AN - Just a one-shot attempting to describe John's POV at the diner during A Study In Pink. All dialog is cannibalized, I am aware.

I do not own, I do not profit. I merely attempt to flatter in my poor, poor mimicry.

Not His Date

Sherlock went in the door to the restaurant head of me, nodded at the man by the door. "Thank you, Billy."

He gestures out the window. "22 Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it."

We sit down as Sherlock takes off his scarf & overcoat. As I set down my cane & take off my coat, I start out, "He's not going to just ring the doorbell now, though, is he? He'd need to be mad-"

I don't get to finish the sentence before he's talking over me while looks through the window covering.

"-He has killed 4 people."

Right. "OK..." I say softly as I get comfortable on the bench at the windowside table.

A bearded man in a ponytail comes up to our table, beaming. "Sherlock. Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. On the 'ouse for you and your date."

Sherlock and I speak at roughly the same time. "D'you wanna eat?"

"I'm not his date."

They both ignore me. Angelo points at Sherlock, telling me, "This man got me off a murder charge."

"He's Angelo. Three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town housebreaking."

I look from the one to the other. OK...what? I feel my eyes widen as I realize they aren't joking and look off into thin air.

Proudly, Angelo says to me, "He cleared my name."

Really? Pause. OK, when did I start thinking in such dramatic terms? Oh. Right. When I met this bloke.

"I cleared it a bit. Anything happening opposite?" Sherlock asked, nodding out the window.

"Nothing." Angelo turned back to me and pointed at Sherlock again. "But for this man, I'd've gone to prison-"

"-You did go to prison," Sherlock interrupted, still staring out the window.

"I'll get you a candle for your table. It's more romantic." Angelo tossed out, walking away.

What? I call after him, "I'm not his date!" Mentally, I sigh. I look away in frustration.

"You may as well eat, we may have a long wait," Sherlock said, handing me the menu while still looking out the window. He just looks too…too…smug.

I pore over the menu. Angelo slides a tealight in a small glass cup onto the table, gives me the thumbs up. What is it that makes him assume I'm Sherlock's date? I sigh, this time aloud.

"Thanks..." I say in defeat, as Angelo quickly moves on to another table. Sherlock is still staring out the window with intense concentration.

I don't think anything can disturb his train of thought, but I'm suddenly a bit curious again about the man I met earlier. Can't hurt to ask, can it? "People don't have archenemies."

Shocking...I disturbed his train of thought. He actually does a double-take. "Sorry?"

"In real life," I say. "There are no archenemies in real life. Doesn't happen."

He's back to staring out the window. "Doesn't it? Sounds a bit dull."

"So who did I meet?" Looks like he doesn't really want to tell me.

"What do they have, then in their real lives?" He asks, more statement of irony than query.

You don't know? Umm… "Friends. You know: People they know, people they like, people they don't like. Girlfriends, boyfriends."

He scans the street, eyes never stopping. "Well, as I was saying: Dull."

"You don't have a girlfriend, then?"

Still scanning, head moving side to side. "Girlfriend...No...Not really my area..."

I slowly do a double take. OK, so I've moved in with a gay man? Harry will laugh. After all this, she will laugh. At me. "Alright then..." ...Ballocks. Did I say that aloud? "...Do you have a...boyfriend?"

He stares at me, with a Look. I abruptly feel I need to say more, as if I needed to finish an incomplete sentence. "...which is fine...by the way?" Crap. Could I sound more awkward?

A little too quickly, he says, eyes not leaving mine, "I know it's fine."

So what does that mean? Does that mean yes? I blink. "So you've got a boyfriend-"

"-No." A short, quick shake of the head to reinforce it.

"Alright. OK." I nod my head, lick my lips. This is awkward. "You're unattached. That's fine." I shake my head. "Fine, Good." I take a deep breath, looking down at my food.

I swear, I can feel him looking at me suspiciously, and I'm sure he's narrowing his eyes, but then I hear him turning back to the window. A pause. I cut up more of my entrée, take a bite. I relax. "John, um..."

I look up, curious, still chewing. He's looking at me again now.

"I think you should know I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your-"

Oh, God. I can't believe this. He thinks I'm coming on to him? Ballocks. I start talking over the end of his sentence, shaking my head negatively, emphatically. "NO."

"- interest, I'm not looking for any-" He's continuing on over me.

I swear, my heart's gonna stop. "No, I'm NOT asking, no." I state over him.

Finally, (Blessedly…) he stops.

"I'm just saying. It's...all. Fine."

I shrug again. Please, believe me, please, just stop, PLEASE, this is just too much…I just want some normality.

He nods. Says, "Good."

I swear, my relief knows no bounds. He looks out the window again. Says, after a moment, "Thank you," softly.

I stop chewing, look away, slightly confused. 'Thank you?' What for?

Sherlock abruptly gains a focused look. Thank God, something's happening to get us out of this awkwardness. "Look across the street. The taxi."

The murderer. And we're off, out the door, to see who's in the taxi. Did I really just have this conversation while waiting for a murderer?

Really?

End