I had left Sherlock's flat as fast as I could, the fact that I'd just screwed my archenemy was really starting to get to me. The worst part was that I really was sure that I was in love with him. Scratch that. The worst part was actually that he hadn't said it back as soon as I told him that I loved him. I tried not to pay too much attention to that small little detail, but that was really all I could think about before I could politely excuse myself.
I really did have something to do and people to see, but instead I had sat in front of 221B Baker Street for a good few hours. I didn't realize I was waiting for John to return until he did, accompanied by a female friend. I guess you could characterize her as "pretty," but I'd always preferred men. They were strong and independent. You didn't have to take care of them as you would a woman. I'd had my experience with them, always wanting you to do this and that. It was always about them and they expected you to protect them when something dangerous comes around. If they weren't so petite and weak they could protect themselves.
When John showed up, he'd threatened to kill me. But really, what's new? I could tell he wasn't actually armed. He'd just returned from a short holiday and he really wasn't prepared to see me. He and whatever her name was had just gotten out of what seemed to be a rather heated argument, and John was trying to take back something he had said. Another reason I despised women, they always assume they are correct. She wasn't close to forgiving him; John had a long night of apologizing and sucking up to look forward to. Sherlock isn't the only one with mad detective skills.
"What are you doing here?" He'd ask.
"Sherlock and I just had a little chat. I'm sure he'd love to tell you all about it. I'll leave that up to him." I stood up from the bench I'd been sitting on.
John tried to come at me, but whatever her name was held him back. "John."
He glared at me and told me to go to hell, along with some other not so nice phrases.
"He's fine, John. Please calm down. It's okay."
"No it is not okay! You stay away from him."
I laughed, "Not a chance. It is always a pleasure John." I started to walk away, ignoring his rants. I heard whatever her name was say something quietly and John start giggling. I sighed. Ordinary people. They are so predictable, and so stupid. They couldn't even stay focused on a topic for more than a couple minutes.
I called my car and waited for it to pull up. I had people to blow up, lives to ruin.
Twenty hours later, I found myself in front of the mirror only half dressed, trying to decide what color really looked best on me. I needed to look amazing for Sherlock. I'm sure he'd be wearing his purple shirt of sex. That's really all that it was, and it was so not fair. He was tall and lean, his hair was perfect, and those eyes… I could drown in those eyes. His cheekbones were too amazing to be real. And the way that his suits were just slightly too tight…
I shook those thoughts out of my head; it was not the time to get distracted. I checked my phone. Thirty minutes and Sherlock would be here, I told him that I'd send a car to get him. I had to check to make sure that it was already on its way. After making that quick phone call, I finished getting ready and checked to make sure the help had the table set.
I wrinkled my nose when I saw they had pulled out a white wine, I sent it back. Red wine is so much sexier. I sat down and awaited my date. At exactly seven o'clock I heard the front door open and listened to my favorite driver (whatever his name was) lead him into the dining room.
My breath caught in my throat when Sherlock walked in. He was wearing that purple shirt. That bastard, he had to know how that shirt made people feel. I couldn't be the only person that got totally turned on by it.
"James." He nodded at me before seating himself.
"Sherlock." I smiled. "It's lovely to see you again. You look fantastic."
Sherlock chuckled. "That is irrelevant, but thank you."
"Irrelevant?"
"Yes. Irrelevant. Part of speech: adjective. Definition: not connected with or relevant to something." He spouted off like a talking dictionary. So hot.
"Yes, yes. I know what it means. What I was asking was, how is it irrelevant?"
"Right. Well, being physically attracted to someone is, in my opinion, just ridiculous. In a blink of an eye, a person's looks can change. If you were just attracted to someone, and suddenly their looks were gone, what is there left? Nothing. No. I'm attracted to one's mind. How clever and witty they are, whether they can hold a conversation without boring me. I know its cliché, but it's what is on the inside that counts."
"Ah." I said quietly. "So you find my mind… attractive?"
"Precisely." Sherlock winked at me. "But that suit does look very nice on you. Is it new?"
I laughed. "No, it isn't. But thank you." I called for our food. "Would you like some wine?"
"I would love some. Thank you."
I poured him a glass and watched him. He sniffed it and took a sip. "Romane Conti, year 1997. You don't just go halfway do you James. A bottle of this is priced at over 1000 pounds. It's one of the most expensive wines to ever be made."
"Anything for you." I chuckled. "But I have to ask, how did you know?"
"This French red Burgundy smells of berries, spices and leather. Dark in color, it hints at flavors of soy sauce, flowers and licorice. The aroma is rich and penetrating without being too profound. The Romane Conti is a rare wine that has carved a niche for itself along the years. I'd know it anywhere."
"So you've had it before?"
"Of course not. I don't have this kind of money to blow on alcohol." Sherlock took another sip. "But I'm sure glad you do, it is absolutely amazing."
"I'm glad you like it."
Three courses and two bottles of wine later, Sherlock and I were still at the table, laughing over stupid jokes like a couple of schoolgirls.
I got up and wobbled a little, I hadn't had a bit of alcohol in years, and drinking a whole bottle wasn't really something I had been prepared for. "If you'll excuse me, I must use the restroom before I accidently laugh too hard and end up with an embarrassing mess."
Sherlock chuckled and stood up. For someone who I thought we be a horrible drunk, he was steady on his feet and not a single one of his words so far had been slurred. "Do you need help getting there?"
"You just wanna see me naked." I teased, but grabbed his arm anyways.
"You caught me."
He led me to the bathroom door, and waited outside the door while took care of things.
"Maybe I should make some coffee," I said stumbling out.
"I'll make it." Sherlock disappeared into the kitchen and I made my way onto the sofa in the living room. How embarrassing. I couldn't believe I'd allowed myself to get so intoxicated. I flopped down and waited for his return.
Before long, he returned with two large mugs of steaming coffee and sat down next to me.
"I'm sorry."
"For? I'm having a great time."
"Apparently I don't have quite the tolerance to alcohol as you do."
Sherlock laughed. "Don't worry about it. At least you can speak coherently. Believe me; John has come home a couple times so drunk he can't even manage a simple good night."
I giggled and took a couple sips of my coffee. I could feel my head start to clear a little bit. "Speaking of you and John…" I prompted.
"What about us? We are close friends, flat mates obviously. We work together. That is all."
"Good." I set down my mug and took his out of his hands.
"Good?"
"Yes Sherlock. Good. Now use your amazing detective skills and tell me why that might possibly be a good thing." My face was now just centimeters from his.
"I think I have a fairly good idea." He leaned down and kissed me on the lips softly.
"Precisely," I said after a moment.
After a moment of thought Sherlock added, "I'm sorry I didn't say this earlier... But I love you too."
I smiled and kissed him again. Everything was perfect.
Well... That's the end of that. They bang, the end. xD
Thanks for reading, leave your reviews! I appreciate them all. c:
Check out my other fanfics if you enjoyed this one. c:
Good day. xxx James Moriarty