"- and then if you look here there is a faint blood smear. This makes us assume that the killer-" Sherlock was cut off in his rant by a vibrate in his pocket that was followed by a sound that, to everyone in the room, could only mean one thing: Sherlock had a text message. A few feet away, John Watson flinched at the sound that had filled the room.
"Are you going to check that?" John asked as Sherlock began to continue his speech, then turned to Greg Lestrade and politely excused himself before walking from the room, the door swinging shut behind him. Sherlock looked after him, confused, then turned to Lestrade.
"Did I say something?" When no one in the room gave an answer, he went back to explaining the murder, though every few minutes his eyes strayed back to the door on their own accord.
The case took less time than anyone had expected. Without intending to, Sherlock left the building hurriedly, but Doctor Watson was long gone. Not wishing to bother with a taxi, he set on the long walk back to their flat. In less than 15 minutes, a familiar voice reached his ears and Sherlock turned to see the very man he'd been thinking of walking beside a girl that had been a visitor twice at their flat.
Automatically his mind began to evaluate the situation, all the while an almost burning sensation took over his chest in an emotion he'd never felt before. The couple before him was laughing from a joke one had just told. Every time he would look at the girl the emotion would grow to an almost unbearable level until finally, they were out of his sight.
'Going to the flat, I suppose." Sherlock said then headed a different direction he knew would get himself there before them.
It worked out as Sherlock had planned. Once he got home he was able to sit for a minute before hearing the sweet sound of John's footsteps on the way up to their flat. However, this time, like countless others, those footsteps were followed by ones that seemed unsure.
'Which can only mean-' His thought process was once again interrupted.
"Sherlock. I didn't know if you'd be home yet." John said, hoping his flat-mate didn't detect the happy tone.
"Actually, John, I should be getting home." The girl looked at her watch and gave John a smile before standing up straighter to give him a quick kiss on the cheek and hurrying out the door.
"You left. Why'd you leave?" Sherlock blurted out of utter curiosity.
"I had a date."
"No." He swung around in his chair to face the couple who stood in the doorway. "Whenever you have a 'date' you constantly check the time. Never once did I see you checking it this evening."
"Since when did you pay attention to-"
"I notice much more than you think I do." Sherlock cut him off. A silence hung in the air as their eyes dared the other to say something. John was the first to surrender.
"What did she want?" He asked, then cleared his throat.
"Who's she?" Sherlock said, thankful for another topic.
"The text you got."
"Who said it was from a she?"
"I only assumed…" Sherlock then took out the phone and read quickly then put it back. "You didn't read it." John stated, and his friend gave him a look he knew all too well.
"It wasn't important." Another silence fell upon them, but this one was much calmer than the first. Again, John spoke first, knowing Sherlock could sit there for hours in the silence, though it was guaranteed he'd be fidgety all the while.
"What did she want?"
"Who?"
"Irene." Sherlock's mouth lifted into a smile and he reached into his pocket to pull out the phone once more. "In town on business. Let's have dinner." He read then put the cell in his jacket once more.
"And…?"
"And what?"
"Will you go to dinner?"
"Why would it matter to you?"
"I'm just asking!" John asked, holding up his hands, trying to show he'd meant nothing else by it, though his cheeks were flushed a dark shade of pink.
Sherlock gave him another of his famous looks then grabbed the laptop from the table behind him and opened it. John thought about commenting on how the laptop belonged to him, but just shook his head, smiling.
"How was your dinner with your… girlfriend?" Sherlock's fingers paused on the keyboard as he waited for a response.
"I… We didn't eat anything. Just went to see a film, and she isn't my girlfriend." At this, Sherlock's fingers halted again for just a moment then continued. "Are you going?" John tried again, picking up a book and opening it, trying to keep his eyes on anything but the man across the room in fear of giving any emotion away. He could sense Sherlock's gaze boring into him, and quickly added to his question, "It could be dangerous, she still has people after her and… well you remember what happened last time."
"Yes, I remember," Sherlock shut the laptop and sighed. "John, you should know by now it's foolish to worry about me. Or have you not figured out that our entire job is dangerous." John ignored the butterflies that seemed to appear in his stomach at the word 'our' and took a deep breath.
"Well then I'll be a fool. I care about you too much to willingly allow you to go out, without my protection, into such a… dangerous situation."
"Before I met you, I-"
"Before you met me you didn't go on dinner dates with criminals, did you?"
"What are you saying?"
"If you insist on going I'm coming with you." Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the statement.
"Going with me?" John nodded. "To dinner?" Again, he got a nod in response. "Are you hungry?"
"Not necessarily at this moment." John set his book to the side.
"Then why would you want to go to a restaurant?"
"To make sure nothing happens."
"To protect me.
"Precisely."
"From Irene."
"Yes! Wait, no… What?"
"You don't want me to go."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to." Sherlock tore his eyes away from Johns and looked at the fire which neither had noticed since arriving. "I wasn't going to go." He said in a quiet voice.
"Why not?"
"I don't want to go to dinner with her." He admitted slowly.
"You don't…?" John asked as he watched the man that knew him better than anyone ever had(or ever could) with an expression that, he knew, revealed all of the pent up emotion that had been growing rapidly the more time they spent together.
"No… I would rather-"
"Are you hungry?"John hurriedly asked.
"What?"
"It's getting close to dinner time and obviously Mrs. Hudson isn't fixing anything." John then stood up and walked over to Sherlock, extending his hand in offering. "So Sherlock Holmes, would you go to dinner with me?"
"John…"
"Would you rather I got down on one knee to ask?" John grinned, causing Sherlock to do the same.
"You didn't allow me to finish. John Watson, I would be delighted to accompany you to dinner." Sherlock said, accepting his outstretched hand.