Wrote this whilst I was absolutely exhausted, so if it's a pile of poop I'm genuinely sorry! I know it's really short too, but was still tons of fun to write!

In other news, I took a wander over to Baker Street today and bought myself a little tiny violin in a little tiny violin case from the Sherlock Holmes museum. Saw a duck and named it Lestrade. Was a damned good day.

R&R's appreciated, always!

Chapter Eleven

Sherlock sighed in exasperation, grabbing a roll from the basket and biting off the tiniest chunk imaginable. "There. I've eaten. Happy now?"

Twisting his spaghetti around his fork and pointing towards the plate of untouched food in front of his clearly unmanageable friend, John shook his head. "Sherlock, one bite of bread doesn't make for a meal. I can't believe I even have to tell you this but you've got to eat your dinner."

"I'm not a child," Sherlock grumbled, pushing the plate away and towards John. "If you want it eaten so much, you eat it."

"No, no, because that would be completely missing the point," John replied calmly, bringing the sauce-covered mouthful to his lips and scraping it from the fork with his teeth. Slowly he chewed, looking pointedly at Sherlock. "You see? Not difficult."

"Says the man who yesterday only ate a handful of stale cornflakes," muttered the difficult dinner companion, continuing to ignore the food and reaching for his glass of wine instead. "If anyone should be eating their fair share, it's you. You're losing too much weight."

John gently put the fork down and put his hand around his own glass, iced water with lemon. Up until the food had arrived he had been finding it almost too easy to enjoy himself after Sherlock had left the lecture hall; he had of course been berated by the student-lecturer, practically told off for distracting him during teaching, but they'd kept up a steady stream of banter the whole walk around campus. By the time they'd reached a point of silence that couldn't be filled it had started to get dark, leading the curly-haired genius to suggest walking down into Greenwich high street to find somewhere to eat, a suggestion that John had taken him up on despite feeling no real desire to eat. He knew he wasn't fixed, nor was he ready to start making outings on a regular basis, but the day had been such an easy one to enjoy that he hadn't quite wanted to go back to his room and end it until he was absolutely ready to collapse.

They'd come across a little Italian place, the smell of garlic strong and the restaurant itself almost completely empty – Sherlock had given the nod, the two of them ducking into the dimly lit warmth and being taken to a large table more suitable for four and immediately served drinks. Sherlock had ordered a bottle of red wine before John could stop him, his desire to avoid alcohol of all types for at least a week so strong that he'd almost gagged at the mere scent of it being poured leisurely into a glass. He'd quickly requested a glass of water, earning him a knowing look from Sherlock and a disappointed one from the waiter who clearly was desperate to have them drink enough to make up for the obvious lack of consumers that evening.

There was no idle chit-chat; Sherlock had already made it clear he had no patience for such things, rolling his eyes whenever John mentioned the weather or tried to initiate a conversation about Sherlock's family. Instead they had sat in almost companionable silence, Sherlock occasionally remarking on people walking past the large window overlooking the high street – cutting remarks, usually, smirking depictions of their infidelity, nicotine addictions and general faults and failures. John was fine with this. He was starting to get used to the fact that Sherlock wasn't quite like any friend he'd had before and that the things he said weren't said out of spite or cruelty, merely because they came to mind and he saw no reason to hold back what he was really thinking.

Basically, the man was a sociopath. Sherlock had even said it himself after his fifth scathing comment about a passer-by, almost a tinge of pride in his low tones as he had explained.

"I know how to act of course, it's all easy enough to pick up on simply from watching people – like animals at the zoo." His expression had been completely serious, not seeing a single thing wrong with his analysis. "I could walk up to any single person outside and talk to them without batting an eyelid, it's not a difficult task and one I've undertaken on occasion when it's absolutely necessary to have to do so. It's as easy as anything else."

"But you don't understand it? Don't... feel it? Anything?" John had been genuinely curious, cupping his glass between his hands and staring across the table at his friend intently.

Sherlock had smiled slightly, fleetingly. "Sentiment. It's not something I indulge in."

Nor, apparently, were good table manners. Their food had arrived and had smelled delicious – even John had felt a pang in his stomach at how good it all looked – and yet Sherlock had ignored it completely, turning away from John and staring out of the window as if he had completely forgotten where he was and the fact that he was actually with someone other than the snarky voices in his head. John had waited for Sherlock to bring his attention to the plate of steaming pasta, waiting for some sign that the man had remembered what he was doing... but all Sherlock had done was turn back to John and sigh, leaning his cheek against his hand.

"I'm bored. Let's go and do something else."

From then on it had been one battle after another. After ten minutes of trying to cajole the young man into eating his food (and finding himself faced with a 6ft child) he had instead tried encouraging him to drink his wine, hoping that in the very least a tipsy Sherlock would be an easier one to deal with – a terrible mistake. Not only did Sherlock become increasingly irritating, he also started to pick at John for different things that were absolutely none of his business. First it had been his hair: "You need to get it cut, you're starting to look like a street urchin from the seventies"; it had rapidly moved on to his intelligence: "I'm not saying you're an idiot, John, but one day I'm going to stop tutoring you and you'll have to actually do your work without my constant guidance"; now it had apparently shifted back to his appearance, padded cleverly by Sherlock's apparent concern at his lack of eating.

John dabbed at the his lips with a napkin, determined not to be antagonised. "You aren't my mother, Sherlock, and I'm eating fine."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows pointedly, raking his eyes up and down John's form. "You're wearing jeans you bought three years ago and you think you're fine? You haven't fit into those in a year and a half, John, and within two months you've lost enough weight to find they only just stay up without a belt. That," he jabbed his finger towards the shorter man accusingly, "does not signify someone who is eating as much as they should be."

John raised his hand to signal the waiter, ignoring Sherlock. "Yeah, hi, excuse me? Yes, we'd like the bill please."

Sherlock visibly brightened, sitting up straight and bringing his hands together in front of him. "Oh good, are we done here? We could go for a walk up to Greenwich Park, visit the observatory."

Taking the little leather book from the waiter and flipping it open to check the bill, John pulled out his wallet and took out a ten pound note. "It's quarter to eight, the observatory's closed now. You owe twenty," he added, putting the bill down with his ten pounds underneath it. "The wine and your untouched meal, you know."

"Don't be silly, John, I'll get this," Sherlock said with a frown, brushing John's money aside with a flick of his fingers and reaching into his jacket pocket for his wallet. He took out £40 and placed it underneath the bill, slipping his wallet back inside his jacket and pushing his chair back, readying himself to leave. "And I was hardly talking about going in there when it's heaving with people, was I?"

"Just pay your part," John insisted, pushing his £10 back into the middle of the table and standing up, heading towards the door of the restaurant without giving Sherlock a chance to argue. "And if you're implying what I think you're implying you can bloody well forget it."

He pushed open the door and stepped out onto the cold street, glancing both ways up the high street. He slipped his jacket on but left the buttons undone, slipping his hands into his pockets as he waited for Sherlock to follow him out into the darkness.

The deep voice came from right behind him, making him jump. "It's so much more fun to do it my way."

It took John a moment to realise that Sherlock was referring to the observatory. He started to walk, knowing the tall pain in his arse would follow. "It's called breaking and entering, Sherlock, and it's a crime. I don't know if it's on your to-do list to get arrested by the time you graduate for what I assume is the tenth time running, but it's not on mine. I'll walk you back to your place and get a cab back to campus from there."

Sherlock caught up quickly, falling into his long and graceful stride at John's left-hand side. "You've never seen anything quite like it, John. It's a wonderful place to explore after opening hours."

"No," John replied firmly, stopping at traffic lights and looking either way before making a quick walk to the other side. "I'm going to walk you home, call a cab, get back to my room and sleep for at least ten hours. God knows I'm exhausted, think the alcohol is finally totally out of my system..."

"It's been out of your system for three hours now, you've just been too distracted to notice," his friend said, infinitely distracted himself. "Come on, a nice jaunty walk up to the park, break into the observatory, have a bit of a wander and then we can make our way back down! We can even get coffee on the way home if you'd like," he offered in apparent generosity, opening his hands wide to signify his genuine intent to provide hot drinks."I'll pay. I'll pay for your cab back too, if you come with me now."

John stopped in the middle of a path, hands still deep in his pockets. "Why are you so intent on my breaking into the observatory with you?"

Sherlock walked a few steps further ahead, only stopping when he realised that John wasn't immediately following. "You ask like it's a bad thing."

"No, not bad," John allowed, tilting his head to one side and trying to read the odd man, "just a bit... a bit weird. Do you really have nothing better to do with your time than break into famous landmarks?"

Sherlock was by his side again in two short strides, reaching out and grabbing John firmly by the arms and giving him a small shake. "It's Saturday, John. Saturday!" His eyes were determined, wholly fixated on John's own confused stare. "Saturday is when it happens!"

"Wh..." John shook his head, wishing not for the first time that Sherlock would just bloody make sense without needing a translation. "What happens? What are you talking about?"

Sherlock's face suddenly widened into a huge grin, his grip tightening even more on John's arms as he gave him one final, resounding shake. "Life, John! Life itself!" Suddenly he was moving closer, so close that John could smell the wine on his breath, feel the warmth of the taller man's every exhale ruffling the top of his hair; Sherlock's face came within inches of his, leaning down slightly until he was perfectly at eye-level. "Let me show you how I live it!"

Leaning back slightly but somehow managing to fight the urge to claw Sherlock's tight grasp from around his arms, heart thumping a little erratically at the sudden burst of adrenaline that shot through his system, he forced himself to meet Sherlock's intense, somewhat manic stare with his own calm, steady one. He saw the mania in the man's face, saw his desperation and he found he could not turn away from it, couldn't back away. With an inward sigh and a not-so-inward curse, he finally nodded.

"All right. I'll come. But," he quickly said, raising a finger in the air, "only if you promise to stop acting like a child. And next time actually eat some of your dinner."

Sherlock released him, giving him a sharp, emphatic nod. "Deal. A very fair deal."

John shook his head, changing direction to start heading towards the park. "You really are hard work, you know that?"

The man fell into step by his side, large hands shoved into his pockets as his shoulders raised in a casual shrug. "But you're here, aren't you? That has to mean I'm doing something right."