Ritual Disclaimer I own no rights to Sherlock Holmes. The rights clearly belong to ACD, Messers Moffat and Gatiss and the BBC.

Chapter 2

John sat at his specially reserved front table at Angelo's. The romantic candle flickered feebly. John pursed his lips and irrationally glared at the innocent candle; then he glared at his stupid risotto. I don't know why I even stopped here. I'm not hungry.

John played with his risotto and picked out the mushrooms to eat. Sherlock is probably still stretched out on the sofa. Silly, stroppy Sherlock. I should have stayed home with the silly man. At least I'd be able to watch him instead of a bunch of strangers.

Now I'll have to fight the snow, and for what? I don't know anything about ballet anyway. If it wasn't so pathetic, I'd go home right now.

John sighed, and didn't notice the man at the bar who smiled at John and tried to catch his attention. John did not hear the giggles of the three tipsy women who had been ogling him for the past twenty minutes.

John looked up as Angelo sat down at John's table. He had two glasses of wine, one for John and one for himself.

"So Dr. Watson, eating alone tonight?" asked Angelo.

John sipped the red wine and grunted noncommittally in answer.

"Lover's quarrel, eh?" suggested the large restaurateur.

"Look Sherlock and I aren't... He isn't... I tried Angelo, I hoped that tonight…" John sighed and downed more wine. "Seriously Angelo, it just isn't going to work. He isn't interested,"

John tried for a change in topic; he was uncomfortable discussing his private life in public, 'Hey Angelo, you are doing a booming business tonight. Look at this crowd. And this wine is delicious, thank you for bringing it over." John raised his chin and gave flashed Angelo one of his best fake smiles.

"Dr. Watson…" said Angelo.

"For heaven's sake, please call me John," said John.

"John," said Angelo again after sipping his wine. "I know what I see, and I see that you two are a couple. Maybe he just needs another nudge. My Tony, he's a soldier. He always says, "A soldier doesn't give up". You're a soldier; so you don't give up either."

"Right, a soldier doesn't give up. So I'll try again sometime. I know, once a year I'll ask him out, or maybe I'll stage a mystery for him to solve and the prize will be me. Ha! That would be funny," John forced himself to smile again. "Say Angelo, have you ever been to a ballet?"

"Only if you count my nieces' dance recitals," answered Angelo. "How about you?"

"No. Never before, but I'm going to see one in 40 minutes. I have no idea of what to expect, bunch of grown men and women running around in tights," said John ruefully unconsciously messing up his hair. "I better get a move on, but thanks so much for your company Angelo."

"Dr. Watson, put your wallet away, you know your money is no good here," said Angelo.

"John, please call me John. And I will pay tonight, Sherlock isn't even here, and you took the time to bring me out of my funk," John placed his money on the table with a genuine smile and said, "So there."

"You're a stubborn man John. I think our detective may have met his match in you. You wait and see," said Angelo with a knowing grin. "Now you finish your glass of wine; you'll need it if your ballet is anything like my nieces' recitals. I'll catch you a taxi. You know, you shouldn't be out in that snow without a jacket."

John finished the wine and stood to leave. A strange man at the bar leered at him and a table of three women stared and giggled at him. He waved back with a sickly smile on his face. They waved and giggled harder.

Outside, Angelo had John's taxi waiting. "Angelo, is there something wrong with my hair, are my clothes that awful? I mean, people in there were staring

Angelo began to chuckle, "Those women just wanted to get to know you, they asked Gina for your name. That blond bloke wanted to send a drink over to you. I guess maybe you look all right to them. Now, you best get into the cab or you'll miss all the men in tights," Angelo laughed.

Shortly after John left the restaurant, Sherlock burst into Angelo's and dusted the snow out of his dark curls and off his long dark coat. He could tell in a glance that John was not present but had been recently. He knew because all the staff looked at Sherlock with hostile, narrowed eyes.

Angelo stepped over to him and shook his hand. Even Angelo's smile was a bit anemic, "Sherlock Holmes, would you like a table?"

"No I'm looking for Dr. Watson. I see that he was here this evening but left at least 10 minutes ago since you've already sat a new party at Watson's table," said Sherlock.

"Right as usual Sherlock. I put the doctor in a taxi myself," said Angelo. He noted Sherlock's questioning sideways glance. Angelo continued sotto voce, "I felt it best to get him out before that gaggle of women descended on him, not to mention that tall blond guy in the corner. Your Dr. Watson was catching everyone's eye tonight."

Sherlock straightened himself up and allowed himself a single death glare at the man in the corner. The man paled and looked around uncertainly. The group of women did not seem threatening enough to warrant a glare.

"Well I need to leave now Angelo. I intend to meet Dr. Watson at the ballet," the staff began to smile at Sherlock now and even Angelo seemed happier. How absurd, thought Sherlock.

'Can I get you a taxi?" Angelo was beaming. "It's so cold tonight, and do you know that doctor of yours is running around with no jacket?"

"No, I can get my own cab, and yes it's cold, and yes I know he forgot his jacket. I have John's jacket here," Sherlock held up a shopping bag, mock bowed and swirled out the door.

Sherlock stepped out into the swirling snow and raised his arm to flag down a taxi. In mere moments a taxi arrived and Sherlock instructed the cabbie to take him to the London Coliseum.

Outwardly Sherlock still appeared calm and aloof. However internally, he was in turmoil. I knew John would attract trouble dressed like that, looking so muscular and handsome in his black jeans and new sports coat. He's probably found a new date already, a better date. I will have to obliterate the competition.

What if I am too late? What if he is angry because I didn't accompany him when he invited me? Perhaps he will forgive me if I pout; that almost always seems to work.

What if I arrive late and can not be seated? Perhaps the new jacket I bought him is too much; what if John is offended by the gift? What if he doesn't like the color or the cut? Of course this jacket is much more fashionable than that old bomber jacket. And the soft leather will be comfortable and warm. What if he's already freezing to death somewhere in a derelict cab.

Sherlock could easily picture John huddled and freezing in an abandoned taxi. John's lips were probably blue and his hands were too cold to hold the phone to call Sherlock for help. Sherlock tried to call his blogger, but John didn't answer. This confirmed Sherlock's worst suspicions; John was unable to answer. He was freezing, or maybe John's taxi was in an accident.

Good God, John could be kidnapped. He hasn't been kidnapped for weeks; he is overdue for a kidnapping. He may be tied to a chair, his big blue eyes watching helplessly as the kidnapper approaches. Waiting in vain for me, since I am en-route to a ridiculous ballet. Sherlock pictured John tied up and beaten, his lip bleeding. I will kill the kidnapper if he lays so much as a finger on my blogger.

Sherlock sighed despairingly. I was right. Relationships are too confusing, and I shouldn't waste time with this nonsense.

"Can you at least try to hurry; I would like to arrive at the theater sometime this evening," Sherlock snapped at the cabbie. Sherlock needed to get to the theater so that he could begin searching for the missing and possibly kidnapped man.

Sherlock tried to retreat into his mind palace but thoughts of John kept distracting him. Stupid John, thought Sherlock. Maybe this can still be a date, maybe tonight is the night I can touch his lips. Stupid John and his stupid, sexy lips, thought Sherlock as he nervously drummed the fingers of one hand on the seat. He gently rubbed his lips with the long fingers of his other hand; he imagined John's stupid, sexy lips gently caressing his own.

A/N John and Sherlock both insist that they have more to say than I originally planned. I guess they are just nervous about their first date together. This is my way of saying that this story is writing itself and getting carried away with itself. Anyway, I will need a couple more chapters to finish this 'fic'. Thank you for reading this. Thanks to all reviewed and all who are following. Please review or comment : )