*Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of its characters, although I am eternally grateful to those who do. This is just a fanfiction based on the show :) *
Lestrade and the Scotland Yard had yet to find a case that interested Sherlock, and unfortunately for Dr. Watson, that status had been true for over a month. John was sitting in his armchair, twiddling his fingers pointlessly on the keyboard of his laptop when his phone buzzed noisily on the table beside him. He was highly considering ignoring the message but decided he didn't have anything better to do.
John. -SH
John glared over at the consulting detective who was laying on the couch, outwardly disinterested in everything that was going on, but based on the text message, his mind was as active as any other time. Knowing it was very possible that Sherlock had forgotten the army doctor's presence across the room, John decided to reply to the text.
You do know, Sherlock, that I'm across the room from you? -JW
Placing his phone in his lap so it wouldn't make such a horrendous noise again, John continued to stare blankly at the open document in front of him. What was he intending to write again? "Of course I realize your location, John," Sherlock commented, still staring up at the ceiling and sounding like John had inconvenienced him.
"Right, of course you do," John muttered, shaking his head. "So why did texting me rule over talking, like a normal person?" There was no reply from Sherlock's side of the room, and John sighed, turning his laptop off and stretching. "I'm going to go for a walk, Mr. Holmes. Please don't blow anything up or kill yourself while I'm away," John warned the brilliant – albeit oblivious – consulting detective. Sherlock simply waved a hand in the doctor's direction.
John shrugged his coat on and slid his phone into the pocket, saying goodbye to Mrs. Hudson before starting his walk around London. He took his phone out as soon as he felt the stress of sharing a flat with Sherlock melt away and sent a desperate plea to Lestrade.
Please find an interesting case for him soon. I would really prefer not to murder anyone. -JW
It wasn't as if the whole of Scotland Yard didn't know of Sherlock's boredom. The brunette had spent many hours filling their phone inboxes, deducing their life's story, and most of all, bothering Anderson.
Oh, we all feel the same way. Just find another way to entertain him, please? GL
John rolled his eyes at the D.I.'s response and turned around, starting towards 221B again and hoping desperately that Sherlock had managed to keep the apartment under control and not on fire.
Unfortunately, all of John's hopes were dashed when he approached the door to the apartment and heard a loud gunshot ring out. Either Sherlock was shooting at the smiley face again, or he had managed to lure some dimwitted criminal to their apartment, and neither was a good option. John pushed the door open slowly and frowned at the detective, who was reloading the shotgun. "Sherlock!" Dr. Watson scolded, grabbing the gun and clicking the cartridge out. He turned the safety on before storing the gun in the desk drawer again, thinking yet again that he needed to find a different place to store it. The brunette was glaring at John's back, but the ex-soldier could only roll his eyes. "Mrs. Hudson hates when you destroy the flat. Hell, I hate it when you destroy the flat," he frowned at the detective, and surprisingly, he relented.
"Well, what else do you recommend I do?" Sherlock questioned testily, planting his feet on the couch and steepling his fingers in front of his mouth, a typical position for him. John shook his head and took his jacket off, kicking his shoes off by the front door as well.
"Well, if you ever did anything besides solving crimes, you would have an idea of what you would like to do," John sighed and threw a thick YellowPages onto the couch beside the consulting detective. Sherlock looked at the army doctor blankly, and John sighed heavily again. "Find something you want to do, get dressed, and we are going to get you out of this flat."
Even though the detective made his discontent with the plan known, he started to flip lazily through the phonebook, shaking his head at most of the options the phonebook gave. "These are boring, John," he said in his velvety bass voice, and John picked the phonebook up, removing the option for Sherlock.
"Fine, then I'm choosing, and you're going to enjoy it."
The army doctor sat down at the kitchen table and sipped from his cup of tea, flipping through the pages and finding that he actually agreed with Sherlock about the boring options. Finding a yellow notepad and a pen, the blogger started to jot down all casual yet entertaining places he could think of. The park was quickly crossed out because with nothing to focus Sherlock's attention, he was sure to offend one of the park's guests, and after last time... John shook his head to clear his thoughts. Right, planning to take Sherlock out. Of course, they could go to the morgue, but that was so ordinary, and John had no desire to spend the rest of his evening whipping (or otherwise desecrating) some poor person's corpse. He could always do something like the movies, but that would never entertain Sherlock for longer than four or five minutes. Finally, deciding that a dinner where focused conversation could occur was the best option, John started to compile a list of restaurants. Unfortunately for the pair, 221 Baker Street was not within walking distance of many restaurants, and John refused to allow Sherlock into a cab with a naive driver in his current state. That wouldn't be a fun experience for anyone involved.
After scanning through roughly half the list of nearby restaurants that an ever-handy Google search had pulled up, John spotted a name that sounded familiar. Trying to remember which Sherlock fan or co worker had recommended it to him, he suddenly realized that Sherlock and himself had gone to the restaurant after their first successful case as a team. It had been a night of celebration for sure, and perhaps it would be fun for the pair to reminisce on their first cases and all that those had entailed. John called the restaurant to reserve a table for him and Sherlock before walking into the main room where Sherlock was still in his dressing gown, staring at the ceiling with his fingers steepled over his mouth.
"Alright, Sherlock, up you get," John said, standing over the larger man and crossing his arms. "It's well past time that you did something besides bothering the Yard or destroying Mrs. Hudson's property."
"I suppose you found somewhere for us to go then?" the brunette asked, not bothering to look at the ex-soldier for even a moment. John sighed and snapped his fingers directly in front of the detective's face.
"Yes, I did find something, even though you failed to. We need to be there at six, and we're walking, so I suggest moving your arse along," John insisted, turning on his heel to go to his bedroom. He changed into black slacks and a light blue button-down shirt, straightening the collar as he slipped into dress shoes. The army doctor could only hope his crime-solving partner was doing the same.
John walked out to the main area of the flat, and even though Sherlock was in the same place as before, he had changed (into gray slacks and a white button-down shirt) and had not resorted to shooting the wall again. "Are you ready?" John asked the consulting detective who was staring at the ceiling. Sherlock nodded and the army doctor chuckled, grabbing his coat and draping it over his town. God help them if it was another cold, rainy London night. Sherlock had little patience for natural events, and rain would not encourage him to go out of the flat without a case again.
Much to John's discontent, Sherlock had not bothered to move from the couch. "Sherlock!" John scolded, his voice ringing with his frustration. "I already told you, our reservation is at six, and if you don't start moving…" The ex-soldier tried to sound threatening, but he found himself - much to his anger - melting at the way Sherlock's eyes stared into him. "Please, Sherlock?" he asked a moment later and the consulting detective stood with a clap of his hands. Without a word, the brunette slipped into his coat and pulled the collar up, raising an eyebrow at John as he stepped through the door.
The blonde exhaled heavily and locked the door to their flat, jogging in order to keep up with Sherlock's long strides. "See, there's your problem, Sherlock. More people would want to go out with you if you weren't so inconsiderate," the army doctor scolded as he finally caught up to the brunette's rapid pace.
"Are you saying you would like to go out with me, John?" Sherlock replied in his velvety voice, throwing a sidelong glance at the doctor before moving his gaze forward again.
"Well, it's better than having you shooting the walls," John grumbled next to Sherlock, his pace still faster than was comfortable for him. Sherlock chuckled softly, glancing up at the grey sky in deep thought. "You really need to apologize to Mrs. Hudson for that," John mumbled, and Sherlock shrugged, the same reaction as always. John huffed and grabbed the sleeve of Sherlock's coat, dragging him into the restaurant where they had celebrated their first successful case.
"Really, John?" Sherlock asked, arching an eyebrow when he realized where they were.
"Yes, really. There's nothing else even remotely interesting close to us, and maybe you can forget your lack of a case by bragging about your old cases," John huffed, telling the server their name and following her to a small table away from most others. Sherlock followed John and the ginger-haired waiter, looking as if he were pondering the idea. "I always like to talk about my cases..." the detective said, taking a seat at the round table and offering John what (looked to be) a sincere smile. "Maybe this was a good idea, Dr. Watson." John couldn't help but smirk a little at Sherlock's confession.
"Well, thank you for trusting me for once, Detective Holmes."
The waiter came to take their order then the pair fell into a comfortable silence, glancing outside where droplets of rain were starting to splatter the concrete. "Do you remember the first time we came here?" John finally asked, turning his gaze away from the hypnotizing rain.
"I do. It was after our first case as a team. What did you title that one again?" Sherlock asked, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth yet again.
"A Study in Pink," John replied, smiling a little as Sherlock pulled his ever-present pose. John should really start counting how long the detective could go without doing that pose. "Ah, yes, a very fitting title, I must admit." The ginger-haired waiter interrupted them long enough to deliver their meals and ask if they would care for a refill on their drinks. They both obliged.
Sherlock's compliment was as good as ignored because the brunette and the blonde dug into their food immediately after it arrived. It was half past seven, and John, at least, hadn't eaten since lunch. He had no clue when the detective had eaten last, but he acted ravenous, so John assumed that it had been a while. After a few moments, they had filled their bellies enough to be content with conversation and a slower-paced meal, but it seemed like neither wanted to break the silence that laid comfortably across them. Instead, they stared, at each other for the most part. Occasionally, their silverware scraped across their plates and their gazes lowered to see who had made the movement, but afterwards, they slipped into the same positions, their pupils dilating subtly as they took the other's appearance in greedily.
*A/N:
Hi, y'all! I hope you liked this first part. The story was originally a one-shot idea, but it got a little bit long (this part is 2,015 words :o), and I was really eager to put my second piece up on this site! Anyways, any reading, reviewing, following, and favoriting would be much appreciated! Thanks, and I love you all! :)
P.S. This section has not been Beta'd, so all mistakes are uniquely mine! I am still looking for a Beta reader, so if you're interested, pm me?
P.P.S. You can pm me anyways, I love people!