John knew that Sherlock was by just his nature a very odd man. At first the way that Sherlock stared at him, John just figured Sherlock was being—well, Sherlock. John wasn't quite sure how Sherlock did it; but he couldn't do it. He couldn't stay cooped up in the apartment all day. He needed social interaction , so when Sara asked if he wanted to join her and a couple other colleagues out for coffee he'd all but jumped at the chance.
He had mentioned the invitation to Sherlock, because he was almost a hundred percent sure that the man wasn't listening. As soon as the last word left his mouth, he'd known that his original assumption that he hadn't been listening was incorrect.
Sherlock opened his eyes, peering over his steepled fingers to look at John. "So Sara wins again, does she?"
John turned so that he was looking right at Sherlock. "I'm not quite sure what you mean. Since when does anyone win or lose?" This is not a game or a race. It's just coffee; I'll only be gone for a couple of hours,"
Sherlock closed his eyes, to which John shook his head. The simple action of John closing his eyes meant that he was either annoyed or thinking. Sometimes John wished that there was a manual for living with Sherlock.
Sherlock, on the other hand, knew exactly what he was doing. As the day of the 'coffee date' approached Sherlock began making plans. There was a multitude of things that John didn't know about him and that night he was about to learn one of them.
John came downstairs later to discover that the kitchen table, which was usually cluttered with whatever experiment Sherlock was working on, had been cleared. John stood in the living room staring at the table. It had been cleared and set for supper. For one bizarre moment John entertained the idea that perhaps Sherlock was having company over.
"Sherlock?" John hoped it wasn't the other idea—Mycroft might have come in and decided that Sherlock wasn't eating enough. He'd done that sort of thing before and he'd become almost impossible afterwards.
Sherlock poked his head out of the kitchen, apron on with one of John's green oven mitts on his left hand. John blinked and squinted, was this for real? Was Sherlock actually cooking? And the more important question; was it edible. "John?"
"What are you doing?"
Sherlock just rolled his eyes. "Really John? Even for someone like you I thought that was obvious. I'm cooking dinner."
John closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, he could feel the beginnings of a migraine coming on. For some strange reason had that effect on him. "Okay...Well I'm going to meet Sara for coffee. See you tonight." John shook his head as he slipped his feet into his shoes, threw his jacket over his arm and left the flat.
Sherlock stood in the kitchen. So the first experiment had failed, he would have to try better; he'd have to get John's attention back on him and away from Sarah. Of course, it had never occurred to Sherlock to just tell John how he felt.
Three days later, John came home exhausted from a particularly long day. He was almost certain that he'd come home to find the flat in shambles, or at least find Sherlock waist deep in whatever new and barely understandably experiment he was conducting. John had come to the conclusion that Sherlock was under the impression that no one would understand his experiments—and he loathed to explain them to anyone—even John. Watson mentally prepared himself for what he would find. What he hadn't expected was what greeted him. On the table there was tea, with a simple meat and vegetable dish. The lighting was low as to not disturb John if he had a headache, the fire in the fireplace was warm and inviting, keeping the room at a comfortable temperature and Sherlock was seated in his favourite chair playing soft music on his violin.
John was in shock, and for a few moments he just stood in the doorway, staring at Sherlock. He shook his head as if to clear it as he approached the other man carefully, as if at any moment he would start yelling (as John knew from experience that this could be a real threat). "Sherlock?"
The consulting detective opened his eyes but never stopped playing his instrument. He may have looked relaxed but in reality he was taking in his surroundings and John's body language. If this wasn't what John wanted, if this was too subtle there was only one other thing that Sherlock could think if but that was to be a last resort. Sherlock knew that once he took that step, there would be no denying it, no taking it back or pretending that there was nothing between them. He was hopeful it wouldn't come to that. "I think that you should just enjoy the quiet and eat your dinner."
John removed his coat and sat at the prepared table. He eyed the meal suspiciously, he had only known Sherlock to cook a few times; and sometimes the concoctions that he came up with were...interesting. But as John ate, seeing that there was nothing wrong with the meal he realized that Sherlock could in fact cook. He ate in silence wondering what else Sherlock had been keeping a secret from him.
With supper finished and the table cleared, John sat near the fire place and watched the flames. He was still trying to figure out Sherlock's angle when the phone rang. John got the phone, welcoming the distraction from his thoughts. "Hello? Oh, hi Sara. No I'm not busy. Of course we can meet up for coffee. I'll be right there."
Sherlock eyed John warily as the doctor got on his jacket and shoes.
John could feel him staring, the heat almost visible. "Sherlock? Are you okay?"
Sherlock smiled, he tried to make it reassuring and not creepy. "Of course I am. Go have your coffee." He waved John off with a flick of his wrist. John shrugged and walked out of the flat. As soon as the door was closed, he set his violin on the table and headed down stairs to see Mrs. Hudson. As he stood Mrs. Hudson entered the room. Sherlock had been her tenant long enough that she knew when something wasn't right. She knew the minute that she entered the room that the situation was worse than she had originally thought, she had never seen him look so distraught.
"What's the matter dear?" For the first time since she had known him, Sherlock looked like he actually might break down.
He looked miserably around the room. "I don't understand. I thought everything was perfect and yet he'd still rather go out with Sara.
Mrs. Hudson placed her hand on his arm. "I think that the only thing that you can do is tell him how you feel.
Sherlock was staring off into the distance. "And what if I do that and he doesn't feel the same towards me? What do I do when I lose him forever because of this ridiculous need that I have recently developed?"
She patted his arm. "Sometimes that is just the risk we have to take."