AUTHOR'S NOTE:
For anyone who's wondering: I am indeed working on the next chaptered Mountainverse story. But I saw this prompt and thought it was adorable. It wasn't even remotely about Sherlock, as you'll see, but that's how I read it anyway.
Thank goodness I actually thought to copy this prompt from tumblr, because the original link isn't working now. So I can't credit whoever came up with the idea, but at least I have the actual prompt:
Imagine that you've been stood up by your douche of a boyfriend on date night and the waitress keeps asking if you're ready to order, but you keep asking for more time hoping that he's just late. People are starting to look at you with those apologetic looks like they know, and you start to feel worse and worse about the whole situation; but as you decide to just get up and leave, this boy you've never seen sits down explaining loudly, "Sorry I'm so late, babe, traffic is crazy right now." And he quietly adds, "I'm Michael. Just go with it, yeah? Whoever didn't bother to show up is a dick." And so you do go with it because he's being sweet and trying to save you (and plus he's the cutest thing you've ever seen) and as you're leaving the restaurant after the best non-planned date ever, he asks you out for real this time.
Thanks to my beta, Teek, and my Britpicker, johnsarmylady, who kindly looked over this story even though she's in the middle of a creative frenzy of her own. Really, check out her latest, "The Witch of 221B Baker Street" and the most recent chapter of "A Blogger and His Dragon."
TO HIM WHO WAITS
Not every area has a restaurant like it: family friendly; serves comfort food; and teens can take dates there because it's affordable. So John counted himself lucky that there was a Harvester nearby, and he could afford to treat his mum to a modest night out.
He was at university now and living in student housing. He supplemented his student loan and the bursary he had earned with a weekend janitorial job at the hospital where he was training to be a doctor. There was no special occasion—he simply thought his mother, who worked long hours as a nurse and still had to take care of John's dad and sister, deserved a chance to sit down to a meal she didn't have to fix herself.
Suddenly Jeannie Watson said, "Oh, that poor kid." John looked at her inquiringly. "There's a boy in that section across the room…he's obviously waiting for a girlfriend who hasn't shown. He was already here when we arrived, and we've been here almost half an hour now."
John spotted the boy, who looked forlorn and very vulnerable. He appeared to be maybe sixteen years old, but might have been a bit older. He sat tall in the chair with his head held unnaturally high. Even from all the way across the room, John could tell that the boy was extremely attractive in a very unusual way.
The waiter brought their orders, and John and his mum tucked in, with Jeannie Watson very much enjoying a meal she didn't have to cook. John talked about his classes and his work, while Jeannie brought him up to date about what was going on at home with his dad and sister.
Periodically John glanced over at the boy. Whoever he was waiting for still hadn't shown. John wondered who would treat such an amazing-looking date in so blasé a manner.
Sherlock Holmes sat at a table for two with his back ramrod straight and his chin in the air, determinedly ignoring the stares he felt all around had waited by himself for almost half an hour, expecting his date to show any minute, when he finally pulled out his mobile and sent the first of several texts. And then another text. And another. His texts were not answered. His attempts to call went to voicemail. He set the mobile on the table, glaring at the phone as he waited to hear from a date who was, at best, running late. At worst, Sherlock had been stood up.
He suspected the worst.
He also wished that he hadn't dressed in a way that made it obvious he was meant to be on a date. A suit and tie on a weeknight—what had he been thinking? He tugged at his collar in frustration and didn't care at all that he knocked his tie a bit askew.
Why Sherlock didn't get up and leave, he couldn't have said exactly. At first, it was because he'd expected Victor to arrive at any minute. After his texts and calls went unanswered, he suspected Victor wasn't coming, but he was nevertheless reluctant to leave. There was still a faint possibility that Victor might yet show. After all, Victor treated him like this a lot. Each time it happened Sherlock swore he'd never go out with him again, but Victor would apologise so earnestly that Sherlock would always agree to give him another chance.
Although he was aware that he had not been behaving particularly intelligently when it came to Victor, Sherlock was normally the smartest person in any room. He was proud of his mental abilities, and scholastic success had always come easily to him. But at this point in his life, he was starting to realise that there were other things more important than proving that he was smarter than everyone else. When it came right down to it, he was tired of being alone. Apparently Victor had figured out that Sherlock wanted a boyfriend more than anything, and because of that insight he felt he could mistreat Sherlock with impunity.
If Victor had been there, he would be urging Sherlock to deduce things about the diners seated at the surrounding tables. Sherlock was very good at deducing things. Sadly, Victor thought of it as some kind of parlour trick, but at least it kept him somewhat interested in Sherlock's company.
On his own tonight, Sherlock couldn't even bear to look around lest he meet someone's sympathetic or mocking eye and fall apart. He knew everyone at the restaurant was looking by now. Why wouldn't they be? It was obvious that he was waiting pathetically for someone who had no intention of turning up. He hoped he wasn't going to completely disgrace himself by starting to cry.
The good-looking boy was still sitting alone at his table for two when John and his mum finished their meal, paid the bill and got up to leave. John walked Jeannie to the car and waited while she got in, then turned to go.
"Don't you want me to drive you back to your digs?" Jeannie asked in surprise.
"No, you go on ahead. I'm going to walk off this meal, and maybe by the time I get home I'll be awake enough to do some homework." He waited until the family car disappeared down the road, then paced back and forth for a while, trying to decide on the best way to help that boy. After maybe five minutes of indecision, he returned to the restaurant.
He sincerely hoped his mum had been wrong about the boy waiting for a girlfriend.
The sympathy (pity, really) from the waitress and the corner-of-the-eye attention from nearby diners finally got to Sherlock. He had just made up his mind to leave when he felt a pair of chapped lips lightly graze his ear, whispering, "I'm John, just go with it, yeah?" Then a gentle tenor voice said clearly and remorsefully, "I'm so sorry I'm late, love, but the game ran late and the traffic around the stadium was just crazy. I hope you can forgive me?"
Sherlock's eyes widened as he looked up at the cutest guy he'd ever laid eyes on. His mouth went a bit dry at the sight. (This was amazing in itself, after all the refills on water the sympathetic waitress kept giving him.) The hideous jumper and baggy jeans the guy was wearing couldn't quite hide the fact that he was extremely fit. And he was clearly a university student, which meant he was at least two years older than Sherlock, if not more.
With a smile, the young man sat down across the table, his eyes roaming over Sherlock's face. How could anyone simply desert this striking boy? Softly he said, "Whoever left you sitting here alone must be a complete dick and an idiot to boot."
Sherlock was torn between the indignity of being stood up, resentment for needing to be rescued, and astonishment that this handsome bloke would notice his dilemma and be kind enough to do something about it.
Nevertheless, the whole thing was humiliating. "I'm sure you mean well, but this is really totally unnecessary," Sherlock said. He was aiming for a haughty tone, but his voice wobbled just a little.
"Well, I can't leave now," John said almost apologetically. "I think the crowd in here would tear me apart if I tried that."
Sherlock's waitress immediately proved this point when she stalked up to the table and practically slammed a glass of water down in front of John. "It's about time you got here. Shame on you for leaving this poor lad on his own for so long! You look old enough to know better."
John aimed a charming smile at her. "It was inexcusable of me and I have already apologised to him. And I'm going to do my best to make it up to him from now on." He reached over, took the boy's hand in his and rubbed his thumb soothingly over the knuckles. "Have you decided what you want to eat, sweetheart?"
Sherlock swallowed hard. He would have given almost anything for this to be a real date. "I'm not really that hungry."
"Then I'll order for both of us." John gave the waitress his choices—a nice selection of appetisers, just a few small dishes. After all, he had finished an entire meal less than fifteen minutes ago, and he figured that Sherlock was perhaps too upset by now to eat much.
As soon as the waitress left, John asked, "So, what's your name? Unless you want me to keep calling you pet names all evening."
"I wouldn't mind," Sherlock said softly. "But my name is Sherlock Holmes. And your name is John…?"
"Watson," replied John. "I was having dinner here with my mum earlier and saw you sitting alone the whole time. And I didn't just come over here to be nice; I really wanted to meet you. I was hoping you weren't waiting for a girl…" his voice trailed off questioningly.
"Victor," Sherlock said in a clipped tone. "My date's name is Victor. And he does this to me quite frequently."
Victor! John relaxed minutely. "Well, like I said before, Victor is a dick and an idiot."
The food came and John coaxed Sherlock into trying a little of everything. But there were still plenty of leftovers, which he asked the waitress to box up—food never went to waste around John—and when the bill came, he left something extra for the young woman because he knew that he and Sherlock between them had taken up her attention at that table for a very long time. They had truly not noticed the time passing as they got to know each other. It was obvious to John that Sherlock was not only good looking, but incredibly intelligent as well. He simply could not believe his luck tonight and sincerely hoped that Sherlock felt the same.
Dinner over, John got up and gallantly pulled Sherlock's chair back. Blushing a little, Sherlock stood up. His tie was a bit crooked and John stepped forward to straighten it. They were so close, they were breathing each other's air. The world around them seemed to narrow down until they were the only two people in it. They definitely did not notice the scowling boy approach them until he came up right next to the table and cleared his throat loudly.
"Well, doesn't this look cosy."
"Victor," said Sherlock expressionlessly. "What are you doing here?"
"We had a date, remember?" Victor said, glaring.
"We had a date hours ago," Sherlock replied pointedly.
"So just because I'm a little late, I get here and you're with someone else already?"
"Looks that way, doesn't it, mate?" John said, lifting the corners of his mouth in a tiny but dangerous smirk.
"And who the hell are you?" Victor asked.
"I'm the lucky bloke who found Sherlock sitting here all alone." John took Sherlock's hand and squeezed it comfortingly.
"Victor, meet John Watson," said Sherlock. "It appears he wished to have dinner with me, and you did not."
By this time, there was no one in the entire place who was unaware of the little drama playing out at the table of the boy who had waited alone for so long.
"Well, I was delayed. Come on, these things happen. It's no big deal," Victor whined.
"I texted you and called you, and you never answered," Sherlock said calmly. "And it's not the first time."
Victor said coaxingly, "I'll make it up to you tomorrow night."
Responding to an enigmatic look from Sherlock that he hoped he was interpreting properly, John said, "Sorry, Sherlock is no longer available. He has a date with me tomorrow night and every night thereafter for the foreseeable future. And probably even beyond that."
Sherlock threw his arms around John and kissed him—and the entire restaurant burst into applause.
END NOTE:
If you like this concept, here is another story I found based on the same prompt: Humiliation by jfcmartin on AO3.