Constellations
Sherlock slammed shut John's computer and just about hurtled it across the room, where luckily for John (and Sherlock for that matter) it landed with a thud on the couch.
"Watch it Sherlock! That's my laptop you're tossing across the room!" John exclaimed from the kitchen doorway where he was making his second batch of tea of the day.
"I don't get it!" Sherlock exclaimed, disregarding John's annoyed chide. "I just don't get it!"
John sighed reluctantly, knowing that he'd never get the great detective to change his disregard for other's belongings. "What is it? What don't you get Sherlock?"
"Constellations John! The stars! They just don't make sense. The patterns these Greeks and Romans came up with in the sky. They just don't make sense. How do you get a whole scorpion from just a handful of scattered lights?"
John suddenly understood, ever since that near miss at the museum when his lack of solar system knowledge almost lost him the game it was conceivable that he'd want to brush up a bit on his astronomy.
"Well it's no wonder. You're not doing it right," John replied smugly.
"What could you possibly mean by that?" Sherlock stared down John incredulously.
"Just that you can't possibly learn astronomy by staring at some half assed, glowy computer rendering. The only way of seeing the stars is by seeing the stars."
Sherlock scoffed. "What could you possibly know about astronomy?"
"Hey. I took a class at Uni."
Sherlock gave him one of his patented really now John? looks.
John straightened up and drew in a breath. "Andromeda, Aquarius, Aries, Cancer, Capricornus, Cassiopeia, Cepheus, Cetus, Corona Borealis, Cygnus, Draco, Eridanus, Gemini, Hercules, Hydra, Leo, Libra, Lyra, Orion, Perseus, Pisces, Sagittarius, Scorpius, Taurus, Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, Virgo."
Sherlock turned his head, blank faced. One might almost say he looked vaguely impressed. This elicited a wide grin from John.
"If you really want to know I could show you. The skies should be relatively clear tonight," John said uncertainly. Going out for stargazing sounded almost romantic. Almost like a date, and although John would love nothing more than to take the world's most beautiful consulting detective on a date, he wasn't sure that the detective could say the same.
Strangely enough, Sherlock cocked his head curiously toward John and stared him down with those dazzling gold-flecked eyes. "Yes. I'd like that." He said it almost softly, tripping gently off those soft, perfect lips.
John smiled awkwardly and returned to his tea in the kitchen.
John couldn't relax all day. He spent most of the day trying to refresh his memory of constellations. Trying being the key word. What with Sherlock sprawled delicately across the couch, unmoving in his "thinking position" with his hands steepled under his chin, digits brushing gently against his lips. He looked like porcelain, draped across the sofa. His long pale limbs went on for days and John couldn't help peeking over the top of his open laptop to run his eyes down them the way he wanted his hands to run down them.
After a while, John gave up on the unsuccessful research. Sherlock was just too goddamn beautiful.
He took a shower that was a tiny bit too long and a tiny bit too heavy on the hair product for a casual night with a platonic roommate, and then spent a tiny bit too much time choosing an outfit for a not-a-date outing.
As he was buttoning the last button on his final decision, a red button up and jeans, there was a knock on the door.
Without waiting for an answer, Sherlock burst open the door. "That'll do. I like that shirt on you. We're going to Angelo's first. Might as well. Come down when you're ready."
It took John a moment to regain his senses enough to function after that. Was that a compliment out of Sherlock Holmes's mouth? He dabbed on a spot of cologne and hurried downstairs.
Sherlock was waiting beside the door in his brilliantly dark coat and purple button up that was just too tight enough.
John could have sworn he saw Sherlock's nose twitch and a hint of a smirk form at the corner of his mouth.
"New cologne?"
"Um… Yeah… I… er… thought I'd try it out." The end of the sentence curled up like it was a question.
They stepped outside into the clear London night and Sherlock hailed down a cab. John could never understand how he did that so perfectly. He supposed it could be conceivable that such an attractive man would draw cabbies to fight for the right to have him in their backseat.
Angelo's was perfect as usual and left John warm and full, also as usual. It was more or less just like the dinners they had had there before, Angelo insisting on the candle and Sherlock picking scarcely at his food as they mulled over past cases, smiling and laughing, Sherlock's warm baritone laugh rumbling through the restaurant.
The only unusual thing was not in the actual conversation or the situation, but the two of them. Sherlock's eyes seemed to lock warmly onto John's every now and then, and John's eyes flitted up and down from Sherlock to his food and then almost immediately back to Sherlock as if they couldn't bear not looking at him. Then there was the dilemma of where on Sherlock to look. There was so much of him, the long, fragile limbs, his pale, delicate fingers, his sloping, attractive neck, his perfect, cupids bow lips, his bright, golden eyes.
When they stepped out into the late London chill again, it was completely dark out, save the city lights and dim stars peeking out over the city's light pollution. John began to hail a cab, but Sherlock grabbed his arm and spun him around. John looked at him quizzically.
"I know where we should go and we don't need a cab."
Again, he didn't wait for an answer. He began to walk briskly in the other direction, John trailing at his heels.
Eventually, after finding their way through less and less populated streets, they made their way to a huge park. It was one of those affairs that they use for summer music festivals, so big that if you walked far enough into the center, you wouldn't be able to tell you were in the middle of this bustling city.
He founded an isolated little spot of grass with no trees to obscure the view. It was quiet. No cars whirring by. No lights to mar the sky. He looked it over once before seeming to approve then shrugged his coat off his shoulders and laid it on the ground.
Sherlock sat on one side and invited John to sit beside him with a silent pat to the coat space beside him.
John lay down next to Sherlock and Sherlock soon joined him on the ground.
"Alright, John, teach me the stars."
"Well I suppose, start with the basics. Right there is the big dipper and to the side right there is the little dipper," John said leaning his head closer to Sherlock and extending his closer arm to point out the stars. "They have similar shapes, but they are different sizes as their name suggests. Most people can at least point out those two."
"I couldn't."
"Well now you can. And right down there is the Polaris, often referred to as the North Star. That should be useful to you. It's one of the brightest stars in the sky and always points you north. Navigators at sea often used it to guide them home."
"Mmm," Sherlock hummed in acknowledgement. John could feel his warm breath trail across his skin. They were very close now, arms rubbing up against each other.
"Then there's Jupiter. The reddish glowing one. Technically a planet, but it still shines in the night sky sometimes."
"What about the mythology John?"
"Well, there's my favorite right there. Orion. He's very easy to find because he's got three stars all equally spaced in a line to make up his belt and then from there you can find his torso and his bow and his other arm drawn back like that."
"How did he end up in the sky?"
"Well there's a few different stories, but there's one I'm most familiar with. Orion was one of those Herculean heroes, the son of one of those gods, but made to walk the earth for one reason or another. He falls in love with this girl, the princess of somewhere or another, but her father doesn't like him. He sends a mythical beast, Scorpio, who is also in the sky right there, to defeat him. One of the goddesses up in Olympus takes pity on this poor guy, so just as he's about to be killed by the scorpion, she takes them and puts them both up in the sky, locked in this perpetual battle."
"It's all rather romantic isn't it," Sherlock turned his head to face John.
John's heart suddenly began to race. "Yes. I suppose so," he half whispered, his voice leaving him.
"To do all that for love." Sherlock's velvet smooth voice grew softer with each syllable and his lips drew closer with every word.
John's voice had given up on him entirely, so he stayed quiet, staring into the galaxies in Sherlock's eyes, slowly moving closer and closer to those perfect lips.
Then, finally, in a whisper so quiet it was almost inaudible: "I suppose…. I know how he feels…"
Their lips brushed up against each other, sweet and chaste. They were soft and smooth as his dark, rumbling voice and oh so bright, sending tiny bursts of light, echoing within John like stars all blurring together. John brought his hands up to grab at Sherlock's collar and Sherlock placed his gently across John's face to cup his jaw and draw him impossibly closer. Their lips grew in momentum and heat like a brewing storm, a hurricane between them.
John relinquished his hold on Sherlock's collar and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's lower back, reaching under his shirt to place his army weathered hands on Sherlock's cool, flawless skin, stretched tight over his arching spine. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's shoulders, drawing him ever closer so that their chests were pressed up against each other. John could feel Sherlock's heartbeat in his own chest, quickly syncing with his own.
Sherlock drew back mere millimeters for a breath. "It's all rather romantic isn't it?" He chuckled and smiled that golden smile that lit up even the darkest night sky.