.4."
"You rate your 'cases?'" John queries, standing a little too close to him to be able to say he only has platonic intent. "A little old lady commiting arson and murder isn't interesting?"
He huffs, pulling at his hair as he answers."It's not that it isn't interesting, but the execution is appalling. Much too easy."
"Just like John if you asked him to - hey!" she exclaims as John slaps her in the shoulder. "Just joking!"
Clara chuckles,"Or is she?"
"Don't you two have something to do?" John asks lowly. "I'm sure Sherlock doesn't want to hear anymore of your inappropriate jokes." He places his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, noticing the way he tenses at the physical attention.
Harry shifts her eyes suspiciously between both of them before holding out her hand for Clara to take. "Alright, kiddo, I'll let you and His Nibs off easy." Before she can say anything embarrassing or insinuate something immature but true, Clara pulls her roughly away in search of a cab.
After a beat of silence, John turns back to Sherlock and notices his gaze is directed to the level where their hands should be. Looking down, he realizes exactly what the taller man is examining and jumps sharply away, cradling his hand as if it was burned.
Sherlock does that clueless blink of his again. "You were holding my hand," he says plainly, flexing his fingers against the lack of flesh entwined with his. He glances up, eyes calculating in a way that makes John want to apologize and forget this ever happened. "Why?"
"Um...," he scratches at the back of his neck. "I don't know," he ends on, and he's being completely honest.
Sherlock stares at him for another moment, vibrant eyes drilling into John and taking in his every feature before relaxing again and staring up at the rain from the safety of the bakery awning. The rain continues to pour, combating the long bout of silence.
"Can I kiss you?" John blurts out. Sherlock whips his head around to face him, and John can't determine his expression.
"Why?" is his immediate question. Before he can commit to a rapid-fire attack of suspicious inquiries, he seemingly wants to give John a chance to explain himself.
"Why not?" John tries simply, but Sherlock apparently isn't having him take the easy way out.
"I'm the unfeeling weirdo, freak, and psychopath with a smoking habit and past drug addiction. I am dismissive of the virtuous, unaware of the beautiful, and uncomprehending in the face of the happy. Now honestly, tell me why?"
He only hesitates for a moment. "Because I like you." Sherlock's eyes widen to the size of soup plates. "You're brilliant and glorious and attractive and intimidating and, just - the list goes on."
Strangely quiet, Sherlock turns to face him with a gaze that sends shivers down John's spine. "I enjoy your company as well, John Watson."
That makes John the happiest man in the world.
"I suppose I wouldn't be adverse to the idea of simulating a good night kiss..."
John decides then that he is inadvertently, utterly, madly besotted with Sherlock Holmes.
A/N: Bit of a long piece for me, but I hope you all made it through and enjoyed it. I'd very much appreciate any feedback.