He had sat through chemistry on Wednesday and Friday nearly writhing with anxiety. There he was, supposed to be learning about ideal gas laws, when all he could think about was ideal scenarios he'd like to have with Sherlock. He didn't care about the chemistry in the lectures. He cared about the chemistry that made his pulse race and his pupils dilate and his thoughts spiral out of control in the presence of Sherlock Holmes.

John packed his things slowly, making sure he was the last one in the room. He'd head towards the door but instead of leaving he'd lock it instead and rush over to Sherlock, desperate to release the tension building inside him. Desperate. Yes, John Watson was desperate for the taste of Sherlock Holmes. His fingers would tangle in the lush curls, tugging, pulling the taller man down for a deep passionate kiss that he absolutely needed to satisfy the growing ache in his core. He barely made it to practice on time both days, but it was hard to pick sitting on a bench watching everyone else over time with Sherlock.

Sherlock Holmes was quickly becoming his addiction. Although, John observed, Sherlock had quite a few addictions of his own. There was his obsession with crime scenes. Articles were pinned all over a giant bulletin board behind his desk with notes scrawled on post-its. Then there were the nicotine patches sprawled across his forearm. And the pack of cigarettes he always had in his coat pocket. The coat itself - a long, sweeping charcoal coat - was an obsession.

It was Saturday night and John had already tried on several different shirts, inspected himself in the mirror, and ripped them off with frustration.

"What the hell are you doing?" Lucas asked, lounging on his bed with his laptop resting on his outstretched legs.

John glanced at his friend. How much to reveal? "Date tonight," he settled on.

Lucas laughed. "She better be fucking hot, getting you that flustered over a shirt."

John smirked. "My date is pretty hot."

Lucas hopped off his mattress and started rustling through John's drawers. "Try this one," he said, pulling out a grey-and-white striped long sleeve. John pulled it on, noting how it clung to his skin. Lucas stepped back and inspected him.

"Well, it's better than all your baggy jumpers," he decided. "At least she'll be able to see you're fit."

John grinned in the mirror. It was true, the shirt really defined the athletic build he had beneath. "Thanks, mate."

Lucas laughed. "Get some tonight, Pipsqueak."


John was the first to arrive at the restaurant. The moment he walked in he felt uncomfortably underdressed in his jeans and converse. He sat nervously at a dimly lit table with a candle glowing faintly in the middle. The waiter arrived with a menu and looked at him suspiciously.

"I... ah... I'm waiting for a friend," John blurted, feeling self-conscious under the waiter's gaze.

John glanced at his watch at least once every minute, waiting anxiously for Sherlock to show up. What if he never did? What if he changed his mind again? What if John was just a quick make-out after class and Sherlock didn't want to go on an actual date with him?

John hadn't realized how anxious he really was until he saw Sherlock approaching, the long coat sweeping around him, his curls tussled from the wind outside. "Sorry," his deep voice rumbled. "I was experimenting. I lost track of time."

John tried to say "it's okay" but his voice caught in his throat when Sherlock pulled off his coat, revealing a tight purple silk shirt clinging to his chest. The shirt was a little small but John didn't mind. It fed his imagination. With a sting he noted that Sherlock was appropriately dressed for the restaurant. He was always impeccable, even when teaching.

The waiter came back and started at the sight of Sherlock. "Mr. Holmes!" he exclaimed. "Good to see you again. I'll fetch Nigel."

"That won't be necessary," Sherlock said, waving his hand dismissively. "We'd like to see menus, please. John, would you like any wine?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," John managed. He didn't think he was of legal drinking age in the states, but it wasn't a thought that passed through his mind until the waiter had already scurried off.

John opened a menu and glanced at the prices. Holy shit. There was no way he'd be able to afford any of the options. He glanced nervously at Sherlock over the top of his menu. Maybe he could pretend to feel ill and say he wasn't up for eating. Sherlock would probably know he was lying though.

The sharp blue eyes were on him. "Don't worry about prices," Sherlock said casually. "Nigel will insist whatever we order is on the house." At John's raised eyebrows, he added: "I helped him find out he was being swindled out of thousands of dollars once."

"Oh," John replied, because he wasn't sure what to say. Sherlock smirked ever so slightly over his menu.

"Sherlock," John started. "We won't... get in trouble here, will we? Us being together?"

Sherlock pondered the idea. "Maybe. If you see anyone you recognize start asking questions about chemistry. We'll say I'm tutoring you."

"At dinner? Here?"

"They already think I'm strange. I don't think the location will really change their judgment of me."

John laughed, although part of him ached that he couldn't hold Sherlock's hand across the table or kiss him on the forehead when he said silly things or give any sign that anything between them was more than platonic. This is what you got yourself into, he chided himself. He's your bloody teacher. You should have known.

A heavy man in expensive clothing approached the table. "Sherlock!" he exclaimed, grabbing Sherlock's face between two meaty hands. "Good to see you!" He looked towards John. "I see you've brought another. Ah, who's this one? Haven't seen him before."

This one? John's face reddened slightly. "I'm John," he answered, shaking the man (presumably Nigel)'s hand.

Nigel looked him up and down. "Scrawny fellow. Bring him more often, hmm? Put some weight on those bones." He turned back towards Sherlock. "Anything you want, on the house! Only the best for you, my friend."

"Thank you," Sherlock said passively, unaffected by the man's enthusiasm. There was a crash in the background and Nigel hurried off.

Should he say something or not? Screw it, he would. Better to find out now then get any more involved. "This one?" John questioned.

Sherlock scanned his face with his knowing blue eyes. "You're upset. Why are you upset?"

"Am I just another? Pick of the week? Because... I don't think I'm comfortable with that."

"What are you talking about?"

"Nigel. Isn't that what he suggested? That I'm just one of the many you bring here?"

"Well, yes. That's what he meant."

John stood up. "I think this was a mistake. I... I'm sorry. I've got to go."

Sherlock scrunched up his eyebrows. "John, sit down. You're being ridiculous."

"No, ridiculous is all those things you said to me last night that I bet you say to all of us."

John could feel his heart breaking. He had taken a risk and jumped headfirst into the uncontrollable feelings coursing through his veins. Now he was regretting it. He wasn't special. He was just another body to Sherlock. And maybe it wouldn't have hurt so bad, if yesterday, after a particularly passionate make-out, Sherlock hadn't whispered in John's ear.

"John," he had said in his deep baritone voice. "I've never been addicted to a person before. I've never felt anything for another person, really. But with you... it's a high that the drugs have never given me before."

John had smiled and kissed Sherlock's forehead, wrapping his arms around the taller boy's torso and holding him tight, wanting to stay in his arms forever. Now John was desperate to get away.

"John, what are you talking about?" Sherlock asked now.

"I don't want to be just another make-out."

Sherlock's forehead wrinkled. "Well of course you're not. Why would you ever think that?"

"Because Nigel said I'm just another person you bring here to dinner."

"Yes."

"Then bloody hell, I am just another!"

"No."

"Elaborate, Sherlock."

"He's referencing the clients I bring here." Sherlock shrugged. "People come to me for advice and such. Sort of a consulting detective."

John's heartbeat slowed down. "Consulting detective?" he asked, climbing back into the seat.

"Yes. Police can be so ineffective. I help solve the interesting stuff that the cops are too dull to understand. It's a hobby."

"So you weren't... bringing other dates here?"

"Don't be ridiculous, John. I don't date. Well, I don't date anyone that isn't you."

John's face burned. "So we're on a real date?"

Sherlock rolled his blue eyes. "That's what you asked for, isn't it?"

"Sorry," John mumbled, staring down at his lap and feeling embarrassment seep through his blood.

"There's nothing to be sorry about. Ah, look, the wine."


So yeah, sorry I haven't been updating as often but life got in the way. I hope you enjoy and don't forget to review! Date Night Part 2 coming up soon :)