"You can't keep expecting me to repeat his mistakes, Sherlock. That was over ten years ago and despite how you insist on painting me, I am not Phillip."

Sherlock stepped into the street to hail a cab. Hands secured in his pockets and eyes downcast, he moved back to my side. He sighed, a puff of steam hanging in the air.

"I know you're not Phillip. However, this is your first relationship with a man, yes? How am I to know you're not going to turn tail and run to the first woman who bats her lashes at you?"

"Perhaps you could give me a little credit?" I said, my temper flaring. "You've spent the past year observing me. Tell me, am I the type to fluff off a relationship so quickly?"

The cab arrived and Sherlock opened the door, gesturing for me to enter. I slid across to the far side and gave the cabbie the address for Bart's. He climbed in behind me.

"You have had numerous girlfriends. You never stayed with them for very long."

"Yes, because I was always following you around. Saving your life, on multiple occasions I might add, tends to put a strain on my romantic life. Besides, I thought we'd moved past this the other day when we... you know."

"I worry about the fact that you can't even bring yourself to say it..."

"But there's..." I motioned to the front seat where the cabbie was focused on the road. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned to look out his window. I steeled my nerves and suppressed what I could of my embarrassment. "Made love!" I exclaimed. "Had sex! Fucked each other silly!" I caught the cabbie chuckle under his breath and I felt heat rise in my cheeks. The reflection of Sherlock's face in the glass betrayed the hints of a smile. "Well?" I asked.

He turned to look at me once again. His face was stoic, but there was a slight sparkle of mischief in his eyes. "Well done," he deadpanned.

"Well done? That's it? You're insufferable sometimes," I feigned at being insulted.

"Oh yes," a slight smile cracked through his mask. "You might just make Boyfriend Material yet." We both laughed and I slid closer to him and leaned my head on his shoulder.

"In all seriousness, I do care about you. Quite a lot, actually. Everyone has to make the first steps at some point, right? Just because I'm making them with you, doesn't discount what we have. It doesn't lessen what I feel. It also doesn't mean I'm going to run off on you. I'm still 'me,' I still have my values and principles. If this doesn't work out, it won't be because you're my first boyfriend. And," I turned my head enough to look at him. "For what it's worth, I really hope this works out."

Sherlock took my hand in his and gave it a light squeeze. He nodded and went back to gazing out the window. I closed my eyes and tried to memorize the warmth of his fingers, the feeling of his breathing, the sound of the engine.

"John, would you like to go to dinner tonight? You know, to celebrate your soon-to-be freedom?"

"Hmm, like a date?"

"Yes. I... I suppose it would be a date, wouldn't it?"

I smiled to myself and snuggled in closer to him. "Yes, a proper date with Sherlock Holmes. I'd like that."

When we arrived at the hospital, I was so giddy with the excitement of getting this damned cast removed, I had to consciously stop myself from skipping along the corridor. The doctor met us in the hall and ushered us into an exam room.

"Ah, Mr Watson. Good to see you again. I see you've brought..." he trailed off while glancing at Sherlock.

The stretch of silence became a bit awkward so I interjected, "This is Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes."

"Ah, yes, the gentleman that came to see you the day of your accident." He looked down at his hands, wringing them together. "Look, I'm very sorry for assuming that you two... well, I'm just sorry if I overstepped any bounds. It was unprofessional of me."

I smiled at Sherlock and reached for his hand. "Actually, Doc, I should thank you. We should thank you. Apparently we needed someone to come along and just bash us over the head with this."

"Oh. Oh!" the doctor looked between us, visibly relaxing. "Quite right, it seems. Well, let's get that cast off, yes?"

Fifteen minutes of grinding and sawing and the doctor finally cracked my cast open like a crab leg. He cut through the gauze and I finally glimpsed my left arm for the first time in weeks. The skin was pale and wrinkled and my nose scrunched up as I was hit with a sour smell.

"Ugh," Sherlock exclaimed and took a small step back from where he'd stood by my side for support. "You're quite ripe there, John."

"Oi, if you couldn't wash your arm for a month, you'd stink, too!"

The doctor chuckled and set about checking my range of motion. "Good. Good. Everything looks to be in order, Mr. Watson. Now, just ease back into things. It will take some time to get your muscles back to normal, so don't overdo it."

He directed me to a sink and I washed my arm the best I could. The unscented soap made me feel cleaner, but there was still an odor about me. I couldn't wait to get home and shower. Out of habit, Sherlock held my coat up for me and I slid my arms easily into it, relishing the feeling of using both sleeves.

"I will never take the usage of my limbs for granted ever again."
We said our farewells to the doctor and left the hospital to return to Baker Street. Once home, I showered and gently scrubbed the tender skin on my arm. I contemplated doing something I'd been aching to do properly for a month now, a familiar tingle beginning in my groin, when there was a loud banging on the bathroom door.

"There's no time for wanking, John. We have a reservation," Sherlock shouted.

I finished my shower, wrapped a towel around my waist, and walked into the kitchen on my way upstairs to dress. Sherlock was seated at the table, a cup of tea steaming in front of him. He turned his head and gave me a lecherous stare. His gaze swept slowly from my face and settled on the line where the towel hugged my hip bones. He fiddled with the lapel of his finely tailored jacket, drawing my eyes to his eggplant colored shirt, the buttons straining against his chest. I drew in a shaky breath to steel myself against the urge to pop his shirt open to taste the pale flesh beneath.

"I'd better get dressed before I do something that will spoil our dinner plans completely," I said, swallowing deeply.

He looked at me through hooded eyelids, a playful smirk curling at his lips, "Or we could skip straight to dessert."

"Oh no, you're not getting out of it that easily. You promised me a date, and a date I shall have, Mr Holmes."

"Fine," he said, pouting into his tea. "We leave in fifteen minutes."

I dressed in a hurry – trousers, my nicest jumper (with TWO sleeves) and my best pair of pants in anticipation of... dessert. It was probably silly for a grown man to have a favorite pair of pants, but I'd always felt very confident in these. I smiled to myself and secretly hoped Sherlock would find the white trim against the solid red fabric attractive, as well. I took one last look in the full length mirror, nervously smoothing invisible lines out of my trousers. Logic said I shouldn't be nervous about going to dinner. I'd been out to eat with Sherlock many times before, but tonight was different. Apprehension hung in the air, thick and almost tangible, but thankfully my excitement kept most the anxiety from creeping in and taking hold. 'You can do this. Dinner. It's just dinner with your best friend. Sure, you'll probably snog him in the cab afterward, but get through dinner first, John.' I gave myself one last reassuring smile and went down to meet Sherlock.

Downstairs on the street, I paused for Sherlock to hail a cab. Instead, he started walking. I quickened my steps to catch up to his long strides. We traversed half a block before he slowed his pace to a much more comfortable cadence for my admittedly shorter legs.

"Mind sharing?"

"Hmm?" he replied, continuing to guide us amongst groups of people, happy couples, traveling along the sidewalk.

"Our destination. Where are we eating tonight?"

"Oh. Someplace special. Its only a block further."

I waited but he didn't offer any further information, so I left it alone. We rounded a corner and I studied the buildings on the street. Small shops, entryways to the flats above and Angelo's Italian Bistro. Of course, Angelo's. The site of our first non-date date. I caught Sherlock studying my face as I made the necessary connections and he smiled. He reached for my hand and escorted me to the restaurant.

Bells attached to the door jingled pleasantly as Sherlock held it open for me. Angelo rushed to greet us.

"Mr Holmes! Mr Watson! So good to see you! I haven't seen either of you since that first night you were here. I'm so happy that you are still together. Let me get you a table where you can be alone."

Angelo lead us to a table near the back in a secluded corner. The lighting was dim there and he lit two candles on the table. Sherlock took the seat facing the door and I sat opposite of him. Angelo bustled about the table, making sure everything was placed perfectly.

"Anything you want, on the house. I'll bring you a nice bottle of wine. Our finest! Anything for you two!"

I watched Angelo traverse his way across the room before turning back to Sherlock. My heart fluttered as I gazed at Sherlock's angular face, enhanced by the candlelight. His lips were in a small half smile and his eyes glittered in the soft light. He reached his arm across the table, his hand outstretched. I met him halfway and slid my fingers into his.

"John, I..."

He was interrupted as Angelo returned with the bottle of wine he'd promised. He paused a moment as he took in our clasped hands, his free hand moving to cover his heart.

"So beautiful, you two! I see how happy you are, Sherlock. Finally caught yourself a worthy bloke, eh?" Angelo winked at me and filled our wine glasses. "Do you know what you want to order? No, no... I'll bring you something special. You'll love it, I promise! Now, I'll let you two have some privacy." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and hurried away.

I squeezed Sherlock's hand and chuckled. "Oh, he sure is wound up tonight."

"Yes, he was very excited when I made the reservation yesterday."

"Yesterday? We'd only just decided on a date this afternoon."

"I anticipated. This doesn't upset you, does it?"

"No... no. It's sweet, actually."

I took a sip of the wine. I had never witnessed Sherlock drink before, so I was surprised when he lifted the glass to his lips. He swirled the liquid gently and closed his eyes as he inhaled the aroma. He took a small sip and his brows furrowed slightly as he mulled over the flavors on his tongue. He made a quiet noise of appreciation and my heart caught in my chest at the sound. He took a larger sip before opening his eyes.

"French. Pinot Noir. 1999. Very good year for the vineyards. I'd say... one hundred sixty... five pounds per bottle. Yes, Angelo is very happy for us. He purchased this bottle specifically for us. I've tasted his "finest" wine before."

I nearly spit the wine across the table. "One hundred sixty five pounds! I've never had anything better than a ten pound bottle of red table wine from Tesco!" I gingerly set the glass back on the table, afraid I might break it and waste the liquid gold contained inside. "How do you know all that? I've never seen you drink before."

"While Mycroft wallows in his pretentious upbringing, I've chosen to shed most of it. I've held onto the more useful pieces. Using my wine tasting skills to impress a very handsome gent... I put that in the 'useful' column."

We made small talk, laughed at inside jokes, and enjoyed the delicious meal Angelo delivered to our table. Our knees brushed together, Sherlock's long legs a welcome intrusion into my space beneath the table. Between us, we polished off the extremely expensive bottle of wine. I drank the lion's share as I couldn't fathom leaving a drop of it in the bottle. By the time we left the restaurant, I felt a bit on the tipsy side.

We walked in comfortable silence back to our flat, our hands intertwined. We approached the flat as Mrs Hudson was locking the door on her way out.

"Oh, boys, you startled me. I didn't see you there. Just popping out to catch a play with some ladies from church." Her eyes brightened as she looked us over, taking everything in, focusing on our clasped hands. "Uh-huh," she nodded. "I see you boys have had a pleasant evening." She winked and left to hail a cab.

After she had pulled away, I burst out into a fit of giggles. "I suppose I just came out to Mrs Hudson, eh?"

"Not that it was any big surprise to her," Sherlock said, joining me in my giggles. Abruptly, he swept me into his arms and leaned down to press his lips to mine, stifling my laughter. He parted my lips with his tongue and kissed me deeply. By the time he pulled away, my knees were weak. "Ready for dessert?"

"Oh God, yes."

He planted a series of quick kisses to my lips, my neck, anywhere he could make contact while guiding me towards the steps. He blindly fumbled for the lock, pressing me into the door, still kissing me wildly. The lock finally gave way and we stumbled into the foyer. Sherlock kicked the door closed and we grasped at each other. We wrestled our way up the stairs and into the flat, trying desperately not to break contact.

I removed my coat and tossed it to the floor. Sherlock followed suit, removing his coat and jacket. I groaned and ran my fingers over the row of buttons straining against his purple shirt. "Bedroom," I breathed into his neck. I grabbed his hand and dragged him down the hall.

I shut the door and pushed him against it, my fingers working at his buttons. I lapped at the pale skin exposed as each button gave way. I made my way past his navel and pushed the fabric aside, lowering myself to my knees. I started on the clasp of his trousers and nuzzled my chin against the bulge there. Sherlock moaned and threaded his fingers through my hair. I carefully moved the zipper and then lowered his trousers and pants to his ankles. I moistened my lips and looked up into Sherlock's eyes. He stared back at me, hunger burning in his eyes. I slid my palms up the back of his thighs and grasped his arse before taking his cock into my mouth. I relished at the weight on my tongue and moaned. Sherlock gasped and thrust slightly deeper, his cock hardening completely between my lips. I curled my lips over my teeth and bobbed slowly, my fingers massaging the skin of his buttocks. I pulled off and flicked my tongue over his slit, tasting the salty precum.

"John..." he paused to moan as I continued to focus my attention on the head of his cock. "I would like... very much... if you would fuck me tonight."

I replied by taking him deep into my mouth and working my tongue against him. I pulled off of him again, afraid to take him too close to the edge before we had any real fun. I stood up and helped him step out of the pool of fabric at his feet. I pushed the shirt off of his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

"You're wearing too much clothing."

"Yes, I agree."

"Well, are you going to do anything about it?"

I chuckled and removed my jumper as seductively as possible, which admittedly, was probably not all that successful. I had better luck with my trousers. I held Sherlock's gaze as I slowly unfastened my trousers and pushed them from my hips. I soon stood before him in nothing but my red pants.

"Oh, my. Yes, those are... I like those." He stepped closer to me and dragged his index finger along the white piping which just happened to be directly in line with my aching member. I shuddered and pushed into his hand. He hooked his fingers into the white waistband and lowered them to the floor. My prick bobbed slightly, free from its fabric cage. Sherlock grasped my hips and pulled me into him, our cocks rubbing delightfully between us. We kissed deeply, slowly rolling our hips together.

"Fuck me, John. Please."

I led him to the bed and bent him over. He supported himself on his elbows, his arse in the air. I was about to reach for the lube when I remembered a promise I'd made the last time we'd been in this position. I circled the palm of my left hand gently against his cheek before raising my hand and bringing it back down, just hard enough to leave a little sting. He moaned and looked at me over his shoulder. He gave a nod. I repeated my actions, a little harder each time, until his left cheek was a rosy shade of pink. By the time I set in on his right side, Sherlock was moaning and grinding his hips into the mattress.

When the right matched the left, I reached for the lube in the nightstand. I applied some to the fingers on my left hand and worked at the pucker of skin nestled between two rosy cheeks. He was soon open and ready for me. I rolled on a condom and gave my aching cock a few strokes to apply the lube liberally to the latex. I aligned myself and slid in slowly. A few seconds to adjust to the intrusion and Sherlock was moving back against me. I grabbed his hips and took control of the motion. I used my grip to simultaneously move him onto me as I pushed into him. We kept a steady pace until I couldn't maintain it any longer. I quickened the pace, driving into him. His arms gave way and he collapsed into the mattress. I fell onto him, my hips still thrusting. I wrapped my right arm under his chest and pulled him close to me, sliding him down to give his cock some room. My left hand slid around and stroked him, bringing him to climax. As he clenched around me, I gave a final deep thrust and cried out as I came.

I took a few moments to recover before slipping out of him. As I discarded the condom, Sherlock crawled slowly onto the bed. I climbed in next to him, and put my head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in tightly. I could hear his heart pounding rapidly. I tilted my head up and kissed the underside of his chin.

"How was that for my first time?"

He took a deep breath and as he released it, I felt his whole body relax beneath me.

"Perfect. Absolutely perfect. I especially enjoyed the... mmm... foreplay." I snuggled in closer to him. The rhythm of his breathing had almost lulled me to sleep when he spoke again. "In the morning, would you like me to make you some Eggs Benedict?"

I laughed, assuming he was joking. "You... cook?"

"Yes, it's another useful skill I've filed away. I haven't had occasion to use that one in quite a while, but I believe I can still make a delicious Hollandaise sauce."

"When did you learn how to make French cuisine? I imagine you had all sorts of kitchen staff, judging by your brother's complete inability to even make tea for himself."

"My mother had a passion for cooking. I spent a lot of time as a boy in the kitchen with her. I didn't have a lot of friends to occupy my time, you see."

We were quiet for a few minutes as Sherlock reminisced and I tried to picture a spindly young Sherlock learning his way around a kitchen. I squeezed him tight in an effort to bring him back to me.

"Yes, Sherlock, I would love some Eggs Benedict, or anything else you'd like to cook, for that matter. I'm going to enjoy uncovering all these hidden skills and talents you have tucked away. I hope you'll keep me around for a long while."

He moved so that we were face to face in the dim light. He searched my eyes and smiled at whatever he found. He kissed me gently.

"John, I will keep you for as long as you'll let me."

~The End~

Author's Note: Thank you all for reading this story. Your comments, follows and favorites have meant a lot to me and have inspired me to continue writing. If you enjoyed my style of writing, please follow me as an author or type a quick review. Thank you again! xoxo -Muse