All day the waiting room of the small clinic hummed with life. John had never seen so many patients in so few hours before. One by one, men, women and children filed into the cramped office and perched themselves on the old metal-framed bed. An elder man with an ingrown toe nail, a young woman with glandular fever and a small boy with asthma had sat in succession within the last hour on top of the small rickety bed, modestly embarrassed and irritated by the 45 minute delay between calls. Prescription after prescription had been torn out of Doctor Watson's little white notebook.
John patted the young boy on the head and reached for a clear plastic tub filled with a rainbow of brightly coloured, hyperactivity inducing, sugar lollipops and leaned down, letting the boy reach in and grab a handful before running out the door.
The great irony of the medical service, giving young children cavities-on-a-stick.
Once the door creaked closed, John looked at the sterile off-white clock hanging crookedly on the wall.
4:56 pm.
John heaved a deep sigh and smiled wearily.
Almost there John, almost there.
He hobbled slowly across the small bland room and reached across his desk for his briefcase, assembling a relatively large bundle of papers off his desk and haphazardly shoving them into the small rectangular case, hearing the gentle tear of a page as it battled with its comrades for space in the depths of the bag.
He looked at the blank walls of the closterphobic room and made a mental note to find some colourful posters to brighten up the room. The memory of his own doctor's examination room and the almost vivid poster of a kitten balancing on the edge of a wooden fence entitled 'hang in there' flashed into his mind. He chuckled lightly at the memory and donned his navy jacket, pulling the small built-in drawstring around his middle and tying a neat bow in the front. He smiled again, satisfied with his handiwork and pulled the long strap of the case over his shoulder. He walked towards the door and firmly locked the door. He still had four minutes and with his luck another patient would wander in at 4:59 and expect a full medical examination.
If it had been any other day he would have left the door open, but not today. Today he was leaving precisely when his pay-slip said he was meant to leave. On time, on schedule. He checked his watch again.
4:58
He slumped into the chair and hummed to himself a tune he did not recognise. He couldn't remember where he heard the song but the same line and the same words kept flowing around his head, over and over, like a broken vinyl:
"And if the night is burning
I will cover my eyes
For if the dark returns then
My brothers will die"
The words rolled over his tongue and he mulled as a familiar wave of heat warmed his cheeks. He made another mental note to find out the origins of that song.
He eyed the clock once more:
5:00 pm
Bingo
John bounced out of the black swivel chair, stalked across the office and unlocked the door. He walked right by the reception desk, barely calling back his farewells to Sarah with a very brief accompanying wave with the back of his hand before pushing out the glass panelled door.
The niceties could wait until later. He was far too excited to reflect on the day past and instead felt himself shaking slightly at the thoughts of the future, in particular, two short hours from now.
John had been thinking about the date all day, having miniature panic attacks and short pangs of fear between patients and detailing his potential outfits over his sandwich and tea at lunch. By the time he had downed the last drop of tea he had decided that not one item in his wardrobe was suitable for his date. Sure he had plenty of 'dating' clothes, checked shirts, cardigans, woolly jumpers, but tonight was different. He wasn't trying to impress just anyone at all. This was Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade he was dressing to impress and impress he was going to do.
Instead of heading for the tube station or the bus stop, John walked down the high street and was nearly trampled by long-legged model types waltzing diagonally from shop to shop, their suitcase-sized handbags gracelessly ploughing into John as he tried to avoid them with the skill of a retired ninja.
After ten minutes of wrestling his way through the crowd of fake hair extensions and mascara, he stepped inside the door of a small men's clothing shop.
"Ralph", John called the small narrow passage behind the abandoned till. He heard an awkward shuffling and the sound of glass breaking through the back of the shop.
"Can it be? John, my dear friend. How have you been? It's been a long time since I've seen you here." An elderly man with snow-white hair peered from around the corner, his thick glasses resting heavily on the bridge of his wide nose.
"I've been busy Ralph, you know, saving lives and whatnot", John grinned cheekily to the older man and they both burst into a wave of uncontrollable laughter.
"No wonder business has been so bad. You keep killing them all!" The older man tilted the glassed with his index finger and wiped away a stray tear with his thumb.
"Funny, you're being funny again, doesn't suit you" John swerved as the elderly man swatted at his head, dodging by mere inches.
"In all seriousness-" John continued, "- I have an important date tonight and I need a new shirt"
"Oooh, you hear that?" Ralph said to no one in particular "-an important date none-the-less."
Ralph turned on his heel and guided John to the back of the shop and began rummaging through a large dishevelled pile of packaged shirts.
"Business might do you better if you bothered to show your customers what you were selling, Ralph." John poked around through the pile alongside the shop owner.
"Oh, I like this one" John exclaimed holding up a blue shirt with black checkers.
"No-" Ralph grabbed the package and threw it into the mass of plastic. "-no checks. How about this?" The man held up a deep maroon shirt with small black polka-dots.
"That's a bit young for me", John curled his lips weary of the very untypically 'Johnness' about the shirt in question.
"Not at all, dear boy, you don't look a day over 55." John made a swatting motion to the older man and then walked towards the front of the cluttered shop, examining the shirt in the small band of natural light streaming in through the window.
"It's not bad, I suppose."
John imagined it on himself and fanaticised about how Lestrade's face would glow with admiration of him in this new, young man shirt. His fingers absent-mindedly played with the plastic covering.
"I'll take it." John exclaimed, throwing it on the counter.
"What? You're not going to try it on?" Ralph looked strangely at the doctor.
"Well if you installed a better system of changing room instead of a flap of cardboard I might have considered it, and besides my measurements are still the same."
Ralph brought his lips into a purse and raised his eyebrows dramatically. "Are you sure? You look as if you've been enjoying a few more pork pies than usual"
John choked on another burst of laughter before putting his money on the counter and headed for the door, helping himself to a paper bag on the way out, not bothering to wait for his change.
"I'll see you soon, Ralph", John called back already half-way out the door.
"He's a lucky man, whoever he is. Have a good night" the elderly man called after him.
John paused in the door and looked back to the man, a perplexed look on his own face. Ralph simply winked his acknowledgment and headed to the back of the shop once more, leaving John to wonder how long everyone else around him knew about his sexuality before he did.
Twenty minutes later, John was back at the flat and 40 minutes after that he was washed, shaved and looking at the outfit he had laid out on the bed for himself. The haze in the room was near tangible with aftershave as John doused him with his favourite Hugo Boss. He looked at the new shirt, the creased all ironed out and a pair of black jeans he had forgotten he owned laid in a human-like manner on the bed. He hummed and reached for the handle of his wardrobe, second guessing the vibrancy of the shirt. He almost chickened out, twice, with a plain blue shirt in his hand, before he threw it back into the press and dressed from the bed.
He eyed his watch and his heart jumped. Just over half an hour before he was to meet Lestrade.
John resisted the urge to stand on his toes and fan himself dramatically with his hands like the leading lady in one of those chic-flic movies he had denied watching with several ex-girlfriends before.
In the midst of his girly panic he heard the buzz of hard plastic against wood as his phone danced on the bed side locker.
Another white envelope appeared on the screen.
Tick Tock
Captain
Tick Tock-
GL
John looked around the room quickly before bunching his hands into fists and shaking them up and down triumphantly. He ceased quickly and composed himself, mostly, when he heard the sound of foot fall down the hall.
He quickly grabbed his jacket and scarf, throwing open the door and marching right past his housemate, checking for his essentials before leaping down the staircase.
"Have a fun-filled night, John-" Sherlock called after him "- Bring him back here tonight, I do enjoy a show"
"Piss off, arsehole" John yelled from the bottom of the staircase before heading out the front door.
John got to the pub in record time and found himself idle, scanning the room for the all too familiar face. After a few minutes of awkward loitering at the door he made his way to the bar, perching himself up on a stool. He ordered a pint and took three large gulps when it slide across the slippery surface towards him.
"Nice to see you've started without me." A deep voice cooed behind John's right ear, so close he could feel the breath of the words in the shell of his ear, sending a tidal wave of goosebumps down his body.
John turn and was surprised to see how close the taller man was standing to him, although he knew it had been quite close already.
Greg Lestrade was glowing, his naturally sallow skin somehow darker and glistening in the pale light of the pub. His eyes were wide and staring deeply into John's, a cheeky grin spread across his lips.
Greg made no mystery of admiring the man before him, taking in every detail of his body, once they finally managed to break eye contact.
"I've set up over in that corner there if you fancy it?" Greg spoke, a little more gently this time. Could John detect a bit of nervousness in his voice?
John smiled warmly and replied, "Of course, lead the way". Greg smiled in return and guided the smaller man towards a small two man table in the darkest corner of the bar. Two tall candle sticks sat in the centre of the table, wax dripping and pooling at the base of the holder. Distinct fingerprints and been pressed into the now hardened wax and small white flecks of dried wax were scattered in front of the space Lestrade had returned to.
John chuckled at the mess the other man had made.
"Nervous were we?" John remarked, pointing at the remains of wax in front of Lestrade.
Greg shifted slightly in his seat, a sheepish smile playing across his lips.
"Maybe, just a bit-" But just then his eyes widened and shot up to meet John's "-N-not that I'm regretting this. It's just, well, I'm not, emm, used so much to… this" he made a vague gesture with his hand between the two men and John smiled.
"Me neither, to be honest. Didn't know what to expect" John reached his hand up to his head and combed his fingers through his hair lightly to occupy himself briefly.
Greg looked at John with a puzzled expression on his face.
"But-", he paused for a second, turning the next sentence in his head a few times, "-You and Sher-"
John held up his hands, politely interrupting Greg's last words. "Me and Sherlock never went out. We don't, and never have had romantic interest in each other. You shouldn't believe what the internet says." He chuckled the last bit, hoping it wasn't as off-putting as it had sounded in his own ears.
Greg smiled wider than ever, like the news of the Second Coming was happening on a Saturday, down in his local pub and they were all going for pints and a few bags of Bacon Fries to celebrate.
"So I have nothing to worry about with our favourite psycho- I mean sociopath" Greg brought his pint up and took a deep pull, hiding the outline of a blush rising in his cheeks.
"Well apart from his usual antics, nothing else like that to worry about."
Greg licked the foam from his drink off his lips and John followed the tongue as it disappeared back into the chasm of his mouth.
"So everything's… fine" he asked.
"Everything's fine" John replied reassuringly.
Greg's mouth set into a very pleasurable smile and John couldn't help but smile along.
The rest of the evening went very smoothly. They sat for a few hours, chatting like old friends who had met in a different life. They rehashed particularly intelligent cases and John smirked as Greg would pump his chest out when he described the heroic feats he performed in such cases, arms waving in large wandering gestures. While Greg was engrossed in replaying one particularly frightful scene to his one man audience, John took the opportunity to truly admire the man beside him. He was donned in a tight black shirt, rolled up to the elbows with matching black trousers that showed off the definition in his arms and his slender thighs.
"Admiring the view?" Greg snapped John out of his day-dream and he realised that he had been staring at the other man's crotch for some time. The blood from ever orifice of his body rushed towards his face and he opened his mouth, with no such luck that words would form.
Greg laughed and patted John's own leg. "It's a bit early in the night for that, don't you think?" He winked and slide his hand painfully close to his own groin. John could feel the panic once again built up in his chest and in the pit of his stomach. His eyes wide with worry.
"Don't worry, dear. We're as inexperienced as each other it would seem so there is no need to worry." Greg slid his hand back onto his own lap, least he should give his date a heart attack.
The rest of the night passed without instance, apart from the very casually performed squeeze Greg had administered to John's left butt cheek in the waiting area for the Chinese, to which John yelped just as the small Asian man arrived out with their bag of food.
They stumbled back to John's flat, since it happened to be closer to the pub than Greg's apartment.
"Well, this is me", John sighed, definitely a line from a movie he must have once seen. Not one of his own creation anyway.
"As if I could possibly forget this place" Greg laughed, a deep carefree laugh. The sort you make when watching good comedy films on your own. John reached into his pocket and rooted in what felt like Mary Poppins bag for his keys. He sniggered as he tried to balance himself against the railing but misjudged the distance by a few inches. The misjudgement sent him falling towards the side, only to be caught my two strong toned arms around the middle.
Both men laughed and the smell of alcohol filled the short space between them.
"Are you alright?" Greg spoke, barely above a whisper, slowly leaning in closer to the fallen man.
"Oh, never better" John panted, his eyes lids heavy and his lips twitching with anticipation.
They stood in silence for a second gliding their faces past each other, millimetres from each other's lips.
"M-may I?" Greg whispered now.
"Oh God yes"
And with that the two men pressed their lips into each other and hungrily devoured each other's mouths. They stood in the cold of winter nipping and sucking at the warm flesh, each tasting the alcohol laced in the others mouth. Their tongues lapped at each other in a frenzied sequence. Grunts and puffs of breath escaped their lips as they parted briefly. John had his hands clamped on either side of Greg's face and Greg had his hands dangerously close to John's bottom, hovering just beside his hips, his thumbs entwined in the belt loops of his jeans.
Greg yanked at the fabric and drew in close to John's lips once more, making the smaller man jolt and they both panted,
"These have to go."
John rubbed his hands through the detectives hair before taking a firm but painless hold of it on both sides, "Aye, aye sir."
Greg smirked again, "Aye, aye Captian."
Greg ran his nose into John's clavicle and began to nip at the delicate skin. A soft moan escaped John's lips and Greg stilled, bringing his face up to look into John's eyes.
"That was possibly they most erotic sound I have ever heard someone make", His eyes wide with lingering and arousal.
"Well, let's get inside and I might made a few more sounds like it-", John grabbed the now accessible key and unlocked the door, "-but only if you're good", he winked and swung open the door.
Greg grabbed a handful of John's ass in both hands and cooed in his ear lustfully,
"Oh, with an ass like that, how could I be good?", before he crushed his lips into John's sloppily.
They broke apart for a second, retrieved the food off the ground and clambered up the narrow stairs, shutting the door behind them.
