Ritual Disclaimer I don't own Sherlock or John, they rightfully belong to ACD, Messrs Moffat and Gatiss and the BBC
Chapter 3
John found his aisle seats in the front row of the dress circle. The tickets for tonight's performance originally belonged to Mike Stamford. Well, Mike was right about these being good seats, thought John.
The theater, decorated opulently in red and gold, was blazing with light. The audience glittered like peacocks wearing gems. John was decidedly out of his element.
He sat uncomfortably in his more casual black jeans and nodded politely to the older woman, wearing diamonds and fur, who sat next to him
I don't know what I'm trying to prove by sitting here. I don't belong here and I don't like these snobs. I should skip out and find a good pub.
John studied the enormous arch over the stage; Mike had told him it was impressive. John tried to feel impressed.
Buried in his musings, John almost didn't notice the man who sat down next to him. Then John smiled expectantly; trust Sherlock to turn everything into a game.
The smile froze on John's lips. He tried hard not grimace at the very tall, handsome black man sitting next to John.
"Dr. Sam Bigsby, I haven't seen you in ages," said John to the former athlete who was starting to go to seed with a developing paunch.
"Imagine you here John, I figured you more the football and beer type. I must say you clean up well," said Bigsby patronizingly.
"Well you never know now, do you?" said John with a fake smile plastered on his face. John blushed at the veiled insult and the overly friendly arm that had just snaked across his shoulder.
"John Watson, I see you in the news, off and on," Dr. Bigsby. "Bit of scandal now and then. Who'd of thought, the righteous John Watson involved in a bit of scandal? You know the pictures don't do you justice."
Oh for heaven's sake, the old snob is ogling me in public.
"And where is that famous detective of yours?" continued Bigsby, rubbing salt into the wound.
"Probably out detecting," lied John, continuing to force a small smile. Oh my God, I hated Bigsby in Uni, and I think I hate him even more now.
"Oh and he was probably your date. You're all alone then. l'll join you and keep you company, Johnny," he leered and hugged John closely. "We have a lot of catching up to do, Johnny."
"Well, where is that beautiful wife of yours, a fashion model isn't she? She must be here?" John looked hopefully out over the sparkling audience.
"Oh she's over there somewhere with her handlers and ass-kissers. She'll never notice I'm gone," he gave John a significant look. "She never does, John," he added in a low, husky tone.
"Erm," said John uncomfortably. He noticed his neighbor shaking her blue-haired head sympathetically.
"John I find it so interesting that you've become more adventuresome in your dating. I always fancied you in Uni. And tonight you are quite the eyeful," said the hulking doctor.
Right, I've had enough of this, thought the ex-army doctor.
"Well Bigsby it's been a pleasure to see you, but I think maybe you should rejoin your wife and her entourage. My date should be here in a few minutes so if you don't mind…" John slipped under the burly mans arm and out into the aisle. John danced around an older couple, keeping them between him and the now standing Bigsby.
Then the beautiful young fashion model appeared, towering over John in her six-inch Louboutin shoes. She glared at John and at her husband. She took her husband's arm to leave. Then she turned, to snarl at John. "Keep your paws off him, you little bitch."
John blinked in shock. He had never been called a little bitch before. As the lights began to slowly dim, the Bigsby's sailed away followed by their sycophant flotilla. John valiantly ignored the stares of his fellow theater goers and returned to his seat blushing as red as the velvet curtains hanging below the impressive proscenium arch on stage.
After Sherlock checked his and John's coats, he walked into the hall. People were mostly overdressed thought Sherlock; he looked scornfully at their satins, jewels and even some fools wearing tuxedos. Sherlock was effortlessly elegant in his black fitted suit. He also wore his favorite purple shirt. It just happened to be John's favorite shirt too. Sherlock noticed everything, and he had certainly noticed that John was much more attentive and receptive when Sherlock wore the purple shirt.
John should be easy to spot in all this gaudy nonsense thought Sherlock. Indeed, he quickly spotted a familiar blond head that was being absorbed by a tall black ex-athlete. Sherlock quickly deduced that the man was another surgeon, probably orthopedic, who was past his peak athletically and professionally. The man was married but carried on blatant homosexual affairs; clearly he was ready to begin one with Sherlock's blogger.
I knew John would get picked up, but this quickly? How can John be so easy?
Perhaps I should warn John that his new boyfriend is married and not as successful as he leads people to think? Then again perhaps I should leave John to sort it out as he sees fit. I've ruined enough of his dates. Sherlock tried to convince himself that he was not hurt and disappointed.
Sherlock began to back out and watched as John slipped under the leviathans arm. John impressively used other patrons as cover. Oh ho, the game is on. Sherlock began to push his way toward his embattled blogger.
The leviathan and his spitting wife passed Sherlock who accidentally on purpose stepped on the large doctor's ankle. "Sorry, Excuse me," said Sherlock carelessly.
John had just turned to sit back down, when his arm was grabbed again.
"Look, just leave off before I knock you out, right here in the hall." John turned to face his pursuer and met Sherlock's steely blue eyes, raised brows and superior smirk.
"I think I am beginning to see where you may have encountered problems with dating, John. First you flirt with another man, and then you threaten to punch your date. Isn't that a bit awkward?" Sherlock slid gracefully into his seat while John crashed into his with a scowl.
"I did not flirt with Sam Bigsby. He's the last man on earth I'd flirt with for your information, Mr. Genius. Furthermore, the threat was obviously not meant for you, it was for Dr. big-headed Bigsby or his harpy wife," growled John softly, not wanting to attract any more attention.
However, John wasn't finished yet. "This is entirely your fault Sherlock. You left me alone and see what happened? I was ogled by the biggest dick, that I ever met at Uni, and attacked by a Nazi fashionista who called me a little bitch! Let me tell you, I was in the army for over ten years and called every name in the book but never a little bitch."
"Yes John I admit it was my fault," said Sherlock. John froze in mid-sputter. Sherlock never admitted that he was wrong, never. "I realized as soon as you left the flat that I should have accompanied you. You will attract every wolf in London wearing that outfit; you need me to protect you."
Sherlock had released John's arm, but now he laid his hand over John's hand possessively. John slowly processed Sherlock's statement and finally began to blush furiously.
He didn't know where to start. How would John be able to attract wolves, and since when did John need protection? Why was Sherlock almost holding his hand? Was the date on again? And what the heck is wrong with my clothes? They must be really awful.
"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" he whispered in Sherlock's ear since the audience had become quiet. The theater lights were now out, and the conductor was approaching the podium.
John's breath in his ear electrified Sherlock. So now it was Sherlock's turn to respond. In fact, it was time to initiate one of the many John Watson Seduction Protocols that Sherlock had stored in his mind palace over the last months.
Clearly the situation warranted immediate action. Seemingly overnight John had gone from straight and unavailable to ready for all comers. Sherlock was still a bit shaken by the vision of John under the arm of the hulking athletic surgeon.
No he could not afford to lose a moment. Sherlock cast aside all doubts; John would be his. Sherlock opted for the direct yet subtle approach.
Besides, decided the consulting detective, turn about was fair play. "Nothing is wrong with your attire; you are very handsome in it. In fact, you are delectable," his low baritone hummed into John's ear. John stiffened in his seat with the unexpected arousal.
The music had been playing for several minutes before John was able to get his thoughts under some semblance of control. Sherlock Holmes said he was my date. He said I was handsome. Good God, he said I was delectable. John blushed as his heart started pounding furiously again.
Sherlock had kept his pale long-fingered hand drooped loosely over John's hand. It was both comfortable and yet convenient for monitoring the way John's pulse raced when he whispered in John's ear. Now his pulse was racing again as he turned to Sherlock with wide eyes.
Sherlock pulled John closer and leaned toward his ear. This time his lips actually feathered over John's ear as Sherlock casually whispered, "Is this your first time?" John's breath hitched, and he turned his palm over to clutch Sherlock's hand tightly. "I mean first time at the ballet, John." He breathed John's name into John's ear, slowly, seductively. John's handgrip tightened until it was almost painful.
John took another minute to still his rapid breathing. Who would have guessed that the consulting detective would be such tease? Oh for God's sake John, you are Three Continents Watson. Make an effort: fight back.
John leaned over to whisper into Sherlock's ear, the soft curls danced over John's face. Not fair, not fair, thought John as the heady lavender scent of Sherlock's shampoo invaded his senses. He soldiered on bravely.
"Yes, this is my first ballet. I was looking forward to the men in tights. Where are they?" asked John letting his lips tickle Sherlock's ear.
Oh yeah, that got the World's Only Consulting Detective. Sherlock's smirk had slipped and his mouth was parted in a quiet gasp. John smugly watched Sherlock's pale lips; his stupid, adorable cupid's bow twitched
John sat back to enjoy the ballet until the detective's lips were whispering at his ear again. "Men in tights? So that's why you came to the ballet? I thought you weren't gay, John?"
"I was kidding about the men in tights, idiot. And I'm only gay part-time," whispered John flustered again but at least able to flirt semi-coherently.
"That makes no sense John, what do you mean part-time?" Sherlock asked.
John had no idea what he meant since he had made up the answer just to confuse the detective. John finally leaned over and whispered in Sherlock's ear. "It means I 'm gay when I want to be, but it's pretty much limited towards one man." John all but kissed Sherlock's ear. John felt smugly superior after that shot. Yeah, Three Continents strikes again.
John turned to see the blue-haired lady smiling knowingly at him. She leaned over and whispered in John's other ear, "This one seems much nicer dear. I'd advise you to keep him, unless you're interested in older women."
She patted John's other hand once and returned to watching the ballet. She was pleased to note that she had made the appealing blond man blush darker than either of the tall handsome men who pursued him.
John fixed his eyes on the stage wondering if the whole world had just lost its collective mind.
A/N Thank youto those you have reviewed. Thank you all who are reading this little fic.