The scene was almost-white with the remains of snow, clumped into molehills along the margins of the narrow country road, slushing beneath the wheels of passing vehicles. Sherlock Holmes held himself rigidly behind the wheel, the skin of his knuckles taut and white with the cold. John Watson looked left through the passenger window, his bright eyes examining the shadow of evening clouds closing in on what had been a rather bleak winter's day.
The men were silent, but the jeep was tense with unvented frustrations. They had been driving around the countryside for the best part of three hours without so much as a sign of civilization. Signs pointed north, south, east and west for hundreds of kilometres from their destination. It was Sherlock's turn to drive. He insisted on taking the wheel when John shifted his weight from his bad leg after an hour in the driver's seat.
"Move over" Sherlock had insisted, basically pushing the older man out the door and sliding over the control panel in the middle of the seats.
"Alright, alright-", John sighed, his hands over his head like a hostage being threatened with a spork. "-do you know where we are going?" John continued.
Sherlock shot him a glance from the corner of his eye before adjusting his seatbelt, "Of course I know where we are going. I've only lived here my whole life, have a photographic memory of all road works and highways in the greater London area and besides, because you do not trust my judgement, we have this", he squirmed in annoyance, patting the dashboard. John had taken the liberty of installing a small GPS navigation system in the front of the car.
"A precaution, Sherlock, in case I fall asleep-" John replied before crushing his open palms into his eye sockets. "- which is likely because I am absolutely knackered."
Sherlock twisted the key and the engine roared to life. "You should trust me, Doctor Watson, go ahead, take a break, you have been so useful to me over these last few days-".
John smiled lightly, not believing the compliment but appreciating it none the less.
"When we get back to the flat I'll carry you in and tuck you into bed like a child and bring you some warm milk."
The smile cleared off John's face once the veil of sarcasm had been revealed.
"Piss off, you arse." He frowned making an exaggerated turn in the passenger seat away from the driver and folded his hand under his head, feeling the long days and longer nights of the past week weigh in on his body. The jolt sent a searing pain down the length of his leg, making him wince and squirm in the seat.
The last case had been tough, and monotonously slow to kick off. Legalities had to be abided by more so than ever and waiting for clearance had taken its toll on John, and even on Sherlock, who was of course too stubborn to admit it. The suspect was part of a very high ranking and notorious crime family in Los Angeles. On the run from American law enforcement, Antonio Polantizi, sought refuge in a small cottage in the middle of the English countryside, far from the reach of civilisation. Already awake more than 48 hours, Sherlock had tracked down the suspect with the aid of a used sachet of sugar in a local café. John and the detective set up a night-watch on the man in question. It wasn't until the following afternoon that Lestrade and Donovan showed up with reinforcements.
"Sorry we're late boys-," Lestrade whispered sticking his head through the window of the car, patting John on the arm, "-traffic was a nightmare. Turned right at Menlo junction and nearly ended up in Norfolk!"
"You're tardiness will be reprimanded at a later time," John croaked his reply, imitating his housemate, his voice groggy with tiredness.
"Oh it's a date, doctor," Greg winked, pulling out of the window just before giving John's arm another quick squeeze.
John sat staring at the space the detective inspector had just been. His tired brain tried to figure out the dialogue of the last two minutes, his eyes wide and his face set in disbelieving shock.
"Stop thinking so hard, you'll give yourself a brain clot." Sherlock chimed in the seat beside him, the collar of his great black cloaking his amusement.
John opened and closed his mouth, striking a rather familiar resemblance to a goldfish.
"But-"
"Yes?" Sherlock dragged out, watching John's face shift as the hemispheres of his brain pulsed with concentration.
"He's married."
"Divorced. The wife finally signed the divorce papers and she has nearly full custody of the kids"
"How do you-"
"Cufflinks. He is wearing cufflinks to a raid. I saw them when he was caressing you. His tie is new and he is wearing a new brand of aftershave. He's out to impress. Only men notice a new tie. Women would notice a shirt or a haircut or even the aftershave, but a man will only notice a tie. A new lease on life it would seem our dear DI is experiencing and it seems his new life brings with it a new fondness towards men which, to be frank, is entirely right on his part. Women are so boring. Can you really be so dull?"
Sherlock's monologue was met with a blank stare and an extended silence.
"Shut up, you idiot. And he wasn't caressing me."
"Of course not, John." Sherlock smirked.
John started the jeep and pulled out of the driveway.
That was three hours ago.
John had dozed into a restless sleep for just over two and a half hours. Since waking, John had yet to see a sign or a landmark he recognised. For every sign that pointed towards London, the number that followed seemed to be increasing the longer they drove. John furrowed his eyebrows and turned to a clearly anxious Sherlock.
"Might I ask where we are?" John hoped the answer would be better than he was expecting it to be, but his stomach dropped when he looked at Sherlock's face. It was stern, the same way his face fell when he was measuring chemicals, or examining a faceless, mutilated dead body.
"Oh no, Sherlock!" John sighed, "No, no, no, no, no, no, no"
John continued to moan until Sherlock exaggeratedly blew his fringe out of his eyes, which were turned up to the sky.
"No! Not tonight Sherlock, you do NOT get to be a drama queen dammit! I had a date tonight. You knew I had a date tonight! Did you not remember that or is your huge brain incapable of holding such trivialities!" John's face was red with anger and Sherlock watched with the corner of his eyes as his flatmates nostrils flared with infuriation.
"I can't believe this, I just- HOW can we be lost?" John bellowed, throwing his hands into the air.
"How can the great Sherlock bloody Holmes be lost, a photographic memory of the roads, you IDIOT!" John slammed his hand into the dashboard and cradled his headache with his other hand.
It took only a few moments of silence for John to feel guilty, but he wouldn't let the overgrown manchild see the weakness.
"Menlo-" Sherlock broke the silence, "- I took the wrong turn in Menlo, like Lestrade" putting a further emphasis on the end of the sentence.
The name sent a jolt through John, and he once again squirmed in his seat. His mind raced with images of the tall silver haired man, a crooked smile spread across his lips.
"You should probably send Joanne a text to say you won't make it for dinner tonight." Sherlock sighed into the open air, not directly to John.
"Jenny."
"Whatever" Sherlock huffed.
John snapped out of his Lestrade fuelled day-dream and scowled himself for so easily forgetting what he had been less than five minutes ago so frenzied about.
He mumbled something under his breath and took out his phone. He looked at the small screen and reeled in shock when a miniaturised envelope flashed back at him with the name of the mailer adjacent to it. He turned to his flatmate, whose eyes were glued to the road but his mouth was curled in a devilish smirk.
"How can you possible know I received a text from Lestrade?"
Sherlock turned his head slightly, eyes never leaving the road.
"I didn't. You just told me."
John sighed and turned back to the text message.
Yours or mine for this date?
How about tomorrow at 7?
I'll bring food
My treat-
GL
A breath caught in John's throat and his fingers danced lightly over the buttons.
He hummed his apprehensions under his breath and Sherlock released another exaggerated sigh from his lips.
"Yes, say yes already!"
John chuckled to himself, ten minutes ago he was late for his date with Joanne, now he was contemplating having an intimate dinner date with not only a man, but his good friend.
Another message beeped onto the screen:
How about a few sociable pints first?
Might help loosen you out.
I'll still bring food back with us.
7 at the Laughing Dog?-
GL
"I think pints would be a better idea." Sherlock responded, far from reading distance of the phone.
"Stop, stop that now!" John's lips tightened into a straight line not knowing how both men seemed to know him better than he knew himself.
A silence ensued and John's good leg became restless.
"Fine-" John caved "- I don't care how you know, but you obviously are itching to give me some advice. So, go on. Enlighten me."
Sherlock went to open his mouth but John interjected,
"And this is serious. No showing off. Straight to the point."
Sherlock visible deflated at the interjection.
"Fine-" he started. "You have yet to reply to Joanne-"
"Jenny"
"-Jenny, meaning you are not overly distraught that the date could not go ahead tonight as planned. You were simply putting on a show to make me feel guilty for being misled by the obscure traffic signs-"
"Lost, Sherlock, you got lost"
"-Fine, I got…lost" Sherlock spat the words like they were laced with venom before continuting.
"You subconsciously did notice Lestrade was wearing new aftershave and flinched when I mentioned it. You have been rubbing small circles on the spot on your arm Lestrade had held. While it is obvious that you are at best bisexual, the only thing that is striking me is that you were mentioning another man's name in your sleep. One man to another is not a long stretch."
John cocked his eyebrow. "Wait what name was I saying in my sleep?"
Sherlock shifted his weight in the chair, "Oh, I don't know, G-Greg, I think."
In the midst of his moral dilemma John Barked out a laugh, "Greg is Lestrade's first name, you Pillock."
"Awh, wee then my observations are conclusive. Don't deny you don't find him attractive"
John looked back to the driver but stayed silent.
"He is handsome, if you like tall men with broad shoulders, pearly teeth and large arms. While he does not match me deductive skills, he is rather good as a human detective and other people seem to think so too."
John slumped in his seat, brought the phone up to his face and began typing.
Sound good.
See you then-
JW
"What? No kisses?" Sherlock pouted.
John swatted at Sherlock's arm, not caring that the young man was driving.
Sherlock huffed one acknowledgment and concentrated on the road one more, leaving both men in silence. Despite his exhaustion John left his mind to wander about the details of tomorrow night, smirking every now and again and the bemusement of the situation.