"I'm going out." John said as he straightened his shirt cuffs and glanced at Sherlock in the mirror. The detective was in his usual place on the couch, a nicotine patch on his arm, and dark curls in his face. He inhaled deep, pressing the patch tighter to the skin that he had rolled up his sleeve to expose. When he exhaled, it was one of hollow satisfaction. "Did you hear me?"
"Hmm?" Sherlock still didn't open his eyes.
"I said that I'm going out."
"Why?" He drawled slowly, opening his eyes, but otherwise unmoving.
"I have a date." John pulled his suit jacket on and gave The Skull a small pat as he passed.
"Why?" This time Sherlock turned his head. Confused as to why his flat mate had a date in the middle of a case.
"Sherlock, it's Valentine's Day. Middle of a murder investigation or not, I want to treat this day as it was meant." He smiled slyly and straightened his tie, reaching for the door handle. But, before he left, he remembered that the only thing in the fridge was a block of cheese and a lonely bag of toes. "You going to be OK here? Do you need me to run to the mart first?"
Sherlock swung his tall frame gracefully up off the couch and in the direction of his violin. "I'll be fine, John. Have fun." Then the nimble fingers began their work filling the entire flat with music. John slipped out the door and down the stairs. As he walked away, though he glanced back up to the window where the lithe detective's silhouette continued to stand. John could still hear the music from the street; a haunting melody with sad undertones masked with beautiful swells. John sighed, and turned back to the street, beating a familiar path to the cafe.
...
"John, are you OK? You seem distracted."
John pulled himself back out of the violin tune and looked up across the table. "Yeah, Anthea. I'm fine." John took another sip of his wine and sighed, his mind involuntarily drifting right back to 221B. "Actually, I'm not. I need to go. I'm sorry."
"But, John," she rubbed his knee under the table. "I was hoping for the night to last a little longer than this." She curled her red lips into a shy smile and moved her hand up a little higher and under the napkin in his lap.
John stood up and put his napkin on the table. "Again, I'm sorry." Then he turned and practically ran out of the restaurant.
...
Sherlock was still in the window, playing the same tune when John arrived back on Baker street. He took the stairs two at a time and exploded into the flat. Sherlock didn't turn around when his Doctor stumbled clumsily into the room. "You're home early." Sherlock mumbled, then returned to his violin.
"Uh... Yeah." John straightened his jacket and composed himself. There was a plastic bag on the coffee table from the local mart. "Hey, did you go to the store?" John walked over and started pulling out it's contents. Out onto the coffee table came a jar of strawberry jam, and a jug of milk with a little red bow tied to the handle. "Sherlock," the violin paused, "what are these?"
Sherlock slowly turned around, glanced at the groceries, and, turning back to the window, "It's Valentine's Day, John." A small crimson blush brushed across the glassy skin, enhancing the china doll look of his features. John took two quick strides across the room and practically collapsed against the taller man's back, wrapping his arms around his waist and breathing into his suit jacket. A few tears slipped out and he sniffled a little, causing Sherlock to stiffen. "Did I offend you?"
"No, it's just..." John stood back and shook his head, searching for the words to express how such simplistic gifts had such a big impact on him. Sherlock was facing him, searching his face for an answer. John, unable to provide one, just reached up and pulled Sherlock's face down to his. He kissed his detective deeply and without hesitation, for when they broke, John might be kicked out.
John pulled away and let go of Sherlock's face, ready for the man of steel to explode and ask him what the hell he thought he was doing. He lowered his head and waited for the reprimand. Sherlock just ran a hand through John's short, sandy blond hair and spoke softly, "Are you OK?"
John smiled, for he knew now that Sherlock felt the same way. "I shouldn't have left you here tonight. THIS is celebrating Valentine's Day the way it was meant." He kissed him again with a growing hunger, Sherlock lifting him off the ground and onto the couch. John arched his back and reached up high to flip off the lights, leaving only the firelight to explore by.