"May I take your coat?" A voice asked. John turned and saw a woman in her late twenties smiling at him, her nametag looked like a gold bar and read, Diana.
"No thank you, I'm fine." He told her, smiling.
"Do you have a reservation?" She asked.
"Yes, under 'Holmes'." She gave a knowing smile.
"Tall fellow, dark hair," she questioned. John nodded.
"He said he was waiting for someone, he's a handsome man, is he your boss?" John smiled.
"In a way," he told her, referring to the detective's superpower he possessed that made him do whatever he wanted, regardless of how ridiculous or pointless. Diana's eyes went wide for a brief moment, but she quickly recovered and said.
"You're a lucky man…right this way." He sighed when she said this, not bothering to argue.
She led him through a set of double doors and John stepped into what appeared to be a ballroom that had been converted to a restaurant. A massive crystal chandelier shone and winked from the painted ceiling, large white pillars were placed strategically around the room, candles glowed orange from every flat surface and round tables were scattered everywhere, a virgin white table cloth covered them. The hostess led him to a table almost in the direct center of the large room, where Sherlock stood next to an elaborate dining chair.
"Here you are, enjoy." John looked at Sherlock, yet again amazed at how beautiful he was. His gorgeous eyes glittered in the low-lit room, his cheekbones looked sharp enough to cut glass, and his hair…god his hair…the dark curls were jostled and askew, just how John like them…that bastard. Sherlock smiled at him and the doctor's heart flew into his throat…in a totally hetero-sexual way of course. He sat opposite of Sherlock, trying not to notice the way his crisp blazer showed off his willowy frame.
"Thanks for coming," Holmes said, as he reached out and grabbed the embroidered napkin and set it delicately in his lap. John mirrored him.
"No problem…you said this was important…do you want to-" He was cut off by a beautiful waitress carrying a bottle of wine.
"This was the oldest one we could find, I hope it's to your liking Mr. Holmes." She said, her blue eyes glued to the consulting detective. Sherlock glanced at her, his eyes widening briefly. John gritted his teeth, the woman was gorgeous. She was obviously Latina, her skin was a deep bronze, her hair was thick and dark and hung to the middle of her back and she had pillowy red lips that she had curled into a seductive smile. She couldn't be over twenty.
"If you need anything else, I'd be happy to get it for you." She told him, her long eyelashes low.
"We're fine, thank you," John told her, annoyance dripping from his words like acid. Sherlock and the woman noticed. She scurried off, hips swaying while Sherlock turned to look at him, his expression torn between amused and shocked.
"Right then," John said, gesturing to the slightly dusty bottle. Sherlock took it in his long fingers, screwed the opener into the cork and opened it with a loud pop. White smoke slithered from the top when Sherlock began to pour the dark purple wine into his glass. The words on the bottle were written in a fancy loopy French script. He held out his hand for John's. The doctor reached over the table and when he handed it off, Sherlock's long pale fingers, the ones that could play beautiful music on the violin until the wee hours of the morning, brushed his.
He didn't pull away automatically like he knew he should have, but let them linger there a few seconds longer than necessary then allowed Sherlock to take the glass from his hand. He busied himself with arranging her forks and spoons as his drink was poured.
"So uhm…what did you want to discuss?" He asked. Sherlock gave him his glass and he dumped its entire content down his throat in one swallow. Sherlock smiled and refilled it.
"It's something I've wanted to talk about for a while now, I just didn't want to jeopardize our friendship." He said. John looked up and regretted it instantly. The detectives' eyes were boring directly into his, they were heavy and dilated. His heart thundered in his chest, not daring to believe he would say what he thought he would say. He cleared his throat,
"Well…whatever it is, you can tell me…you know that right?" He could hear his voice shaking. Sherlock nodded,
"Yes John, I know, but…I believe this would bypass the 'normal' secret we share."
"Oh, so it's a secret?" John asked, teasing him slightly. Sherlock noticed and another smile crept onto his face. He brought his glass to his lips and took a long drink, then another…he looked at john, saw his clear blue eyes one him and that slight curl of his lips…he hastily refilled his glass and took another generous drink. It was woodsy and oaky and definitely had some years on it.
"Not that I don't love this place, but why did this have to be over dinner?" John asked.
"Everything's less awkward over dinner." They shared another smile, remembering their first night at Angelo's. Sherlock looked at him, opening his mouth to tell him the secret that had been torturing him for years. An image of John's face twisted up in disgust appeared into his mind. Another one of him throwing his napkin down and storming out of the restaurant and leaving him sitting alone, rejected and lost. He tried to shake these thought…but they wouldn't leave.
"John I'm sorry, I thought I could do this…but I can't." He voice caught and his eyes began to sting. He started to stand,
"Sherlock, don't" John reached across the table and grabbed his hand, causing him to freeze. He had held John's hand before, but it was during a case or when they were drunk…but this was John grabbing his hand because he wanted to, because he wanted to touch him and comfort him. He took a ragged breath and sat back down.
"Sherlock…you can tell me…I'm your best friend…please." John told him, his voice low and soft.
"Are you still set Mr. Holmes?" a buttery voice asked. The men turned to see their waitress standing next to them, her hand on Sherlock's shoulder. John's stomach rolled.
"Goddammit! Do you mind?" the woman's eyes went wide.
"Could you possibly try to flirt with someone else? Maybe someone who came alone? And yes, we are still set, we were set when you were here five bloody minutes ago! So if you wouldn't mind, please stop bothering us." The waitress stared at him, shocked. Then her blue eyes darted to the table and saw the men holding hands. She flushed dark red, it staining her bonze skin as she hurried away. He turned his attention back to Sherlock, who looked at him strangely. John turned his head to the left…then the right. People from all across the restaurant were staring at them. The doctor swore under his breath.
"John…" His eyes snapped upward.
"Yes,"
"Recently…I've been…I've been," Sherlock paused, looked at his glass and drained its content quickly before continuing.
"Lately…when I look at you…" John's heart was a jackhammer in his chest, convinced that the entire room could hear it. He knew what he was going to say. But he couldn't believe it.
"I uhm…I feel…like I…I think I'm in love with you John." The entire world froze. It stopped spinning and focused on them and the words that had just slipped past Sherlock's perfect lips. The detective's cheeks and ears flushed pink. He was embarrassed beyond belief but refused to break eye contact. John could hardly breathe.
"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable John, I just-"
"No. You didn't make me uncomfortable. I…I knew what you were going to say." Sherlock blushed even deeper,
"Was I that obvious? I'm sorr-"
"Sherlock…I know that was hard to say…but I think this will be even harder." He gulped down the rest of his wine,
"I uhm…Sherlock…I-I know…how you feel." He sputtered. Sherlock looked perplexed.
"For a while now…every time I see you…my heart…does this weird skippy thing and…sometimes I can't breathe…" Sherlock had never looked this confused before.
"Are you…are you saying," John reached for his glass and was surprised to find it empty. He held it out to Sherlock, who refill it.
"I know how you feel because…I feel the same way." He said this quickly; as if he was afraid they would jump back into his mouth if he didn't get them out fast enough. The detective's mouth damn near fell open. He tried to deduce him quickly, hoping the doctor wouldn't notice. He wasn't lying. Silently, he poured more wine into their glasses; the bottle was over half way empty.
/
Hi guys! I hope y'all like this one so far, I ship Johnlock soo hard, and I'm a lesbian so LOVE WRITING SLASH,. I hope y'all stick around for the next two chapters, it really picks up! Smut will be in the third and last chapter!
Fan Mix
Turning tables by Adele
Human by Christina Perri
Like I'm gonna lose you by Megan Trainor
Take your time by Sam Hunt