A/N; While reading this, keep in mind the fact that "Sherlock is a girl's name".
This is dedicated to my dearest Sherlock ADD buddy. Love you, Rainy :) And sorry in advance for the feels (Yup I pulled a BBC)
This was written while listening to Hallelujah by Rufus Wainwright (obviously) LISTEN AND THERE SHALL BE IMMENSE FEELS.
Love and serial killings to you all ;3
Ta,
Anonymoustache
oOo
I've seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah
oOo
"Sherlock? Can I talk to you?"
Sherlock looked up from where he was lying on the bed. John was standing in the doorway, a strange look on his face.
"Of course, John." Sherlock sat up and shut his book, setting it on the nightstand.
John walked over and sat down next to the detective uneasily. He was silent for a few moments, as though trying to figure out how to phrase his words.
"My parents called," he said carefully.
"Ah."
John took a deep breath, obviously bracing himself for a negative response."They would like us both to come to dinner with them. Tonight."
After a few moments, Sherlock spoke. "Fine."
John raised an eyebrow, momentarily stunned. "You're okay with that?"
"Yes."
John coughed. "I have told you…about my parents, right?"
"That they're very traditional and uncomfortable with homosexuality, yes," Sherlock said.
"Then…you're sure?"
Sherlock sighed. "They've invited us to dinner. They can't be too uncomfortable."
John sighed in relief and nodded. "I suppose. I just wanted to make sure you were okay with it." He stood up and headed for the door.
"John?"
John looked back at the detective, who had stood up.
"Thank you for checking with me."
John's face broke into a smile. "Of course, love."
He walked out the doorway and towards the kitchen, undoubtedly to make himself a cup of tea.
Sherlock turned around and stared at his wardrobe in deep thought.
What does one wear to a dinner with homophobics?
John knocked gently on the bedroom door.
"Ready to go, love?"
The door slowly opened, revealing a nervous-looking Sherlock wearing an immaculate navy blue suit with a clean white shirt buttoned up to the collar underneath. He was wearing a black tie with it, which was slightly crooked.
"Will this do?"
John smiled fondly at his lover. He reached out and straightened his tie, letting his hands slide down against the soft fabric of the suit jacket to rest on Sherlock's chest.
"I think you look amazing."
Sherlock blinked in relief and, leaning forward, pulled the doctor into a tight hug, placing a chaste kiss on his lips.
"I love you."
John closed his eyes, placing his head next to Sherlock's long, porcelain-pale neck, taking in his amazing scent of chemicals, smoke, and home.
"I love you, too, 'Lock."
"How much have you actually told them about me, John?"
John stepped out of the cab behind Sherlock, paying the driver and shutting the door behind him. He shrugged at Sherlock's question, following the detective up onto the pavement.
"Not a lot…just that you were tall, dark-haired, and a bit different."
Sherlock nodded abruptly.
They walked down the street in silence, trying to prepare.
"John…"
"What is it, love?" John asked, linking their fingers while they still could.
"What about Harriet?"
John stiffened slightly. "What about her?"
"Well…your parents don't…I mean, they aren't…"
John sighed and kicked a can towards the alley. "Harry has always been my parents' favourite. She could come home pregnant with alien babies and they'd be tickled." He stared angrily across the street as they continued to walk. "She came out when she was fifteen, and my parents thought nothing of it. As if they didn't desperately avoid gays in public every day."
An uncomfortable silence fell upon them.
"Alien babies…those would make interesting nephews."
John snorted, the joke bringing him up a bit.
"So what time are we meeting them?"
"Seven," John said, mood lightened a bit.
Sherlock nodded nervously and, for the thousandth time, tugged at the edge of his jacket.
"Stop it," John said in a mock stern voice, swatting the detective's hands away from his sides. "You look fine."
"I know," Sherlock hissed. As John walked towards the doors of the restaurant, he surreptitiously reached down and tugged at it once more.
Just to be sure it's straight.
Oh, the irony.
Sherlock smirked and followed his lover towards the unknown.
John craned his neck to look around the restaurant.
"There," he said firmly, pointing towards a table near the back. At the table sat a man with graying hair and a lady with a head of thin blonde hair that had been permed far too much.
"You remember the signal in case things get to be too much?" John whispered as the waiter led them over to the table.
Sherlock's hand traveled over and tapped John's hand three times in quick succession.
John gave him an abrupt nod as they reached the table.
The lady and the gentleman looked up at the two of them as the waiter set two more places at the table.
"Mum…dad…" John said nervously.
"Hello, Johnny!" his mother said in an irritatingly high-pitched voice.
Sherlock winced.
John's father didn't say anything, he just sat there and stared at his son.
"It's so lovely to see you!" his mother said in that same annoying voice. Her gaze turned on Sherlock. "But I thought you were going to bring your girlfriend."
John stopped, confused. "What?"
"Your girlfriend!" she said insistently. "What's her name? Oh, Harold, help me out here…what did Johnny say his girlfriend's name was?"
John's dad looked up from the menu. "What?"
"Oh, Harold, do pay attention!" she said. "John's girlfriend's name! He told us! You do remember, don't you?"
"Mum, I…" John tried to intervene.
"Quiet, John," his mother said bossily. "What was it, Harold? Sharon? Susan?"
"No…" Harold thought for a moment, "No, it was Shirley, wasn't it, Edith?"
"Sherlock!" the newly named Edith exclaimed excitedly. "That's what it was! Awfully strange name for a girl, but I let it slide."
Edith smiled up at her son, who was currently at a loss for words. "Where is the dear girl?"
"Ah…well…" John looked around desperately, not quite sure what to do.
"Ahem," Sherlock coughed, directing the attention towards himself.
Here's where things get tricky.
"Mr. Watson, Mrs. Watson…" Sherlock said in the politest voice he could manage. "I'm Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes." He looked over at John, eyes apologizing for what he was getting them into.
"I'm John's boyfriend."
Harold and Edith Watson's faces really should have been framed, Sherlock mused. They were rather priceless.
John just stood there, staring down at the floor, his face pale.
"Johnny…" Edith said uncomfortably.
"Come on, Edith," Harold stood up and gave John a glare. "We're leaving."
"But Harold…" Edith didn't finish as her husband grabbed her arm from across the table, dragging her up with him.
"Dad…" John said miserably.
"Save it, John." Harold said. He walked briskly towards the exit.
"I'm sorry, dear," Edith said, though she didn't sound very apologetic, Sherlock thought.
"Maybe next time you could leave your boyfriend home."
"Edith!"
The other diners turned slightly at the noise, but soon went back to their conversations.
Edith gave John one last glance, then walked away towards where her husband was waiting by the door.