John tugged at his suit jacket, making sure it was sitting right, as he followed the host through the restaurant. It had been a long time since he had felt this nervous.

Sherlock was already sitting at their table, and he rose, a welcoming smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. He was wearing a black suit and a white dress shirt, but no tie. Handsome enough to draw more than just John's eye.

Sitting across from him, John took in the classic decor. White tablecloths, dark wood paneling on the walls, crystal chandeliers hanging overhead.

"It has looked pretty much the same for over 200 years." Sherlock commented, taking a sip from his water glass.

John let out a shaky chuckle. "Incredible history here, though. Didn't Charles Dickens and Arthur Conan Doyle dine here?"

Smirking slightly, Sherlock nodded. "Yes, but I doubt it was ever at the same time. Doyle was only eleven when Dickens died."

Rolling his eyes, John shot him a fond look. The joke helped relax him a little and he took a sip of water, to relieve his dry mouth. "Is there anything you don't know? Like at the police station, I was shocked by almost everything you said."

"I have a good memory and a good eye for detail." Sherlock shrugged. It was rare for him to be so humble about his abilities.

Their server came by, opening a bottle of wine and passing them the 'Bill of Fare'. John reviewed it, not really surprised that the menu reminded him of restaurants he went to in his youth with his family on special occasions. The only thing significantly changed was the prices, astronomically in most cases. But with so many meat choices, it was hardly unexpected.

"Don't bother with that, John. Everyone just gets the roast beef here." Sherlock said dismissively.

Deferring to his experience, John nodded and let him order for them. Sherlock had spent a week living in his world, it was only fair to reserve judgment and try Sherlock's for the evening.

John sipped the wine, giving an appreciative moan. "Perhaps I have not said it before, but it is more than just your eyes and memory. I don't say this lightly, but you are brilliant, Sherlock."

"Thank you, John." The other man looked pleased at the compliment, a little of his reserve softening.

Daringly, John reached over to take Sherlock's hand, giving it a light squeeze. "I mean it. How did you track down Matteo?" Things had been moving so fast the last couple days, he hadn't had a chance to ask.

"I went back to the Italian church, and talked with a different priest. A younger one. He was more...amenable...to talking with me about the parishioners than the older priest." Sherlock took a roll, and spread it with butter.

"Amenable...". John gave him an assessing glance, and then his eyes widened in realization. "Sherlock, did you get...um...'intimate'...with a priest to get information from him?" He said the last part in a whisper, glancing around them for who might be close by. Luckily, the restaurant was only half-full.

Chuckling, Sherlock shook his head. "No, of course not. It was just a bit of flirting."

When weighed against the possibility of a wrongful murder conviction, John could understand that Sherlock was willing to do that. Still, something tightened in his gut at the idea of Sherlock making his expression one of intense interest, those gorgeous eyes full on sinful promise, and small private smiles being shared with a young, lonely priest.

He was saved from replying by their server arriving with a cart covered with a silver dome. Removing it, there was a beautifully roasted cut of prime rib, dark with an herbed crust, perfectly pink in the centre. As the server carved them off their pieces, the smell of beef made John's mouth water. A scent that again brought up memories of his childhood.

Soon, they had full plates of beef, roasted potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, gravy and vegetables. John sliced through the tender meat, taking a small bite, closing his eyes to savour it.

When he opened them, Sherlock had a small, pleased smile on his face, digging into his own meal. They ate in quiet companionship, giving the luxurious meal the full attention it deserved. The food was much richer than he was used to, so John ate slowly, taking small bites.

It was only when he set down his cutlery that Sherlock gave him a more intense look. "I can sense you have a lot of stirred up feelings, being with me tonight. Have I pushed things too far, bringing you here?"

Their attentive server took away their empty plates, leaving them with the dessert menu to consider. John welcomed the interruption, needing the time to collect his thoughts.

"You are right, Sherlock. But a lot of it isn't about you." He took a sip of water. "It's reminding me of the past, my family. Things I haven't considered for a long time."

"Really? Tell me more."

It said a lot about how far they had come in the last week that Sherlock felt comfortable asking that of John. Things he rarely discussed with anyone. It said even more that John was going to answer him.

"Sunday roast was a tradition in my family. Back then, it wasn't that unusual, was it?" John played his fingers along the stem of his wine glass. "Even when I was in uni, we often had this type of dinner on special occasions when I was back home."

Sherlock nodded, staying quiet to allow John to continue on at his own pace.

Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly. "My parents were killed in a car crash when I was twenty. My sister was already having addiction issues, so I could hardly turn to her. School, my friends there, became the only thing that kept me together."

John looked up from the glass, meeting Sherlock's gaze. It was warmer than before.

"The army became my family after that, throwing myself into learning everything I could. It was nice being away from things that reminded me of my family. A relief." John gave a half-shrug.

Sherlock reached over, taking John's hand. "But then you were injured..."

John blinked fast, trying to hold back his tears. "You remember Janine saying I was a little lost when I came back. No family, everything here so different..."

"But you made new friends, went into Ortho." Sherlock added. "I'm sorry. I wanted to take you somewhere special tonight. I never thought..."

John squeezed Sherlock's hand back. "It is special, Sherlock. The meal was delicious. Being here with you is incredible."

The server came back, checking if they wanted anything else.

"No thanks. I'm still so full." John said, letting go of Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock surprised him by ordering some dessert to go. At John's raised eyebrow, he just shrugged. "We may get peckish later."

"You have a sweet tooth." John grinned slowly, loving that he was still learning things about this man.

Outside the restaurant, John hesitated. They had come separately, and Sherlock had bought dessert for them to eat later. Did that mean he wanted to come back to his flat?

Sherlock gathered him against his side, arm along his lower back, and guided them in the direction of John's flat. How many times had they walked around London together, the urgency of the investigation making them speed along? Now they had time to stroll together in a quiet bubble, just the two of them inside.

But as they neared his flat, John saw Francesca at the market across the street. She waved at John, but her arm froze halfway up as she looked closer at Sherlock, clearly confused.

With a jolt, John realized what she was seeing, and stepped away from Sherlock. The move earned him a quick look.

"Oh, they are used to seeing you with Frank." Sherlock whispered into his ear, cuddling back against his side. "Aren't you naughty, cheating on your sweet boyfriend with some fancy thing for the night?"

The words and a nip to his neck had John grabbing Sherlock's hand, to rush to his building, racing together up the stairs.

John shoved Sherlock against the door once it was closed, kissing him deeply. Pure need practically had him tearing at his clothes, trying to get them off fast.

Sherlock was just as bad, grinding his hips against John shamelessly as he pushed his suit jacket off. "Fuck, you look so good like this." His hands dug into John's hair, making the kisses even more intense.

Half undressed, they made their way to the bedroom, finally breaking apart to strip. John pushed Sherlock down onto he bed, crawling over him as he kissed along his hot skin. "Need you so bad, Sherlock."

"Mmmm... take me, take me..." Sherlock chanted back as he writhed under John's touch.

...

Sherlock gave a mischievous grin as he climbed back into bed, propping their pillows against the headboard. He passed John a spoon and opened the container from the restaurant. They both dug in hungrily.

"I said you were brilliant before, but now I think you are a fucking genius." John licked his spoon clean, and went to scoop up more.

Chuckling, Sherlock carefully scooped something up. "Wait. You haven't even had the best bit yet. Open up."

John opened his mouth, eating the dessert off of Sherlock's spoon. The creamy rice pudding had just the right amounts of sugar, vanilla and cardamom. He bit into something, and moaned. "Oh my god, is that pineapple?"

"Mmmm hmmm." Sherlock hummed in agreement, the low sexy tone making things inside John tighten in response. "Chunks of fresh, roasted pineapple."

John hadn't had pineapple, any pineapple, for a decade, at least. "I'm so glad you paid for dinner. It must have cost a fortune." He was only half kidding. He had glanced at the prices, and shuddered to think of the final bill, with wine and this dessert added.

"You deserve a decadent treat after putting up with me all week. Even without the murder suspicion over my head, there are few people out there who would have done it." Sherlock took a big spoonful himself, enjoying it with obvious pleasure.

"Yeah, right. You probably have dozens of lovers all over Britain, eager for more." John joked back. Sherlock was far too good-looking, and far too good in bed, to claim he was ever alone unless he chose to be.

Sherlock scoffed. "Hardly. My only serious boyfriend in uni said I destroyed everything he had. He said after being with me, he understand why storms are named after people."

John sat up straighter, turning towards Sherlock. He had said so little about himself, his past. "Really? Like you literally destroyed his stuff? Broke it? You had a bad fight or something?"

It was hard picturing it, Sherlock shouting and throwing things around. But just like John used to get into fights when he was younger, especially after a few drinks, it was possible that Sherlock had been like that in early relationships.

"Um, no." Sherlock put down his spoon. "He took things really hard after I ended the relationship. He kept trying to get back together, saying how much he missed me, all upset. And then getting mad and yelling at me when I refused."

John cuddled against his side. "We have all had hard relationships like that when we are young."

Sherlock shook his head slowly. "Liam said he couldn't go anywhere without remembering being there with me. His classes, his room, around town. That's what he meant when he said I 'destroyed' everything for him. He ended up transferring to a different school at the end of the term."

Turning his face towards his own, John could see the regret there. "Hey, that was years ago, and I bet Liam is doing great now. Changing schools was just what he needed." He kissed Sherlock lightly. "Come on, help me eat the rest of this."

Sherlock took a few more bites, and let John have the rest. He cleared away everything to the kitchen, and when he went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, Sherlock was already there, doing the same thing. They got ready for bed with easy familiarity, and John smiled to himself.

He was glad he had accepted Sherlock's invitation for dinner now. It had been such a good meal, talking, holding hands. Great sex and then sharing dessert. Talking more than they ever had about their pasts. Sherlock being so open, in a way he hadn't been before.

John snuggled against Sherlock, reaching across him to turn out the light. "So, what do you want to do tomorrow?"

Sherlock scoffed. "I need to get home, really. I've ignored all my clients all week, and have tons of work to do."

Nodding, John ran a hand up and down his chest. "That's understandable. I could bring over some dinner maybe for us. Or I could even help you. I'm pretty good in chemistry."

Pulling back a little, Sherlock gave him a funny look. "John...". He sighed.

"What?" John asked, looking hard at Sherlock. A terrible thought struck him. "Oh, do you need some space? Yeah, I suppose we have been together almost 24/7 this last week." It stung a little, but he got it.

Sherlock shook his head. "Look, this week has been great, but I really think we should go back-"

John looked at him incredulous. "Are you seriously suggesting we go back to being fuck buddies?"

"Well, if you are OK with that, I'd really like-"

"Do I look like I'm OK with it?!" John sprang out of the bed, glaring down at Sherlock. "Why are you saying this? We have something, don't we? Why the romantic dinner tonight if you didn't want, didn't think..." He was getting dangerously close to losing it, his voice wobbling at the end.

Sherlock got out of bed, standing in front of John and rubbing his hands up and down his arms. "I'm sorry, John. I never meant it like that. What you saw as the start of something, I intended as an ending. Marking, honouring what we have shared. A way to say thank you."

"Dinner and goodbye sex? That's what tonight was to you?" John turned away, looking out of the window.

Sherlock sighed, still rubbing John arms, trying to settle him down. "John, let's be honest with each other here. I do care about you, but I could never be what you want, what you need. You know it. I saw it in your eyes when you hesitated to go to dinner with me."

John shook his head. "But I said yes! We went out. It went well."

"It doesn't change the fact that you work for the NHS, live in a commune, and are practically a vegetarian even though you can afford meat. You are a fine upstanding member of society." Sherlock said softly.

John scoffed, pulling out of Sherlock's hold. "That sounds terribly dull."

Sherlock turned John back around. "I've lived here with you, and I know I'd drive you crazy if I stayed. I do work people don't approve of. Sometimes I don't talk for days. I play the violin at all hours. You've seen my flat, it's more of a lab than a kitchen. I'm rude and impatient with most people. You want to be with Frank, not me."

"We could find a way to make it work, Sherlock." John just felt tired and numb now, everything Sherlock was saying sinking in.

Sherlock shook his head, looking away. "I know how it would go, John. We would try, and I'd disappoint you in a hundred tiny ways, until any feelings you have for me were gone. I'd rather end things as friends, than enemies."

He stepped away, grabbing his clothes and yanking them on fast. He walked to the front closet and soon had his coat on.

John trailed after him, speechless. Wanting to yell and scream and yank him back to his bed. Hug him and hold him there until he changed his mind. Instead, he rubbed away the occasional tear that streamed down his cheek, feeling hurt, sad, and confused.

Sherlock paused, his hand on the doorknob, turning back to John. "I never wanted to hurt you, John. You are such a good, kind man. Don't let this change that." He stepped closer, tilting John's face upwards a little, the pain just as evident in his own eyes.

He kissed John, soft, gentle kisses. John closed his eyes, his hands trying to grab ahold of his coat lapels, pull him in for more. But before he could do it, Sherlock slipped out of his grasp, and the door shut quietly behind him.

...

-A/N: Drama! Angst! Bam! Pow!

-Simpson's in the Strand: From their website: "In 1828, The Grand Cigar Divan opened as a chess club and coffee house at 100 Strand. Chess has been woven into the fabric of the Simpson's story ever since.", "The finest ingredients from around the British Isles combine in a contemporary celebration of our culinary heritage.", and "Simpson's was a great favourite of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle... and his greatest literary creation. Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson dine with us in both 'The Dying Detective' and 'the Illustrious Client'." They eat "28 day dry Roast rib of Scottish beef traditionally served from our trolley: Yorkshire pudding, slow roasted carrots, beef fat roasted potatoes, gravy & horseradish sauce" and "Rice pudding: Vanilla rice & cardamom infused, roasted pineapple". The restaurant is also used in a scene of Downton Abbey (5.05, around the 35 min mark) with Lady Mary saying 'What a treat. I haven't been to Simpson's for ages.'

-Beef: I can imagine in this future, very little arable land is permitted to be used for raising livestock, or growing food to feed livestock. Since Scotland is too hilly to grow crops in most areas, it has been used for grazing animals, most dairy cattle for milk and sheep for their wool. A small portion is permitted for beef. This would make the prices incredibly high, so only the richest can afford it, and maybe the middle class once or twice a year on special occasions.

-Arthur Conan Doyle: Hmmmm perhaps I shouldn't have had the boys mention this author. ;)

-Storms Named After People: These words really captured my interest. They are from poet Caitlyn Siehl. "Do not fall in love with people like me. I will take you to museums, and parks, and monuments, and kiss you in every beautiful place, so that you can never go back to them without tasting me like blood in your mouth. I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible. And when I leave you will finally understand, why storms are named after people."