Ten minutes later they were leaving, and John felt relieved that the hallway was empty. He led Sherlock over to the stairs and started going down. It was empty as well.

His luck didn't hold out, as Francesca entered the stairway on the fourth floor. "Good morning, Dr. John." Her warm eyes looked him over and went to Sherlock, instantly curious.

"Francesca, this is Frank. He's visiting for a few days." John tried to sound normal, genuine.

Sherlock stepped closer, putting an arm around John's waist as he gave her a friendly smile.

Her dark eyes took in the motion, and took on a knowing, teasing glint. "Dr. John! You never mentioned that you had such a handsome boyfriend."

John looked down. Boyfriend. Should he let that stand, or correct her? Even in real life, he didn't really think of Sherlock that way, despite all the time they had spent together. "Um, it's, ah, really new."

Her eyes softened, taking in his discomfort, and she stepped closer to place a hand on his arm. "I'm happy for you, John. You deserve love. And some hot sex." She threw the last comment in with a cheeky smirk.

"Oh God." John groaned, embarrassed. He grabbed Sherlock's hand and tugged him along. "Let's go, before she gets more graphic."

Sherlock followed him down the steps. "I wouldn't mind chatting with her some more." There was a chuckle to his tone, and John looked back to glare at him. It made the berk grin even wider.

Outside, John led them to the tube station, still holding Sherlock's hand. He knew so many people in his neighborhood; it would just be easiest to establish them as a couple in everyone's mind. People wouldn't look at Sherlock as closely if his role were known. It still felt a bit odd, holding his large hand, matching their walking pace. They hadn't been out in public together like this, didn't cuddle or act romantic, like John normally would have with people he was seeing.

The carriage was pretty full, and they ended up standing close to each other, holding on to the overhead straps, swaying slightly with the motions of the train.

John let his eyes rest on Sherlock as they travelled, both lost in their own thoughts. It was funny how much different he looked in the borrowed clothing. He was used to seeing Sherlock in fitted suits and shirts, showing off his slim, fit body. Dressed in fine materials in rich, dark colors. It was such a contrast seeing him in loose clothing in soft shades. They made him seem taller, bigger. Covering his hair with the cap, and much of his face with the glasses made him almost unrecognizable, along with the light stubble along his chin.

The train jolted, and John bumped against Sherlock, placing a hand on his arm to brace himself. Sherlock looked down at that hand, and slowly met John's gaze. His green eyes seemed even more attractive with the dark frames, and John found he couldn't look away.

Sherlock. Staying at my flat. In my bed. For a few days. John's libido instantly filled his imagination with all sorts of possibilities, and he looked away. Moved his hand away. Pushed the distracting thoughts down.

But Sherlock's sharp eyes must have caught it all. He had a small, pleased grin on those full lips before he turned to glance out the window. "It's this stop, isn't it?"

John jumped, and moved to the doorway, barely making it out with Sherlock in time. His distraction had almost made them miss their stop. John shook his head as they jogged up the steps. He needed to stay focused on their investigation.

"Do you know where the stadium is?" John asked as they emerged at street level. He knew they had built a new DADT stadium about ten years ago, but had been too busy with establishing his practice to take much notice. He hadn't been to watch sports in person since before he was in the army. Occasionally, he watched a game at home.

Sherlock scoffed at the question. "Do you think I bother with that?"

John shrugged. "All your clients are athletes. I thought maybe you met with them at the field, watched their performance to judge the effectiveness of your treatments."

"Dull. Everything is available on video now, covered from all angles. Instead of watching a whole boring match, I can simply watch clips of my clients in action." Sherlock pulled out his phone, doing a quick search. "The stadium is a couple blocks east."

Walking down the street, John thought back to going to the Rugby World Cup with his father as a teenager, eighty thousand excited fans streaming towards the stadium. It had been barely controlled mayhem, so many fans dressed in gold for Australia, or white and red for England. Red roses and the flag of England painted on faces, or being waved high above everyone's heads. A roar of voices talking, cheering, singing 'Swing Low, Sweet Chariot'. The stadium was like a temple they all gathered in, to worship the saints of the day, chanting and cheering as one.

Today, the streets were quiet and with only normal amounts of people travelling on them, like any other London street. As they got closer, the stadium seemed oddly small. "Is that it? Or is that something for a local school?"

Checking his phone again, Sherlock shrugged as they continued the same direction. The walls of the stadium were no taller than nearby low-rise apartment buildings. The entrance was modern, clean lines, all glass and steel, and they entered into the grand space, the ceilings arching high above. It was mostly empty.

Walking along, they saw a guard sitting at a security station, and Sherlock took John's hand to tug him into that direction with purpose. The silver-haired guard was dressed in a navy uniform, and looked them over assessingly as they approached.

Sherlock gave him a warm smile. "Hi there. Would there be anyone around who could give us a tour? We are considering buying season tickets."

It was still a bit surprising how Sherlock could click into another character so seamlessly, and John tried his best to play along, giving Sherlock what he hoped was a besotted look.

The guard nodded, and picked up a phone, speaking softly into it. A few minutes later, a woman walked towards them, her low heels clicking on the cement. Her dark, curly hair was pinned up, her make-up as dramatic as the red, fitted blazer she wore with sleek black dress pants.

She held out her hand. "Sally Donovan, Guest Services Director." Her smile was professional, her gaze direct and confident.

Sherlock kept up his act as he shook her hand. "I'm Frank, and this is my fiancé, John. My parents are considering giving us season tickets as a wedding gift, and we would like to see the options available." He wrapped an arm around John's waist, tugging him against his side.

John relaxed into his hold, keeping his expression happy as Sally's glance flicked over them. She didn't seem too impressed by their casual clothing.

Sighing softly, she spun on her heel and guided them into a plush office. Taking a seat behind her desk, she clicked on her keyboard until an image was displayed on the wall. "VR Packages start at very reasonable rates, depending on the level of immersion you prefer." The chart showed prices that still seemed incredibly high to John.

Sherlock was unfazed by it though. He chuckled, leaning forward. "I know it may not appear like it, but my parents are very wealthy and generous. We would like a tour of your premium box seat options."

Her eyebrows rose slightly, but Sherlock's warm gaze was unflinching. She looked down at her keyboard, and was soon displaying season ticket prices for box seating with plush armchairs and meal service during games. John had a hard time keeping a straight face at the cost. He had lived and worked among the poor and middle class most of his life, and the idea of spending so much for entertainment was mind-boggling.

Sherlock kept her chatting, acting very enthused, often glancing over to John or touching his arm. He soon had Sally agreeing to tour them around the facilities. The box suites were luxurious, with stocked bars, leather sofas and big screen TVs like a living room, with one end facing down towards the field.

"Sally, this stadium seems mostly box suites and very little seating for regular fans. But when I watch at home, it seems like there are a 100,000 fans at the games." John couldn't help but ask.

She gave him a small smile. "Many people are amazed by that, when they come down here. Most fans choose to watch from home these days, and stadiums have had to adapt to that over the years to stay financially viable. We try to offer the best experience at the various price points of our fan base. It is easy enough to digitally add avatars of the fans to the video feed."

John nodded. "I usually watch on VR with friends for the big games." Often, a co-worker at the hospital would host, paying for the pay-per-view. John would log onto the sports VR site, feeling like he was in the stadium sitting beside his friends. It was surprisingly fun and easy, just putting on the headset from the comfort of his own home. The VR charges were set for how close you were viewing the action, ranging from right from the sidelines to the back row.

Sherlock wrapped his arm over John's shoulders, pulling him against his side with natural affection. "Sally, this has been so interesting. Can you tour us behind the scenes too? Like the locker rooms?"

Suddenly, John understood what Sherlock had been doing all along. Getting Sally comfortable, by seeming interested in a box suite. It was all to get access to the athletes' area.

She paused, and nodded. "We don't normally give access there, but I show you around. Keep this between us, OK?"

The athletes' clubhouse was massive. Beyond the change room area with the players' uniforms and gear, there was a lounge, kitchen, meeting rooms, coach offices and a gym. John could feel Sherlock's hand tighten on his when they entered the sports therapy area, a secret signal to watch for anything amiss. There were massage tables, a hot tub, an ice bath, and cupboards that reminded John of medical offices he had worked in over the years. Glass jars of alcohol wipes and cotton balls sat on the counter.

As they stepped back into the hallway, heading out to the field, Sherlock stopped. "Um, Sally, could I use the washroom?" He waved to one nearby, in the semi-public area.

She nodded. "Sure, we will just be outside those doors when you want to join us."

Standing on the side of the playing field was a humbling experience, and John was surprised to feel slightly breathless.

Sally chuckled at his silence. "It's like that for everyone when they first stand here. You see the field on screen so often; it's easy to forget how huge it is. Imagine what it's like to be a player running the length of the field."

John recovered enough to smile back. "I still can't believe the stands are so small. What's the capacity?"

"Only 1000. We don't need to pack in crowds here to be financially successful. The seats are large and padded, with plenty of legroom. The box suites you've already seen." Sally waved to the various areas.

It just seemed so odd to John. "But don't the people who come miss the loud crowds, the energy of that? Cheering and celebrating each goal? Don't the players?"

Sally shrugged. "Think of tennis or golf. The players want to be able to focus on the game, and play their best. They want to be able to hear their teammates and coaches during play. Silent, attentive spectators actually increases the tension. Watching here live is a completely different, intimate experience than watching in VR. VR is more of a fan experience."

John thought about it, looking around the stadium and trying to imagine what it would be like to watch world-class athletes play in silence. With VR, he had options, like choosing to sit with a mix of fans, or only with supporters of his team.

He was so involved by it, he jumped slightly when Sherlock's arms encircled him from behind. Chuckling to cover that, he leaned back into him, and rubbed his hands along Sherlock's forearms.

Sherlock pressed a kiss to his nape, and John couldn't help but shiver in response. Being around the man so much was making him feel more and more aware of him, and these little touches while they did their engaged couple act weren't helping.

"Sorry that took so long." Sherlock said to Sally, over John's shoulder.

John turned his head to plant a kiss on his cheek. "See, you should have had that oatmeal this morning. It would help keep you regular." There. If Sherlock was going to play up their relationship, John would bug him right back.

"Honey, Sally doesn't want to hear about all that." Sherlock stepped away from John, and grabbed his hand. "Well, we should get going. Thanks so much for the tour."

Sally bid them a warm goodbye, a bit amused by their bickering.

Outside the stadium, John dropped Sherlock's hand. "Were you able to get back into the clubhouse?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, I had a look through the medical area, and didn't find any drugs besides normal pain relievers. If the team is administering anything to their players, it's not there."

"Where should we go now?" John looked around, trying to remember the direction to the tube station.

Taking out his phone, Sherlock pulled up a map app. "I was also able to go into the coach's office and access his computer. Got information on Paolo's next of kin."

As he was busy with his phone, John caught a glimpse of someone about a block away. When he turned his face for a better look, the man stopped, and slipped down an alleyway.

"Sherlock! I think that was the guy who attacked me!" John said, as he took off in that direction. When he got to the alleyway, he looked down it, but didn't see anyone. He was about to run further when Sherlock grabbed his arm, holding him back.

John yanked hard on his grasp with a growl of frustration, and staggered as he got free. He was about to take off when Sherlock grabbed him again, pulling him back.

"He's gone, John. He's blocks away by now." Sherlock said, his voice resigned.

John just glared at Sherlock, and spun towards the tube station. It was simply too much of a coincidence that the attacker was outside Paolo's memorial service and now outside his stadium. It meant the attacker had some connection to Paolo. Aside from clearing Sherlock's name, John wanted to solve his own mystery about why he had been attacked and by who.

After a couple blocks, he had cooled off enough to glance behind him. Sherlock was trailing him, walking slowly as he texted, and concentrating deeply.

Tantalizing smells were coming from a nearby restaurant, and John waited for Sherlock to catch up to him. "If we went in here, would you actually eat something?"

Sherlock pocketed his phone and glanced up to the sign, and nodded.

Sighing in relief, John entered and they were soon seated at a small table in the crowded restaurant. He perused the menu, and flicked a glance at Sherlock. "Shall we order a few dishes to share? Do you like spicy food?"

"Yes. Order whatever you like, I'm not picky." Sherlock shrugged, setting down his menu to type on his phone again.

John barely kept from rolling his eyes. To think he had been concerned a week ago that eating out together would seem too date-y. Sherlock was clearly preoccupied with his investigation, not that John could blame him. It still felt a bit jarring after how affectionate he had been behaving at the stadium.

The server arrived, and John picked out a few dishes, making sure they were vegetarian.

"And could we get a couple Kingfishers?" Sherlock looked up from his phone to ask before the server left.

The young man shook his head. "Sorry, sir. We no longer carry imported beer. We do have an India Pale Ale that is brewed in Derbyshire."

Sherlock nodded. "Fine, that will do."

They were soon digging into the meal, and John felt relieved that Sherlock seemed to be eating a good sized portion. The flavors were good; a nicely spiced red lentil dal and some aloo gobi, with fresh naan to scoop up the tasty sauces.

"You seem a little thrown off by the stadium." Sherlock commented, sipping his beer. His eyes, even behind the clean lenses, were as sharp and observant as ever.

John sighed. "Sports have changed so much since we were kids. It's sad that it's become so elitist."

Sherlock tilted his head slightly. "Were you here in the '20s, when it was all changing so much?"

Shaking his head, John dabbed his mouth with a cloth napkin. "No, I was in the army in Afghanistan for six years. Things were so much different when I came back in 2030."

"That must have been quite a shock. The rationing period was just starting to end then." Chuckling a little, Sherlock put down his utensils. "Well, even before prices started going up so much, more people were adopting virtual reality. Choosing to stay at home and be comfortable, having an immersive experience. The DADT league was just getting popular as well, so it makes sense they built small stadiums like this one."

John had used VR enough personally to see why everyone used it so much. It was so easy to put on the headset and be 'virtually' at an office meeting. Meet with people in a virtual room. Even getting together with friends that way, to watch some sports, a movie or to chat. Most people had a default avatar they used for day to day use, with their face being read by the headset sensors to convey their expressions. Their true face and voice were conveyed on their avatar.

John sighed again. "People in their twenties have probably never experienced being in a huge stadium with 90,000 fans, cheering and singing, drinking together. They don't know what an incredible experience they are missing."

Sherlock shrugged. "You are only remembering the good side of it. How about it taking hours to get to and from the stadium, the crowded transit, and lining up for everything? The long waits while security checks everyone for weapons and alcohol. The line-ups for the loo, and for buying anything?"

"Yeah, you had to be patient." John thought back to those times.

"And then after all that, your team might play crappy or the refs would make bad calls. Or there were some drunk idiots nearby making it hard for you to enjoy the game."

John nodded. That had certainly happened a lot. In VR, you could choose the amount of audience you watched the game with. It could be you alone, or just with a handful of friends, or the whole crowd. If someone was particularly annoying, you could stop their avatar from showing. Volume levels could be as loud or quiet as you wanted. Annoyances were basically eliminated.

He looked back at Sherlock, who was texting again on his phone. The cap and glasses hid his features pretty well. This was the first time they had ever eaten together in a restaurant, and it sure didn't feel like a date. They had only discussed things involving the case all day.

What would have happened if the autopsy had shown Paolo had died of natural causes? Would things with Sherlock continued on much longer? Purely physical relationships tended to fade over a few weeks.

They would never know now. The dynamic between them had changed irreversibly the moment Sherlock knocked on his door, looking for help. But then again, Sherlock had tried to initiate sex that morning, waking up together for the first time. And John had almost forgotten the outside world, like he so often did when in bed with Sherlock. It had been hard to stop and pull back from Sherlock's kisses, but he couldn't truly let himself go until they had talked things out.

Even in his borrowed clothing, Sherlock was attractive, and John was surprised at how the dark rimmed glasses seemed to bring out his eyes even more. Despite everything that was going on, his libido was still affected by just being around Sherlock so much. A slow simmer. John licked his lips, and saw how Sherlock caught the small motion.

Sherlock, John was coming to find, bent and broke rules often, pushing past limits, and only asked for forgiveness if he got called on it. How many times had he pushed at John's boundaries in bed, getting him to try things he hadn't before. It was frustrating, yet exciting. He was never predictable.

John was shaken out of his thoughts by noticing how Sherlock was looking at him, like he was trying to read him. His gaze warmed, and he glanced down at John's lips, before meeting his gaze again.

Sherlock gave a small grin, before standing up. He dropped some cash on the table and put his phone away. "Ready to go?"

John was at his side as they left the restaurant, and about a half block later, Sherlock pulled him into an alley. "I never properly thanked you for letting me stay at your flat and helping me investigate this."

"It's fine, really-" John started, but Sherlock pushed him against the brick wall and kissed him hard. There was only a moment's pause before John got over the shock, and wrapped his arms around the berk, pulling him in closer.

It was exciting and somehow new, kissing Sherlock in the shadows, semi-publicly. Running his hands down his back, feeling his familiar body in these strange clothes, just wanting to strip them off. Indulge in the pure lust that he had for this man, the knowledge of the intense pleasure they could give each other.

But as tempted as he was to haul Sherlock home to bed, they didn't have much time to investigate the situation. Regretfully, John pulled back, loosening his hold on Sherlock. "You can finish thanking me later, OK?"

"Later." Sherlock agreed, taking in John's flushed face and mussed clothes. He grinned in satisfaction as he stepped back, straightening his own clothes.

John made no objections when he took his hand, leading him back out onto the street and leading him towards the tube station.

...

-John is 14 years old when he goes to the Rugby World Cup match at Twickenham Stadium, with 81,000 other spectators, on Oct 3/15. Australia beat England 33-13.

-VR spectator crowds: I'm picturing people in the future using Virtual Reality to experience events, like sports. This is very inspired by the Black Mirror 2011 episode, 'Fifteen Million Merits', which starred Daniel Kaluuya (also from the great movie 'Get Out') and Jessica Brown-Findlay (Lady Sybil from Downton Abbey). It is set in the near future, and he uses 15 million credits to get her onto a TV talent show, similar to American Idol. People watch the show from their flats, and their avatar appears in the audience.

-Jaipur India Pale Ale: "Honeyed, zesty and spicy, but back-dropped by an incredible smoothness, this IPA represents one of the finest offerings from the Thornbridge brewery in Bakewell, Derbyshire, whose beers reflect the changing fortunes of the Great British Pint