"Do you enjoy it, then?"

"Enjoy what?" Sherlock didn't look up from the menu.

"Making people think we're a couple?"

Still reading, he replied, "I can assure you I am entirely incapable of making anybody do anything."

"But you imply it."

Finally he looked up. "Do I?"

John sighed exasperatedly as Sherlock cocked a smile. "Alright. I'm done."

"Good." Sherlock met eyes with John, who was staring daggers at him. "What?! What have I done?"

"You've implied, Sherlock, and it's getting on my nerves."

"Does it really bother you then?"

"Yes-!"

"Why?"

"Well, I don't want people to think we're—that I'm-."

"I thought you said it was fine."

"What?"

"You said. Gay is fine."

"Well yes, but if I'm not, I don't need people thinking I am."

"Interesting."

"Interesting? What do you mean by that? There's nothing wrong with me not wanting to give people the wrong idea."

"Ok."

"Ok? Ok what? You'll stop?"

"No, not at all. In fact, I quite enjoy it." Sherlock was again buried in the menu.

"Why on bloody earth would you enjoy it?"

"It irritates you, doesn't it? It's quite entertaining."

"I thought your cases were the only things that entertained you."

"On the contrary! I enjoy lots of things."

"Like what?"

Sherlock put the menu down and raised his eyebrows. "Aggravating you."

"And, what else?"

"That and the cases. That's all."

"You said you enjoyed lots of things."

"Well, those are broad categories, aren't they?"

"…..Alright. I'll be done, then."

"Fine."

Sherlock went back to gazing out the window, while John sat with his arms crossed. Their food came, they ate, and they were silent. Finally the tab came. Sherlock reached for it, but John caught his hand.

"John?"

"No, no, I've got it." Sherlock slowly lowered his hand and gave John an inquisitive look that was so concentrated he missed entirely what John said to the waiter next.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, just told the server I always buy on first dates."

Sherlock stared at John with a mix of surprise, aggravation, and perplexity until the waiter returned.

"Your receipt, sir." He smiled at them both. "Have a nice night."

John nodded his thanks, stood quickly, and before Sherlock could move pulled his chair out for his courteously. Then, audibly enough that the waiter, a few feet away, and the nearby tables could hear, said "Your flat or mine, then?"

John could feel the heat emanating off of Sherlock, chose to ignore it, and suppressed a smile as he led the way out of the pub. He was rather enjoying himself.

Once they were outside, John waved down a cab and ceremoniously held open the door for Sherlock.

"After you."

"I'd rather not."

"No, please."

"John—."

"Sherlock?" John raised his eyebrows comically and Sherlock slid in darkly without another word. Once they were both sat down and on their way to the flat, Sherlock spoke.

"What. Was That."

John almost laughed aloud at the low, heavily aggravated but flat tone. "I'm not quite sure what you mean, Sherlock."

"You know exactly what I mean."

"I was simply reciprocating. Thought you'd might like it if I played your couple game too."

"You thought wrong."

"'Gay is fine?'"

"Don't-."

"Don't what?"

"Nevermind."