Summary: John is in love with Sherlock. Deeply in love. So, he goes on a date with Sherlock, only Sherlock doesn't have a clue.
Word count: 1,012
"So what prompted this? We don't normally go to posh restaurants," said Sherlock. He flipped his collar and smoothed his suit, for once not wearing his customary trench coat.
"I just thought it would be nice," replied John.
"Nice? Is there a murderer hiding in here?" Sherlock eyed the high arches of the restaurant, Il Gusto de Venezia.
John laughed and linked arms with Sherlock, whose eyebrows shot up.
"Reservation for Watson," John told a waiter.
"You made reservations?" Sherlock muttered.
"Of course," said John.
They were guided along to a table set with wine glasses and a candle. Someone had sprinkled rose petals on and around the table, and the napkins were in origami hearts.
Sherlock shifted in his seat. John took a minute to admire Sherlock, hair swept in careless curls, cheekbones regal, and dark eyes taking in the room.
The room was what you'd expect of a fancy, Italian restaurant in England. The ceiling was high with Roman-style statues and artwork lining the room. Women wore their finest dresses and men had roses in their lapels. There was even a couple passionately kissing to a smattering of applause in the far corner. However, there was not a child in sight.
John touched Sherlock's hand.
"Ready to order?" he asked.
"More wine for you sir?" the waiter asked.
"Yes, please," said John, "and he'll have some too."
Sherlock's mind was already slightly addled- his movements were slower and less precise- but even drunk he was the center of the room. His dark eyes captivated John, who felt his face burn. To the frustration of some young men, their dates openly ogled Sherlock. John smirked smugly. He had definitely fallen for the right man! The only problem, he mused, was that Sherlock didn't have a clue.
"What are you thinking about, John?" Sherlock said. John thought he saw a girl faint out of the corner of his eye.
"Oh nothing," John said, just thinking about how gorgeous you look tonight, he silently added. On a second thought, maybe John could flirt a little too. A date's a date, right?
"What did you do with your hair?" John reached over to encourage a rebellious curl back to its natural position.
"My hair?" Sherlock's eyes followed John's hand across the valley of the table.
"Yes," John said, returning his hand back to his lap, "It's more wild than usual. I like it."
Sherlock was silent, probably confused on what to do next. So, John took pity on him.
"Ready for dessert?" John asked.
Sherlock nodded, "Presuming they serve anything other than gelato."
"Excuse me," neatly clad waiter said, "But we serve over thirty different desserts, including tiramisu, biscotti, and panforte."
Sherlock had no shame.
"I'll have the tiramisu," he said.
John held in a chuckle.
"Do you have torta caprese?" he asked, "I'll have that."
John spent the next thirty minutes dancing around Sherlock- flirting but ever so subtly. He stole a forkful of Sherlock's tiramisu at one point.
Sherlock spent the next thirty minutes trying to figure out what the strange feeling in the back of his heart was. He subconsciously picked up on John's flirting, but never fully realized what was happening. In revenge for John's tiramisu theft, he took a bite out of whatever weird Italian dessert John had. John grinned, and Sherlock found himself smiling back. Funnily enough, that made John grin more.
Sherlock observed the faint flush on John's cheeks and the way he kept tilting his head to the side. The crows-feet at the corner of John's eyes crinkled every time he laughed, and Sherlock realized he wanted to keep seeing that.
"Ready to go, Sherlock?" John asked.
"Yes," Sherlock reached for his wallet as John reached for his.
"What? No, I've got this," John said.
"No you don't," Sherlock said. He took the bill and examined it. John snatched it and ran off with it.
"John, don't be ridiculous!" Sherlock dove after him.
"I'm not the one being ridiculous in this situation!"
Although they weren't causing mayhem, people still stopped eating and stared.
"Hey, is that Sherlock Holmes?" someone said.
Sherlock immediately hightailed it back to their table, John close on his heels.
"Halfsies?" asked John rushedly.
Sherlock tossed a wad of cash on the table and John did the same.
Sherlock took John's hand.
"Let's get out of here, they look rather predatory."
Indeed they did. Half of them seemed poised to leap at Sherlock.
"It is! It's Sherlock Holmes!" another person cried.
"Run!" Sherlock said, and they dashed through the restaurant.
It was a breathless but laughing couple that reached the doorstep of 221b Baker Street.
"I didn't expect that," John said and then chuckled again. He put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, grinning.
Then something clicked. Sherlock knew what that rolly sensation of flying in his chest was.
"John," Sherlock heard himself ask, "was this a date?"
John stopped laughing immediately. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something and closed it. Strengthening his resolve, he squared his shoulders and said with far less hesitation:
"Yes. Sherlock, I'm in love with you."
"Then," Sherlock murmured, "I think I'm in love with you too."
John's heart beat as wildly as Sherlock's hair.
"John," Sherlock said in that same low voice, "can I kiss you?"
John stepped forward, and Sherlock caught him in a burning, passionate kiss.
They kissed like this for a couple minutes, melting into each other when John broke away.
"What is it? Is something the matter John?"
"No, I just think we should continue this inside," John looked at the crowd of onlookers that had materialized.
Sherlock looked where John was looking and opened the door. John went to step inside, but not before Sherlock quickly kissed him again. Sherlock broke off and gestured inside. John rolled his eyes to the wolf whistles and catcalls.
The door of 221b Baker Street swung shut, and the residents of that house were forevermore changed, particularly Mrs. Hudson who endured countless nights of suspicious sounds coming from the floor above her.
The Little Doctor