AN: I forgot to thank LollyMc for her lovely comments on some of my other fics. If you haven't checked her out, I suggest you do, because her work is amazing. I left 6 reviews on one fic because it was that good. This chapter 2 of 3. Three should be up soon, i'm almost finished writing it. Love Rose.

As they neared the park, John was surprised to see very few cars parked along the side of the road. Surely more people would have driven their own cars to the performance than this. Looking down the road at the distant park, he also observed that there was little lighting. This didn't seem right. The cab pulled up at the park and John was shocked to see a small dining table, covered in a crisp white tablecloth at the edge of the park. It was set for three, with a candle flickering away as decoration. John looked at Sarah, whose face mirrored his astonishment. He shifted his gaze to Sherlock, who simply smiled.

"Garden performance got canceled due to all the actors coming down with a nasty case of influenza. I thought this might be romantic, but I had to organise it all at the last minute. You might have noticed me stalling for time."

John couldn't believe it. Sherlock had actually put effort into trying to be make the evening romantic. It seemed a little strange, but he appreciated the exertions.

"You planned all this? And pretended you didn't want to go out wearing one of my sweaters so that, whoever it was, could finish setting this up?"

John waved his arms towards the set up in the park. Sherlock nodded in affirmation.

"I...that's...Thanks. That's actually really thoughtful."

John could hear himself spluttering and tripping over his words as he tried to figure out what to say. It must have been the right thing, because a wide grin spread over the tall man's face.

"Ah, Mr Holmes, you have arrived! Come, sit down. I have made my very best dishes for you tonight."

The voice came from a man who was walking towards the idling cab. John recognised the overweight chef straight away. He'd seen him often enough.

"Angelo? What are you doing here?"

"What do you think I am doing? I am cooking for you, and Sherlock, and..."

The chef's voice trailed off as he gestured towards Sarah, who still seemed to be a little bit shell shocked.

"Sarah."

John was slightly taken aback when Sherlock supplied the name. It was unexpected, even if his tone was rather dry. Angelo seized a startled Sarah's hand and began to chatter enthusiastically.

"Sarah! It is Angelo's pleasure to meet you. Sherlock never tells me about his beautiful lady friends!"

John was thankful he hadn't been drinking anything, for he would certainly have choked on it. A strangled sound emitted by Sherlock suggested he felt the same way. John wondered which word was the problem; beautiful, lady, or friend? Did Sherlock normally discuss beautiful male friends? John couldn't picture Sherlock talking to Angelo about anything as personal as friends. It was most likely the term 'friend' that Sherlock took issue to, John concluded. If there was one word that John would never hear Sherlock use to describe Sarah, it would be friend. Sarah was John's friend. Sherlock refused to call her his partner or girlfriend. Usually, he wouldn't even call her by her name, referring to Sarah instead as 'her' or 'that woman' in varying tones of acidity. There was no way that Sarah or Angelo could have missed the sudden asphyxiating sounds, but both were gracious enough to pretend that nothing had happened. Sarah's face had rearranged itself into a pleasant and pretty smile. She let out a laugh that was soft and warm. To someone who didn't know her, such as Angelo, it could easily have been mistaken as genuine. But John knew better. He might not be Sherlock, who could deduce things from a moments observation of a stranger, but John thought he knew enough about Sarah that he could pick if her laughter was authentic or not. Of course, Sherlock would warn him about placing too much emphasis on such subjective data.

"Aren't you going to join us John?"

Sherlock's voice drifted in through his thoughts, snapping him back into reality. John looked around in a way that could only have been described as stupidly. Sherlock gave him a look that John interpreted as meaning you're an idiot. John opened his mouth, intending to ask where Sarah had gone, until he realised that she was being assisted into her chair by a transparently 'helpful' Angelo.

"Shameful, isn't it?"

John couldn't tell if Sherlock was being sarcastic or serious, so he just nodded in agreement. Sherlock proffered him a sweater-clad arm.

"Shall we?"

It took every last ounce of self-control that John could muster to stop himself from bursting into laughter at the invitation. He honestly hadn't though that Sherlock had it in him to play the role of gentleman, although if he really thought about it he shouldn't be surprised. He could feel a goofy, lopsided grin spreading across his face, that was mirrored on Sherlock's as John grasped the outstretched limb. They must look utterly ridiculous, two men wearing sweaters, linking arms whilst heading over to a candle-lit dining table in the middle of a public park. Upon reaching the table, Sherlock pulled out John's chair and made a grand sweeping motion with his right arm.

"After you sir."

John had to stifle yet another giggle as Sherlock waited until John sat down before taking his own seat. He wasn't sure what Sherlock was playing at, but he found himself hoping it would continue, if only because it improved their moods.

"We look ridiculous, don't we?"

John wasn't sure if he meant it as a question or a statement, or just his own observation. Sarah answered him, obviously deciding that it was a question.

"A little. I thought it was quite sweet actually."

John nearly fell out of his chair with shock when Sherlock gave Sarah a wide, genuine smile. Even those grey eyes were lit up with emotion. John couldn't remember a time when Sherlock had expressed any kind of feeling other than loathing or impatience towards her. It continued that way as the evening wore on. Sherlock joked, he made small talk. He didn't make any snide or insulting remarks. He acted like a normal person. He even managed to restrain himself to only making a mild jibe when Angelo spilled red wine all over the clean, white tablecloth because he had gotten distracted whilst trying to chat up Sarah. To her credit, Sarah was taking the overt flirting extraordinarily well. Far better than John was. He realised that it wasn't even a jealousy thing, but rather that it was assumed that she was available. It didn't take a genius to figure out what Angelo had concluded about the nature of this group outing date-thing. John realised with a jolt, that in all the times that he and Sherlock had eaten, well, that John had eaten at Angelo's, Sarah had never been mentioned. Not once, even in passing, had the fact that John even had a girlfriend come up. In fact, the only way John could think that Angelo could have found out about Sarah was if he read John's blog. But then, the more he thought about it, the less sure in his conviction he became. How often had he actually mentioned Sarah? He could think of only a few entries, other than the Blind Banker. He wasn't even sure if he had made it clear that it was Sarah that had been his date at the circus. It was because he wanted to protect her privacy, he reassured himself. After all, she was his boss as well as his partner. That was definitely it. What else could it be? John absentmindedly stroked at the table, which felt warm and soft beneath his fingers. It took a few moments before it sunk in that he could sense slender curves, that could not possibly be a covered wooden table. Nor would a table be warm. People were warm. He looked down to see that he was petting a hand. He wondered what kind of moisturiser could make skin so soft. Then again, skin that pale could rarely see the sunlight and oh god, he was stroking Sherlock's hand. He stared as though transfixed at the two hands, his mouth hanging slightly open. How long had he been doing that? He couldn't even remember when he had started. It had all felt so, well, natural. Apprehensively, he looked up to meet those grey eyes which were focused on him.

"Yes John?"

Sherlock had one eyebrow raised quizzically. If it had been anyone else, John would have made up some kind of excuse. But there was no point with Sherlock, because he could read the lie as though it was written all over John's face. Of course, Sherlock would argue that it was. What was written on his face now? Guilt? Confusion? Fear? No, it would be none of them because that wasn't what John was feeling. So what was he feeling? Certainty. That was it. Everything was beginning to make sense now. He just had to look at how he behaved when he was with Sarah compared to when he was with Sherlock. With Sherlock, John never felt bored, or awkward, or out of place. With Sarah, he hated to admit even to himself, but he sometimes felt like there was something lacking. He appreciated how she listened and gave advice, but he always felt like he had to be constantly on his best behaviour. She was still his boss after all, and there are some things you just can't say or do with your boss, even if you are together. He often felt like he had to talk about something, anything to stop them from lapsing into silence. With Sarah, the silence was deafening. But with Sherlock, silence was something that was both acceptable and enjoyable. He could simply appreciate the other man's presence. Sherlock had let him know that he had been of assistance just by being present in the room. He hadn't though of Sherlock as someone who experienced loneliness before then. It was with a pang of guilt that he realised that he would drop everything if Sherlock asked, following him around at a moments notice. Even in the middle of the night or the early hours of the morning. Sarah always had to schedule time well in advance, with the possibility of a Sherlock related situation interrupting even the best laid plans.

Then there was tonight's date-thing. It isn't a date. Oh shut up, he told his mind. Yet he had called it a date-thing. But he didn't feel like he and Sarah had been on a date tonight. Not because Sherlock was also there, but because Sherlock was there. The seating arrangement was one sign that it wasn't Sarah that he was really dating. He had been seated opposite her, the furthest distance possible from him. Sherlock had been seated at his side. John had stared deeply into Sherlock's grey eyes, laughed excessively at his jokes. Oh God, he had even stolen food from Sherlock's plate. He had spent the whole night flirting with Sherlock, he mused. There was that silly little affair with Sherlock escorting him to the table, calling him sir and waiting for him to take his seat. There was the childish insults that they had thrown at each other all night. There were the constant touches during conversation, a hand briefly resting on a shoulder, an arm, a hand. Oh yeah, let's not forget the hand John, he said to himself. The soft, warm, pleasant hand. Yes, everything was really beginning to make sense in such a way that John didn't know how he had managed to be so blind for so long. No mention of Sarah in his blog? A blog that was almost entirely about Sherlock? It was all so clear to John now. The tension he often felt when he was in a room with Sarah and Sherlock wasn't because he was worried that Sherlock would upset Sarah. It was that he hated how much it upset Sherlock. There had been no tension tonight because Sherlock was visibly having a great time. John winced as he realised that Sarah had not looked truly happy all night. She had looked like someone who was doing their best to put on a brave, happy mask. The more he thought about, the more astounded he was that she had stayed. Not just stayed tonight, on what he recognised was more a date with Sherlock than anything else. He was amazed that she had stayed with him at all. If someone had treated him like this, he would have been gone a long time ago. He couldn't keep putting her through this. It just wouldn't be fair to anybody here to keep this going on any longer. He took a deep breath and steadied his nerves. Avoiding eye contact with Sherlock, he instead spoke directly to Sarah.

"Sarah? Do you think we could have a little chat? In private? It's important."

He hoped his voice hadn't been shaking as much as he thought it was. His legs felt wobbly and his stomach was churning, which was dangerous with such a full stomach. But he had to do this. He had to do this now, whilst he still had the courage. This was the right thing to do, he firmly told himself. He would do what Sarah should have done a long time ago. John was going to break up with Sarah.