13. Going out for the day.

"Well, Sherlock, are you going to tell me where we're going then?" asked John, standing after doing up his shoe laces. He and Sherlock had had a quick rinse in the shower after their heated time in the bedroom. Now both were clean and fully dressed again, John in the same clothes as before and Sherlock in a pair of Shezza's grey skinny jeans and a button up shirt that looked more like Sherlock's own style.

"And spoil the surprise?" said Sherlock, grinning as he held open the door for them to leave. John rolled his eyes but followed his mad detective out to the street below to catch a cab.

The surprise turned out to be... well, quite a surprise actually.

"A club?" John spluttered, looking in shock at the man.

"Yes..." said Sherlock, raising an eyebrow and paying the cabbie before sauntering out. John scrambled after him.

"Sherlock, I am forty fucking years old."

"And I'm thirty-five years old. Problem?"

"Yeah, a bit. It's all fine for you. You look like you've been dipped in the bloody fountain of youth since you hit your late twenties," snapped John, shoving his hands into his pockets before taking a deep breath. He continued more calmly. "Look, I appreciate you taking me out. Really I do. I'm sure it would be great, but I think I'm a couple years out of the club scene. Maybe a nice bar would be-"

"John, it's fine. You're fine. I promise. You don't have to dance. Though I might, so it would be a shame if you didn't," Sherlock winked and swept inside. John sighed and followed after him.

Inside it was quite dark and there was a pulsing pound of too loud music being pumped to the dance floor. A few circles of young twenty-somethings were hesitantly making their way onto it, though John could tell it was early. No one was drunk enough yet to really cut loose. He spotted Sherlock leaning against the bar ahead. John took a moment to appreciate his lover's altered silohete, then noticed he appeared to be talking to someone. A young blonde woman with a round sweet face to be precise. She was rather plump, and really quite pretty, her dress clinging to the generous curve of her hips. John frowned and sidled up to the bar beside Sherlock.

"Hello," he said mildly.

The woman, who had been talking jumped and fell quiet. Sherlock glanced at John, then addressed the woman again.

"It's all right, Miss Hadley. This is my associate and partner, Dr. John Watson."

"Oh yes, sorry! I should have realized. Miss Lucille Hadley," said the woman, smiling at John and offering her hand to shake. John stepped around Sherlock a bit and took it, smiling politely.

"Pleasure to meet you," said John with a nod. He glanced at Sherlock. It seemed odd to think that he might run into a friend at a dance hall.

"Miss Hadley is the one who put me on to the local fitness club," explained Sherlock.

"Oh," said John, suddenly realizing with exasperation that Sherlock had taken him out so they could meet a client. He did his best to mask his emotions however, gritting his teeth in a smile, "How nice. Er, can I get both of you a drink then?"

"That's lovely of you," said Miss Hadley, smiling warmly at John in thanks, "I'll take a Pimms number 1 with lemonade, please."

"Alright," said John, smiling and looking at Sherlock.

"You know what I like," the detective said dismissively, waving a hand before turning back to his client and resuming his questioning. John rolled his eyes. Yes. He knew exactly what Sherlock would like. A swift kick up the- but no. He could get the drinks. When he returned a few minutes later, Sherlock was shaking hands with Miss Hadley again.

"Here you are," said John, passing her her drink.

"Oh, thank you," replied Miss Hadley, looking significantly more relaxed now. Perhaps Sherlock had stopped grilling her. "And thank you Mr. Holmes. I'll feel a right lot better knowing you're keeping a lookout for my sister."

"Of course," replied Sherlock, a smile on his lips even if he looked rather lost in thought, "I shall keep you updated. I have your email still. Enjoy your evening."

"You too," said their client, smiling, "Thanks again for the drink." She then quickly went to join a small group of people sat at the other side of the room that she apparently knew.

Sherlock watched her go absently, lost in thought. John huffed moodily and hauled himself up on a barstool. He slid Sherlock his vodka and tonic and took a swig of his own beer.

"Sherlock."

"Hm?"

"Are you listening or just making noises?"

"Mm."

"God fucking damn it, Sherlock!"

That got his attention, Sherlock jumped and nearly upset his drink. He straightened himself haughtily and looked down at John.

"What on Earth are you shouting for?" he rumbled, blinking at him reproachfully.

John rolled his eyes. "Sherlock, Just for once in our lives, could we go out somewhere without it being linked to a murder?"

"This isn't linked to a murder," said Sherlock, looking even more confused, "Well it could be a potential murder, I haven't quite worked out what motives there might be in play at this time-"

"Shut up," snapped John and took a moody sip of his beer. Sherlock did. Though the man's eyes flicked over John's face, seeming to calculate the exact nature of his mood.

"Oh... I see. But you... you like solving crimes with me."

"Yeah, but-"

"You like adventure. You'd get bored just hanging around at a bar, surely."

John sighed. "Yeah, alright. Maybe I would. I just thought tonight was for us."

"It is. That was just multitasking," quipped Sherlock, taking a long drink of his vodka and tonic.

The doctor couldn't help but chuckle slightly at that. "Fine. I s'pose I can live with that. You can buy the next round then."

"Happily. Business is concluded. Now our fun can begin," said Sherlock, giving John a small private grin.

John snorted and shook his head. "I'm definitely going to need a few more drinks if you're planning on taking me dancing tonight. God, I can't remember the last time."

"Hm," said Sherlock, sipping his drink again and looking pleased, "Neither can I. Though I have missed dancing. I took lessons when I was a child. Ballet. I quit when they wouldn't give me a tutu."

"Did you really?" asked John, face splitting into a wide grin.

Sherlock chuckled. "Indeed I did. My mother still has photographs she refused to burn. If we ever visit she might show you."

"I'd love that," said John, still chuckling and imagining a young Sherlock twirling happily in a tutu.

The detective smiled. "Well, drink up. By my calculations, you will need to imbibe approximately three servings of alcohol in order to loosen your inhibitions to dancing. I'm not making a fool of myself by dancing alone."

John smiled back and lifted his pint. "Cheers then, love. We'll have to see if we can't find you a tutu."

Day 14: (Cute) nicknames for the gainer?

"John. I do believe... we're drunk."

"You deduce good, Sherlock."

They were wandering home, giggling, and still feeling pleasantly buzzed.

"And you dance well, John," said Sherlock with a grin.

"Shuddup. Don't fix my grammar when I'm drunk," laughed John, nudging into Sherlock's side so they both staggered several feet off course. Both of them snickered a bit more at that

"But if I dance well then you're, you're the dancing queeeen,"sang John, perhaps slightly off key.

"'M the what?"

"Dancing que-No! The dancing detective!" exclaimed John, coming to a halt. He swayed and held up his hand as if he felt that attempt at alliteration deserved a high five. Sherlock snorted and grabbed it instead, then lead them home. He had a mind to keep an eye out for a cab as well, though it wasn't far.

"That's lovely, John," said Sherlock, smiling, "Thank you. You can be the dancing doctor too."

"Thanks. You're gorgeous too you know," added John, "Always were, but 'specially now."

"Because you're drunk?" asked Sherlock.

"Noooo... cuz you're getting podgy, Gorgeous," said John emphatically, reaching over with his other hand to poke Sherlock's tummy with a finger. "Belly."

Sherlock flushed with pleasure. "Really think so? Think I'm getting podgy?"

"God yeah," said John, giving the belly in question a squeeze, "Even-even chubby 'n fat. So soft and sexy, Sherlock."

"Mm..." purred Sherlock, deciding the flat was a bit too far away. He needed to kiss John right now. So he did. He pushed John into an ally, stumbling and leaning up against the brick for balance.

"Sher- what?"

"Mmm..." Sherlock repeated, crowding into John and pressing hot sloppy kisses to the man's mouth.

John chuckled but kissed back enthusiastically, grabbing Sherlock's hips to pull him closer his hands wandering up
Sherlock's hips and sides.

"Yess..." breathed Sherlock, arching his back to press his plump stomach against John more fully, "Feel how soft... and stuff."

"Mmmph, getting heavy," panted John in return, squeezing at the man's love handles, "So much of you, needs touching. Love you like this."

Sherlock groaned and nibbled at John's neck, rubbing his belly against John's as the man whimpered.

"God," grunted John, throwing his head back, but then adding, "Sherlock. Sherlock wait, we can't do this here."

Sherlock pouted and sulked John further against the wall. "Why not? S'fine."

"Nah let's get home first."

"Why?"

"Ice cream."

Sherlock's eyes lit up. "Oh!"

John chuckled and grabbed Sherlock's belly, jiggling it a bit. "Mm, thought you might like that, Podgy."

"I do like that," said Sherlock with wonder, groaning as John played with his belly.

"Good. Let's get home then, c'mon," said John, giving Sherlock a gentle nudge, "C'mon you great lump. Can't move when you're squashing me."

Sherlock sighed and moved aside, then took John's hand again and they wandered off home.

"I want loads of fudge 'n whipped cream on mine, John," he said, "Wanna feel really full."

"Anything you like, love."