AN: This is a sequel of It' s Like Warfare. Not necessary to have read it to understand this, but I would obviously appreciate it if you did. This is the 2nd fic of what I plan to be a 3 part series. Part 1 was from Sarah's view as she comes to terms with the inevitable conclusion of her relationship with John. This part will be John's realisation that he no longer has strong feelings for the person he thought he did. The final part will be Sherlock's celebrating winning over John's heart. I hope you enjoy this and I hope the plot bunnies are satisfied for a little while. This is chapter 1 of 3. Love Rose.

"For God's sake Sherlock, I said I'd be at Sarah's place 20 minutes ago. Why the hell aren't you ready to go?"

John could feel himself getting stressed, his hands clenching as a safe release for his anger and frustration. Was it really too much to ask for someone to be ready on time just once? Especially when they were tagging along on what was supposed to be a date.

"I didn't know what to wear. What do you think?"

That was a pathetic excuse, John mused. He let out an exasperated sigh as he looked up the stairs to survey Sherlock's chosen outfit. He felt his jaw drop in astonishment. Sherlock frowned at him

"No good?"

John tried to correct his slack jawed expression as he double checked what he was seeing to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him.

"Is that one of my sweaters?"

He winced internally as he heard the harsh disbelieving tone in his voice. Sherlock nodded, his face completely serious.

"Yes. I'm surprised it fits to be honest. I though the sleeves might be too short for me, because of the height difference. Should I change?"

Sherlock tilted his head to the side and his eyes crinkled with the inquiry. The honest answer would be yes, but there was no time. John shook his head.

"Too late, there's no time. We'll be luck to make it to the play as it is."

There was that bloody frown again.

"But if there was time, then you would suggest I change?"

The query floated down the stairs. John sighed. This was taking up time.

"Correct. But there isn't time, so come down the stairs and lets go."

John waved his arm in a sweeping motion, to emphasise his desire to get on their way.

"No."

"What do you mean no?"

This was really starting to grate on him now and he let the frustration show through in his voice. No doubt Sherlock would have noticed anyway, so there was no point in trying to hide it.

"What do you think I mean? I mean what I said. No."

John grimaced. He made a show out of looking at his watch and tapping his feet. Deduce how I'm feeling right now Sherlock, he thought. It was times like these that John felt simultaneously very old and very young. Old because he felt like he was behaving like a father would to a disobedient son, young because he knew that he was also sinking down into Sherlock's immaturity. Pull yourself together John, last thing you need is the two of you throwing a tantrum and ruining all chances of a good night.

"There isn't time for this Sherlock. Just get down here so we can go."

His voice was increasing in volume, despite the words being spoken through gritted teeth. This was just great. Yet another argument for the neighbours to complain about.

"I'm not going anywhere if you think I look stupid."

John was taken aback. He hadn't thought that Sherlock would actually care what John's opinion on his appearance was. He didn't think Sherlock cared what anyone thought of him, in any aspect of his life. Oh, now he was staring at him with those eyes. Like he is all injured and vulnerable. Damn it.

"I don't think you look stupid Sherlock. It's just that I'm not used to seeing you in something so..."

His voice trailed off as he realised he didn't know what he was going to say.

"Something so John?"

Jesus, why did he say that? What the hell was possessing him tonight?

"Something so John? Was does that even mean?"

Oh bloody hell, it was puppy dog eyes time now. What did he have to do to get him to quit dawdling and just go?

"Well, I think of you whenever I see a sweater like this. I thought maybe I'd try one out and see if I looked as good in one."

John's first thought was that it was a sweet comment to make. His second was a little flutter of joy when he realised that something 'John' was a good thing. It was something that Sherlock liked. He would never admit it to Sarah, even when she had asked him directly, but half the reason he wore those sweaters was because Sherlock had complimented him on them once. But now he was letting Sherlock distract him. Maybe that was Sherlock's plan. Distract him, so that he never got to catch up with Sarah. He would not put sabotaging a date past Sherlock.

"Going out on a date-thing isn't the best time to experiment with clothing style Sherlock. Next time, we'll go shopping and you can just try things on."

Sherlock gave him a look that shouted 'boring'. Looking at his watch, John realised that another 10 minutes had passed since the conversation had started. He felt the irritation building to near breaking point. Wait, he thought, had he just called this a date-thing?

"Sherlock, you know I hate to beg but we really should leave now. We were supposed to have dinner before we went, but there is absolutely no way we can fit that in now. So will you come on?"

John was pleading with his eyes now. Why did Sherlock love to make him dance through such stupid hoops? More to the point, he thought to himself, why do I let him? Sherlock was looking directly at him, probably trying to probe John's mind to detect any hint of deceit. Finally, after about 30 seconds, he started down the stairs. It was about bloody time things started to go smoothly, John thought. It was at that moment that Mrs. Hudson opened her door. Was she just waiting for the most inopportune time to leave?

"Going out are we boys?"

No, we've dressed like this because we thought we'd come visit you, John thought, before scolding himself for thinking such rude thoughts. She has been very good to us, don't you go being mean to her even if it is in your head, he told himself firmly. The landlady's voice said that she already knew exactly what they were doing.

"Yes. We going to see a garden performance of Romeo and Juliet."

Sherlock's answer was bright and cheerful. John could only describe the tone as happy. It was probably because there was a double suicide at the end of the play. There weren't many other occasions that John could remember being able to describe Sherlock as sounding happy.

"Oh, that sounds lovely. It'll be nice and romantic for you dears."

She gave the sort of smile that only comes from thinking you've figured out something secret. John had a bad feeling about this. There was something secret going on that he didn't know about. He should be used to that feeling by now, but this was slightly different. This time it wasn't just John and Sherlock involved. Clearly etched in John's mind were the memories of the last time Sherlock had known something a little extra on a group d...outing. A group outing, John, Sherlock isn't a part of the date. Yet there was that little bit in the back of his mind that was questioning why Sherlock was there then.

"It isn't a date."

Oh god, he had said that out loud, hadn't he. Again. Why did he do it? All it ever seemed to accomplish was people thinking it was simply some kind of secret date. John wouldn't be surprised if Mrs. Hudson thought Sarah was actually his sister. Not that he could blame her, for they weren't one of those very public couples who made sure everyone knew they were together, hanging off each other at every moment. He also spent more time with Sherlock than anyone else and he couldn't think of anyone whom Sherlock willing spent time with other than himself.

"Of course it isn't dear."

But the tone of voice was conspiratorial and she actually winked at him as she disappeared back into her own flat. Sherlock's phone went off, indicating he had received a message. John watched as he checked it, a smile appearing on Sherlock's face for a short moment, before the tall man marched straight out the door.

"Are you coming? We don't want to keep her waiting any longer!"

The brightness of his voice left John feeling even more suspicious, but he nearly ran out the door after him, so that he wouldn't have time to change his mind and decide he had to swap outfits. In the five seconds it had taken John to follow, Sherlock had already succeeded in hailing a cab and was in the process of sliding in. John hurried to follow as he checked his watch one final time. He had barely shut the door before the cab sped off towards its ordered destination, which John prayed was Sarah's place. He really wouldn't put it past Sherlock to have directed the driver to go straight to the park.

"I hope you behave yourself tonight Sherlock. I really don't want a repeat of last week."

Sherlock gave him a cheeky grin that reminded John of a child who had been told they could only have one piece of chocolate before they took half the block.

"A repeat of what? The dinner or the football?"

John gave an audible groan as he reflected on both occasions. The dinner was referring to previous weekend, when Sarah had come over to cook them dinner. It had been very kind of her, but Sherlock had insisted on being rude and disagreeable towards her the entire night. John had yelled at him the following day for being so unappreciative, partly to vent his own guilt at not being able to make the evening run smoothly. Most of that guilt had come when he had woken up the next morning with his head on Sherlock's lap and finding out that Sarah had gone home to sleep in her own bed. Sherlock insisted that he had done nothing to encourage her departure, but John wasn't sure if he believed him. The football had been an utter disaster, in every sense of the word. Sherlock had actually got them thrown out of the venue after he started accusing the opposition's star player of being on performance enhancing drugs whilst within earshot of the supporters. Somehow, he had managed to avoid serious injury, but to John's intense vexation he had been permanently banned from attending events there. He had expressed this to Sherlock, who dismissed his accusations by stating that football was boring and he would manage perfectly fine without it. That may be the case with him, John had thought. But for John, having a lifetime ban from the home ground of his own team was not only embarrassing, but devastating.

"Ideally, neither."

Sherlock shrugged, but the ghost of a grin remained etched on his face as they were driven through the streets of London. John desperately wanted to know what it was that Sherlock wasn't telling him, but there was no use in asking. Sherlock would either refuse to answer, or give some vague statement that could mean just about anything. They traveled the final part of the journey in silence, John feeling overwhelming relieved when they stopped outside Sarah's apartment. John stepped out of the car and moved to shut the door behind him, but Sherlock blocked him.

"You're coming too?"

He couldn't keep the disbelief out of his voice. There was that damned smile again.

"Of course."

John gave a resigned sigh as he led the way up to Sarah's apartment. He rang the doorbell and waited, desperately trying to think of some excuse for their tardiness. He heard movement and scrabbling, as though someone was having trouble with a door chain. Sarah opened the door wearing a thick coat that stopped just above her knees. It reminded him of Sherlock's trademark coat, only slightly feminised. John opened his mouth to blurt out some lame apology but Sarah spoke before he got the chance to get anything out.

"It's Okay. I got Sherlock's text. It's a good thing it wasn't raining or you two could have been soaked waiting for the tyre to be changed."

Somehow, John managed to suppress the how utterly confounded he was. Why the hell had Sherlock texted Sarah, and told her such a lie? Surely he didn't care about hurting her feelings. Unless it was to save John from being embarrassed because of him, yet again. Well, whatever the reason was, he wasn't about to contradict Sarah. The coat looked so similar to Sherlock's that he had an urge to reach out and touch it, to compare how the material felt, but managed to stop himself. His arm merely twitched and Sarah seemed not to have noticed. The same could not be said for Sherlock, who unfortunately had definitely noticed. He was wearing that same knowing smile that Mrs. Hudson had entertained just before they had left. The idea of telling Sherlock about the resemblance played on his mind for a second, but he dismissed it. No need to get the night off to a worse start than it already had. Sherlock's expression changed to one of mock pain.

"That hurt, John."

That bastard, John thought, as Sherlock clutched at his heart theatrically. Honestly, sometimes he could really be so childish.

"Not my fault. You shouldn't try to deduce what I'm thinking."

Score one to John, he thought. He was very pleased with his quick comeback, even if it did make him sound a little juvenile. It was at that point that John's stomach made a loud rumbling noise and he realised he was starving. Unfortunately, he would now have to wait until after Romeo and Juliet to eat. Of course, if they didn't leave soon then they would miss the play too.

"Ok, time to go. Quickly, quickly down the stairs. The cab is waiting. Onwards we go."

He felt like a bit of an idiot, as he herded his two companion's down the stairs into the waiting cab. He looked at his watch yet again, noting that they had twenty minutes until the first act was scheduled to start.

"I hope you know all the shortcuts Mr Cab Driver, because we are running very late."

Mr Cab Driver? John had winced internally as soon as he said. It made him sound like he was five years old. The driver gave a simple nod in return.

"Same destination that you gave me in Baker Street?"

The cabbie had directed the question at Sherlock, who gave a solitary nod in acknowledgment. With that, the cab pulled out from the sidewalk and drove off into the night.