"It's our first case," Sherlock said in a disinterested tone.
"Oh, Sherlock," John said tearfully, "It's so much more than that."
He was so overcome he quite suddenly leapt forward and threw his arms around Sherlock.
"Sherlock, thank you so much," John whispered thickly.
Sherlock stood frozen for a moment before he stiffly wrapped his arms around John and pressed his cheek to the side of John's head.
"You are welcome," Sherlock answered quietly.
John squeezed Sherlock harder and then let go of him, rubbing at his tearing eyes.
"Sorry, Jesus," John laughed, "It's just, I sometimes wonder if you even remember stuff like this."
"I have a photographic memory," Sherlock droned.
John rolled his eyes.
"I meant, sometimes I wonder if you care to remember," John clarified, "Sometimes I wonder if you just delete all that unnecessary sentimental stuff."
"I have never deleted anything involving you," Sherlock stated.
John looked up at Sherlock in shock.
"Really?" John asked in wonder.
Sherlock looked confused for a moment.
"Why would I?" Sherlock questioned.
"I just didn't think I was that important to you," John admitted, looking at the floor, "I thought you would use that mind space for more important things like tobacco ash…"
"Don't be stupid," Sherlock scoffed, "You are much more important than tobacco ash. In fact, if I categorized the things and people in my life and mind in order of importance, you would be on the top of the list."
And that did it. John started crying like a little girl. Sherlock awkward put his arms around him and John cried into Sherlock's chest.
"Why don't you say these things all the time?" John lamented.
"Because I am uncomfortable with sounding so sentimental," Sherlock answered.
"Well, a hint now and then that you care would be nice," John sniffed.
"My hints are apparently too subtle for you to notice," Sherlock said coolly.
"Well, you did wash the dishes yesterday," John admitted.
He peeked up at Sherlock to see the other man smirking proudly. John giggled and pushed away from Sherlock's thin chest.
"Anyway, I think we better get going," John said, sniffling slightly.
"Yes, right, let's move along," Sherlock said briskly.
He turned around and looked around for a moment before grabbing John's hand and pulling him out of the door. John pulled it shut behind him as he stumbled, trying to keep up with Sherlock. Sherlock opened the door to a black car that was similar to the one they'd taken on their first date. He practically shoved John into it (and by practically, I mean he did), causing John to land half on the seat and half on the floor. Sherlock slid in, graceful as ever, and quickly slammed the door shut.
"Move it, driver," he growled towards the front seat.
"Eager are we?" John said teasingly from his position on the floor (he went ahead and slid the rest of the way down seeing as he already lost his dignity years ago).
Sherlock hissed in response and pulled John onto the seat. John was about to say thank you, but Sherlock cut him off by rubbing his face against the smaller man's chest. His hat was slightly askew now as he eagerly put his hands up on John's leg. John giggled a bit as Sherlock started rubbing his shoulder and side against him, much like Atlas used to or any cat does for that matter.
"Pet me already, dammit," Sherlock groaned, "Usually you're quicker than this!"
"Ok, ok," John laughed, "Don't get ya panties in a bunch!"
He slipped off Sherlock's hat and scratched the man between the ears. Sherlock began purring steadily, but didn't stop rubbing against John.
"What's with this all of a sudden?" John questioned, running his hand down Sherlock's back.
"Don't know," Sherlock said, his voice vibrating with purrs, "Just need it."
"You're such a silly kitty," John said, giggling as he said it.
Sherlock threw him a glare.
"I'm not a cat, Joh-OH!" Sherlock was interrupted by John's hand rubbing the special place, "Yesss. Ahh. That's good."
John grinned at his victory as Sherlock relaxed into him, allowing himself to be petted thoroughly. John was rather happy about the whole thing. It'd been a couple weeks since Sherlock had allowed John to pet him. John liked this side of Sherlock. The side no one else saw that was purely Sherlock. It was nothing more or less than Sherlock letting himself go for just a little while at a time. John absolutely adored it. He'd be lying if he said he'd rather go on the actual date than sit there and pet Sherlock.
"We're here, Mister Holmes," a cold voice droned from the front.
Sherlock bolted upright and scrabbled to shove the hat back onto his head. John thought it was rather cute how frantic he looked for a moment. However, as Sherlock left the car, he had all the poise and grace that he normally did. John snickered a bit before sliding out of the car behind him. Sherlock strode towards a fancy looking restaurant that made John hope that Sherlock was covering the bill. Sherlock stepped forward and batted away the man at the door, opening it himself and bowing low. John blushed slightly as he stepped into the restaurant.
He stared around in wonder at the rich red and gold décor. He gazed up at the extravagant chandelier. The little lights dripped from the golden metal in waves. It was the type of thing you only saw in movies (or Buckingham Palace if you were Sherlock and John). John gaped at the place, unsure if he'd died or if he'd just walked into the wrong place.
"Close your mouth, John," Sherlock said in an amused tone, from behind his shorter friend.
"I think you like when my mouth's open," John said, sticking his tongue out over his shoulder.
Sherlock leaned down, his lips mere centimeters from John's ear.
"I think I'd like if your mouth was open and full."
The whispered words made John shiver and gasp slightly.
"F-f-full?" John questioned in a strained voice.
"Full of my hot, throbbing-."
"Hello, sirs, what's the name?" a voice interrupted.
Sherlock straightened up and John breathed out a huge puff of air.
"Holmes-Watson," Sherlock said briskly.
John looked at Sherlock in surprise as the man searched the list for them.
"Ah, here you are!" he said, "Just follow me, sirs."
Sherlock followed the man and John followed Sherlock. They ended up in a booth in a more private section of the restaurant. The man handed them their menus and walked away quickly. John opened his, but stared at Sherlock instead. Sherlock looked at his own menu for approximately 1.23 minutes before looking up at John and raising an eyebrow.
"What is the matter, John?" Sherlock asked.
"You said Holmes-Watson;" John said quietly, "Like it's hyphenated. Like we're…like we're married."
Sherlock's eyebrows came together.
"I merely wanted to be sure to include you," Sherlock explained, "Usually, the reservation is in the man's name, but since you are also a man, I thought perhaps you wanted to also be on the reservation. I was afraid I would hurt your pride if I did not. I noticed you don't really feel comfortable with being the "woman" in this relationship."
John blushed slightly.
"Oh," he muttered, "There I go again with the marriage inferences."
He laughed nervously and looked at his menu, but not before he saw the slightly frustrated look on Sherlock's face. John quickly picked something that was good, but not too expensive. The waiter came back around with a two glasses and a bottle of wine. He told them the name of it, but John didn't know what it was or what it meant. He merely grabbed his glass when it was full and drank down half of it. He needed some alcoholic confidence if he was going to make it through the night.
"John, do you smell something?" Sherlock said suddenly, his glass pausing halfway to his mouth.
John sniffed the air and froze, his eyes widening.
"No," he stated, "Absolutely not."
Sherlock cast him a half irritated, half confused look before he looked around for the source of the smell. John winced as Sherlock's eyes seemed to land on the culprit. John felt like crying. Why? Why can't I just have a nice date for once? He thought miserably. He heard a crashing noise and looked around to see the smoke billowing from the recently opened kitchen doors. Some of waiters were starting to usher people out of the building. Their own was making a beeline for them. John scowled.
"So you did smell the smoke, then?" Sherlock questioned.
He looked up to see that Sherlock was now standing over him, leaning towards him in a protective way.
"Yes," John muttered, sliding out of his seat.
Sherlock immediately grabbed his arm above his elbow and started dragging him towards the door. John tried to twist out of Sherlock's grip, but the man's hand held on with an insistence that made John sure he would have a bruise.
"Sherlock!" he whined, "I can walk by myself!"
Sherlock ignored him as he continued tugging him to the exit. John felt the smoke hit his nose and mouth full force and he gagged, his eyes watering. The fire had seemed to escalate quite quickly, as now the smoke was eagerly filling the room with its dark presence. Sherlock hurried through the doors with John in tow, nearly knocking the other guests over. He pulled John across the street before he stopped. John was gasping grateful breaths of fresh air as Sherlock looked down at him in concern.
"Are you crying?" he asked quietly.
John rubbed at his eyes.
"No, just the smoke," John assured him, though it was only a half truth, "You can let go of me now."
"You're in distress," Sherlock stated, his grip not wavering.
John rolled his eyes and yanked his arm out of Sherlock's hand.
"Like you would understand," he said bitingly, "Let's just go home."
Sherlock looked pained for a moment before turning to find a cab.