Sherlock made sure the flat was clean. The parlor table was still haphazardly semi-covered in papers and books, but he figured if he did indeed invite this mystery person back, that he would forgive the small slight.

Why was he even concerned with such a trivial issue?

He had hoped that Lestrade would have been up for seeing if they could make their relationship go into a different direction, but he had been completely oblivious. Sherlock really had expected nothing less. He wasn't clear enough on purpose to get a true answer, and that is exactly what he received. That, and a date of sorts. Well this was an interesting turn of events and as such, needed exploration. So with that thought in mind, a more stoic Sherlock left the flat trying to look into a future with someone beside him that was not his John.

It wasn't a terribly brisk early evening; by London standards it was quite nice actually. Sherlock strolled lost in thought for the few blocks to The Volunteer, his masterfully made walking cane setting a nice metered beat allowing his mind to create a slightly-whimsical off-beat composition.
He really had no need for it, but it was a very special gift that was very-much-so deadly in the proper hands. Such a set of hands as both Holmes now possessed. Mycroft had seen to it personally going with him to the temple to meet his Master and humbly ask training for his sibling. It had been thrilling, painful, and clarifying.

Sherlock remembered those days. How they had been darkened and grey, then as he mentally healed and physically changed he began to meditate. Finally after almost ten months of intense focus and exertion Sherlock was finally able to master himself. Quieting his mind as he wished or letting it spiral and loop into some of the most delicate harmonies one had ever heard; the only thing ever present was John. Yet John was gone. He had to move forward, Sherlock knew that now. He would never make the mistake of hiding John or how he felt about him to anyone coming into his life to share any sort of intimacy. He had decided to be honest and knew he could love John in the depths of his heart and build from it a new life. One John would be glad for. To see that Sherlock had not withered even though it had been so very close.

No, Sherlock would honor John. Show him that he was forever in his debt, and if lucky, maybe meetup beyond the veil and have their time then.

I was just shy of six as he entered the welcoming pub. White walls, all wooden tables and mismatched chairs. Welcoming. He headed toward the bar to order a pint of their most recent porter acquisition. It was something he had learned he had a palate and enjoyed. Another thing to thank John for one day...but now wasn't about him. No, now it was about the twenty-nine year old author walking through the doors. Ciaran Rhys Brennan.

His eyes met Sherlock's smiling as he made his way to order for himself as well.

"Hello, Sherlock. Nice to meet you."

"The same, I think." Sherlock tentatively smiled quirking the side of his mouth.

"Oh see! Now you've gone and done it. The boyish charm right? Gods, you are a devil. Lestrade warned me about you."

"Boyish? Lestrade warned you?" Now this was interesting. Getting caught off-guard. The slight off-kilterness. "What about your cock-sure attitude? It should be illegal the way your eyes carry a conversation in seconds. Completely open."

"Ah, saw that, did you?" Ciaran chuckled, "Well, you are practically gorgeous you know. Blame God, not me for that little fact."

"Ah, Catholic, yes."

"I also know you give a whit about religion, so throw that out the window for tonight. You're not brushing me off, or frightening me off. Greg's told me all about you so do not even think somewhere in that massive beautiful mess that you are going to scare me off." He looked directly into Sherlock's eyes as his smile softened. "I know, and it's all ok. I just want a fair shot at us getting to know each other. Fair?"

"Well then you know I have pretty much figured out everything about you, so since at this point we are past all the awkward 'getting to know you' we finish here and possibly have dinner?"

"Really? No hard to get?"

"No, Ciaran, not tonight. I promised someone I'd try to find happiness again. Tonight seems like the right time, don't you agree?"

"Let's eat here then. I'll split with you as I know you are terrible at finishing a meal and that will leave room for later when you go...well that's later. Not now. So yea? Find us a table and I'll order?"

Three hours, four pints, one very interesting pork and chorizo burger with chips smothered in cheese, and a salted caramel and chocolate dessert that had been topped with cream Sherlock thought Ciaran was the devil himself.

"I cannot believe you got me to eat those!"

"Oh, says the man who dies over the sweets?"

"Well-"

"No, Sherlock, admit it. You enjoy the sharing. It was a challenge of fortitude. And with a fork? Really? Who does that?"

"I didn't want the grease on my fingers. I would be uncomfortable doing this if they were...sticky."

"Doing what, Sherlock?" Ciaran asked glibly. "Your hands are clearly doing half of your talking. I'm amazed you even need to speak at all!"

"This..." Sherlock raised out of his chair, bent over the table, and taking Ciaran's face in his hands lightly kissed him before sitting unruffled but smiling impishly.

"Oh!" He blinked unexpectedly. "Ta! Didn't expect that as yet!"

"You, Ciaran, are a terrible liar. Well, you were hoping, maybe not exactly expecting..."

"You really are amazing you know."

"Ciaran...I don-"

"It's alright, mate. Soon, maybe. It was nice tonight wasn't it?"

Sherlock mulled the evening over. Neither had been bored or felt stretched as he was wont to do with most people. No, this had been a nice evening.

"Would you like to go with me?"

"Not this time, but yes Sherlock, I'd love to go meet John sometime."

They both rose knowing the evening was just beginning for Sherlock. Ciaran and he walked out of the pub looking very couplish, which later would twist Mycroft to no end, but for now it was right.

"Well good night then, little pirate." Before Sherlock could extend a hand Ciaran gathered him up and kissed him softly letting his lips speak the hope he would not say out loud. Pulling slowly away he met Sherlock's stardust tinted eyes. "God you really are a beautiful treasure. Don't hide yourself away from me, please?"

"I- I can't promise anything yet Ciaran, but I will try. Is that good enough?"

"For me, yes. Thank you for the lovely evening."

With that, Ciaran turned and walked across toward the road slipping into a cab before being whisked into the night. A few moments later as Sherlock headed toward his destination his mobile chimed.

Thank you again.
You're wonderful. ~ Ciar

You are the devil in this equation. -SH

Oh tread lightly, please.

You are flirting, are you not? -SH

Yes.
But I can hear your smoke-dark voice in my head now.
Not helping.
I'm trying to be a gentleman.

Gentleman? -SH
Oh. You like my voice?-SH

I thought you were supposed to be clever? :)
Bril deduction, little pirate.

I thought your lips were very soft. -SH

Murder me now plz

I do not think either of us would think that interesting. -SH

Damn it. Play nice.
Make me plot the map.

What map? -SH

Yours, treasure.
To your long buried heart.

221B Baker Street.
Come at once. -SH

You positive?
Don't want this to be rubbish
in the morning.

Come find me, Ciaran. -SH