A/N: Well, here's my first attempt at a five times fic (though the sections turned out ridiculously short) and my first Sherlock fic. Normally I don't hop into a fandom so soon, but...they're basically Holmes and Watson. So the fandom isn't entirely alien. And even though this isn't my best bit of writing, Sherlock and John are just too adorable to resist writing about! :D So enjoy!
Disclaimer: BBC owns Sherlock; I don't.
8/25/10: Minor edit to clarify that there's a candle in the last scene.
The first time was during the case John had since playfully dubbed A Study in Pink. He found himself confused as he protested Angelo's assumption that he was Sherlock's date—from what he knew of the man so far, Sherlock didn't seem the type to go on dates often, so why did Angelo assume?
Prodding Sherlock gave him no answers, and Angelo brought a candle over to their table anyway. So he had a bust on both fronts, and it left him considerably more aggravated than it should. The candle bothered him the whole five minutes they were there, and he was glad when they left the restaurant.
John included the incident in his blog, leaving out Angelo's assumption, and moved on.
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The second time was also part of a case; Sherlock wanted to meet with the missing man's sister and suggested the restaurant in order to relax her into answering his questions. He also suggested John accompany him.
John felt understandably baffled when Sherlock said nothing to the sister past a greeting. Trying to recover from a brief minute of awkward, expectant silence, John cleared his throat and took it upon himself to find out the sister's name was Jessica and she worked for an insurance agency and no, she didn't know why her brother would be involved with a dog-fighting ring. Throughout the entire meal, John felt Sherlock's gaze resting heavily on him and thought that was rather strange. He should be watching the sister, not him, looking for clues about whether she was telling the truth or not.
When John asked him back at home, Sherlock merely smiled and replied, "It was perfectly obvious that she didn't know anything useful, wasn't it? They haven't spoken in years because of shared unhappy childhood memories, and she knew nothing of his hangouts or habits. It's all in her jewelry."
That wasn't worth puzzling over, so John just asked Sherlock for an explanation instead.
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The third time was definitely the strangest. Sherlock, the man who couldn't be bothered to reach inside his coat for his phone and had to have John hand it to him, suddenly hopped off his seat on the coffee table and asked John to follow him.
John did, of course, because Sarah wasn't returning his calls and he had nothing better to do, anyway. He was still a little startled when they ended up sitting in a booth at the restaurant.
"Remind me why we're here?" he asked cautiously, debating between a turkey sandwich and a hamburger.
"I never told you in the first place, John, so I can't remind you," Sherlock corrected with a melodramatic sigh. "However, I can tell you that I brought you here to stave off your inevitable complaints of an empty stomach."
"People do need food from time to time, you know," John said defensively. "Three times a day, on average. Sorry for having a normally functioning body."
"Apology accepted, sarcasm not. As for myself, I don't need food during a case. Digestion—"
"Slows your thinking, yes, I know," John finished, deciding on the turkey sandwich. Sherlock's mouth twitched upwards, and John couldn't help wondering why Sherlock had taken him out to lunch when he could've just let him order in and stayed on the coffee table.
Strange, indeed.
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The fourth time was late at night, immediately following the successful conclusion of another case, when John succeeded in convincing Sherlock to finally eat. Angelo was about to close up but kindly let the two in, happily mumbling something under his breath about second dates. John pretended not to hear.
They talked quietly over dinner, enjoying the fresh bread and excellent pasta and the relief of another case closed. Thankfully, Angelo didn't make any more comments about their supposed relationship and left them mostly to themselves, allowing them to talk about the case.
"—and that's when I realized it couldn't be the porter, because when you factor in the elevator delay of seven-point-six seconds per floor, going from floor nineteen to floor three, he clearly couldn't have been there for the murder and then made it to the ground floor."
John's eyes were bright as he glanced at his flatmate. "That's brilliant, Sherlock."
Sherlock shrugged. "Simple calculations, very simple." He leaned forward over the table, cheeks flushed from recounting his deductions and receiving praise for them. "I can show you the evidence that cleared the desk clerk of guilt when we get back to Baker Street, if you want."
John found that he did.
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The fifth time was when Sherlock was depressed between cases. He was sulky, too, and had taken up occupancy on the rug, curled into a cantankerous childish ball.
"We haven't been out to eat in over a week," he suddenly announced.
John curled his fingers into the worn Union Jack pillow, not sure how to respond to that. "You didn't mention you wanted to. Besides, I figured out how to pay for groceries at the store."
"It wouldn't have made a difference if I'd wanted to, would it? You've been on a date with a different girl every night."
"How did you know that?" John asked, staring disbelievingly at his friend's back.
Sherlock flopped over to his other side, facing John, and smiled. "You've come home smelling of a different perfume every evening. How much clearer could it be?"
John groaned. "Fine, then. Do you want to go grab some food, then?"
Sherlock was up in a flash, already on his way to his room to change out of his nightshirt. "I'd rather sit down and eat it, but whatever you prefer is fine with me, John."
They wound up at Angelo's and were halfway through their meal when Angelo accosted them, setting a candle down on the table. "I'm so sorry I didn't see you two sooner! Here, makes it nice and romantic."
"That's not—"
"Thank you, Angelo," Sherlock said, cutting John off with a warning look in his direction. "We appreciate it."
As soon as Angelo beamed and shuffled off, John hissed, "I don't need romantic! This is not a date, despite what he thinks!"
The candlelight reflected off of Sherlock's pale skin as he leaned closer, lighting up his cheeks. "You defined a date as two people who like each other going out and having fun, did you not?"
John sighed. "I know, I did, and I know that's technically what we're doing, but the way I meant 'like' is—"
"I know how you meant it. And I would still like this to be a date."
"I—sorry, what?"
"Are you averse to the idea, John?" The grey eyes were intent on him now, waiting for a reaction.
Was he? Surprisingly, he didn't immediately recoil from the idea with disgust, as he thought he would after spending so long fixated on girls. But then, he'd nearly died for Sherlock last month—no, that wasn't right. He'd nearly given his life for Sherlock's, pinning Moriarty's arms behind him while he had a bomb strapped to his chest. He hadn't been worried about the red dots on his forehead and torso; he'd willingly chosen to sacrifice his own life to give Sherlock a chance to escape. Things had worked out alright, which was preferable and very, very good, but John's actions led to some realizations. They weren't entirely welcome, but he might as well use them while he had them.
"Actually, I'm not," he said slowly, staring at the candle in front of him. It felt strange, not minding its presence after it bugging him so badly the first time.
A long white hand reached out and covered one of his where it lay on the tabletop. "I'm glad," Sherlock said softly, and left it at that.
Reviewers will receive their preferred version of the boys in a combo pack of either Sherlock and John or Holmes and Watson. ;) Thanks for reading!