Hi guys, I'm sorry I am putting this up later than usual. I just had to leave my Christmas shopping until the last POSSIBLE minute, so I was forced to brave Holiday jingles and a very large amount of people today. This is a very fluffy piece. Hope you enjoy. Thank you for the reviews and everything. Observationoftrifles made me feel very special yesterday, thank you so much sweetie. You guys are free to point out any and all plot holes and mistakes, I would actually really appreciate any help with my writing.

Chapter 3

Eventually Mycroft had come back and released them, assuring them that everything was sorted out and that they were not to, under any circumstances, contact any member of the British parliament. He even provided them with a list, Sherlock threw it away without even a cursory glance. Mycroft frowned, but didn't say anything. He also didn't say anything about the fact that when they walked out, John had his arm around Sherlock's waist and Sherlock had casually swung his arm over John's shoulders.

John knew that they desperately needed to talk, but he just couldn't bring himself to do so when he was finally in the embrace of the man he loved. He couldn't bring himself to do something as mundane as talk, when he could finally feel those soft dark curls tickling his cheek while they walked.

Eventually his arm was starting to develop pins and needles, so he dropped it a bit and was rewarded by a slightly disappointed look that slipped momentarily over Sherlock's face. The early morning light cast a soft edge on his usually sharply sculpted features. Through his exhaustion -they had been in the cell overnight-, he felt his heart beating, wildly trying to escape the confines of his chest. His own body no longer seemed sufficient to contain his ecstacy.

Then a shrill sound interrupted his trance. It took him a few moments to realize his phone was ringing. By the time he managed to fish it out of his pocket without letting go of sherlock- London could be burning to the ground and he wouldn't let go- it was flickering with a new message. He silently flicked it open and listened.

"Dammit, I'm sorry Sherlock, I need to go to the office, Sarah needs me. I'm sorry if this wasn't urgent I wouldn't-"

Sherlock surprised him by bending down slightly and placing a silent kiss on his cheek before calmly striding away, long coat billowing behind him.

For a full minute John just stood there. Blinking. When he finally came to his senses he hailed a cab and headed for the clinic. He had a difficult time organising his thoughts, but the one thing he managed to realize was that he needed to do this right. So before going home he made a few stops.

As he entered 221b, Sherlock was on his feat immediately. John felt very, very nervous. "Right, Sherlock," he cleared his throat.

"John, why do you sound so formal," Sherlock interrupted. John wanted to start speaking again, but Sherlock was going strong already: "You're hands are nicked, but small cuts, not a razor then. You wouldn't have shaved at the clinic anyway. Perhaps thorns, but you haven't been to the park, there is no dirt on your shoes. And no scuff marks so you didn't clean them, either. We don't have plants. So... Florist. But you didn't buy anything, your wallet still has the loose change from this morning. You didn't have your credit card, so you would have had to use that. And, obviously no flowers. So you were hesitant but wh- Oh. OH. Yes of course John." Sherlock said the last sentence with a bit of a silly, lopsided grin.

John should have been used to this by now; he wasn't. "Yes ?"

"You were going to ask me on a date. You haven't ever asked a man on a date, hence the hesitancy."

"I just wanted to do this right."

"John, I hate movies"

"What," he managed to utter.

"Ticket John, your holding a movie ticket."

"Oh"

"But I'll go with you," Sherlock paused and then almost hesitantly - John had never seen Sherlock do something hesitantly in his life- added: "I'll go anywhere with you."

"You got one thing wrong, Sherlock," Sherlock looked at him with an inquisitive expression."It wasn't that I was nervous asking a man on a date... I was nervous asking you," as John said this he felt his face flush.

Sherlock's eyes widened a fraction, It was such a minute movement you wouldn't have noticed it if you hadn't memorised every last detail on that, almost ethereal, face. Words. I need to use words, John reminded himself. "So you'll come then ?" Sherlock, who has not yet made the same discovery about words, silently offered John his arm, he was smiling from ear to ear.

They walked to the cinema, talking and laughing. Occasionally one of them would suddenly feel like he was immersed in a dream and would reach out, simply touching the other. Checking if this amazing fantasy was actually a reality. They had known each other for years, yet it was like they were rediscovering each other completely. They were hesitantly exploring completely uncharted territory and they were doing it together.

They did go into the cinema, and John honestly meant to watch the movie. Sherlock hated movies though, so, a few minutes in he got very bored. He tried to endure it, but after about ten more minutes, he decided to start entertaining himself by whispering details of the actors lives -he had deduced them of course; Sherlock Holmes does not read gossip magazines- into John's ear. Then he started giving away key plot points as he figured them out. Normally John would have been furious, but Sherlock was placing his mouth very close to John's ear, that, combined with the warm breath tickling his cheek in the cold cinema, made it extremely hard to focus.

After a while Sherlock grew bored with this too. So he whispered in John's ear: "arms". John let it go -he was at this point still nurturing some obscure hope to watch the film- but when after a few minutes Sherlock whispered: "hair," John had to ask. Sherlock replied: "I'm just whispering things I like about you, John. Obviously". This made John squirm even more... As Sherlock continued, his level of appropriateness decreased significantly.

John made a mental not to never again bring his detective to a movie.

A few weeks later, Lestrade asked John if he had seen that specific movie. He said that he didn't. He wasn't lying, he couldn't even remember the title.

Hi guys, i am just quickly replacing this chapter, because there were a lot of mistakes in my author's note. My phone seems to be acting up a bit. There wll be a two part x-mas special tomorrow. Thanks for reading and thanks again observationoftrifles, there is still smile on my face.

Till tomorrow, all my love ;)