*Spoilers for S2 go watch it and quit being spoiled!*

So the sexy dinner scene but with John instead of Irene. I woke up this morning with an idea of how to do this and it probably would have been better had I done it then but you see being lazy and all I couldn't be arsed so it was but in a mental drawer until now. Hope you like it!

'Coventry.' He said suddenly.

'Never been. Is it nice?'

'Where's Irene?' asked a confused sounding detective.

'She went to bed, a couple of hours ago. You didn't notice.' John said softly, putting down his book and leaning forwards in his chair slightly. The warm glow of the fire coloured his hair so that it seemed golden.

'She was just here, talking to you.' Sherlock stated, his eyes shifting about in an almost unnerving way, it didn't bother John in the slightest he was used to all of Sherlock's strange little quirks.

'Must have been thinking of something good.' The doctor continued a flicker of something in his eyes, something Sherlock couldn't quite place.

'Not really.'

Instead of just shifting in his chair this time John stood up, slowly, and walked towards a still confused detective. He leaned in close, his breath tickling against Sherlock's neck. Forcing Sherlock to meet his eyes, seconds later he could feel the warmth of John, his heartbeat, through the hand that now rested on his own.

'Lets have dinner.'

'John.'

'You might be hungry.'

'I'm not.'

'Good.'

Staring into the speckled brown of John's eyes, his mind racing through a hundred different ways this situation could go, he turned his hand up, fingers meeting the inside of John's wrist. Feeling his elevated pulse. He let his eyes roam over every feature of the doctor's face, stopping to stare as John wet his lips. He swallowed hard forcing himself to keep examining.

He felt himself flush as he took in John's blown pupils, the gentle blush that crept over his cheeks. He froze as John met his eyes again, lust filled eyes staring through soft lashes, making him want to shiver.

'Why would I- want to have dinner if I wasn't hungry?' his voice giving away everything as it stumbled out deep and almost breathless.

'mmh' John breathed out, his breath shivering in the space between them. 'Mr Holmes-' he began, his voice barely a whisper against Sherlock's lips 'If it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night, would you have dinner with me?'

'Sherlock?' came the shrill voice of their landlady.

'Too late.' John sighed pulling away slightly.

'It's not the end of the world, it's Mrs Hudson.'

'Good.'

'Good?' Sherlock asked, confused again.

'Good answer, now we'll start with the riding crop.'

Fin