Sherlock continued to play, switching from Beethoven to Schubert and finishing with Bach...obviously...Bach's Partita No 3, a lively little piece and a perfect end to the impromptu performance. He was smiling when he finished...if ever a man was born to do something...it is this man and this thing, thought John.
And he said as much, knowing that Sherlock must be more than used to this kind of praise and therefore surprised to see him flush just a little bit.
"Thank you." Sherlock said sounding a shade formal as he walked over to the coffee table to put the violin away.
He turned around looking a bit uncertain and said, "Tea?"
"Sure."
He walked into the kitchen and John followed him after a minute. He sat at the kitchen table watching Sherlock put the kettle on and get the cups out and...he couldn't quite believe that this was happening. Then Sherlock handed him a cup of tea and they started talking.
They talked about music and the army and London and Mrs Hudson...Sherlock was surprised at how easy it was to talk to this man. John couldn't help but notice how witty and charming Sherlock was. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so much.
They sat in that kitchen and talked, sharing opinions and bits of each other's lives and neither noticed that a couple of hours had gone by. John glanced at the clock and he was surprised to see that it was seven thirty almost.
Sherlock saw that glance and looked as if he wanted to say something. But he stopped himself.
"What is it?" John said.
"Would you join me for dinner?" There was the faintest trace of hesitation in his voice as he asked the question, but John caught it. It made him wonder. It seemed that Sherlock wanted to get to know him better. Why? What about me, of all people, could interest him? He wondered.
"You're the most interesting person I've met in a while John." Sherlock answered the unspoken question.
"And you can read minds." said John with a smile.
"Most people hate that. You don't seem to mind," said Sherlock. "That's another thing that makes you different.
"I'd love to join you for dinner. I don't know when I last enjoyed anyone's company so much."
Sherlock flushed a bit again...John was starting to realise that this amazing man was not very used to receiving compliments...a fact that he could not fathom, but it seemed to be true.
"Order in or go out?"
"Oh order in. I'm much too comfortable to move right now."
"Italian?"
"Sure."
Sherlock went looking for a menu, borrowed John's phone (there's no signal on mine, he said) and ordered. He came back to the table and sat down. He looked at John intently for a couple of minutes. It was the kind of scrutiny that should have made him uncomfortable, but it didn't and John just looked back at him.
"You miss the army, don't you?" Sherlock said, out of the blue.
John was surprised again."It's not something I talk about much...most people cannot understand why I would miss being in the middle of a war. I don't miss the war. But...being there, I was important, what I did was crucial. I was saving lives...it gave me purpose...It's better now that I've gone back to surgery, but the first two years were hard. I was treating people for the flu..." he said.
Sherlock was looking at him with his head tilted to one side, like he was trying to figure him out. John had to wonder how he could see and deduce so much. It seemed that he didn't have to ask questions like a normal person. He just looked at you and knew everything about you.
By the time the food arrived, Sherlock had deduced that John's parents were dead, that he had a sibling (brother, he said) who was a recovering alcoholic, that John hadn't got along well with him, but that things were getting better now and that he was looking for a relationship but hadn't been on a date for a year at least.
John should have been offended at having his life laid bare like this, but he was too surprised and awed to do anything other than look amazed and say so. He did tell Sherlock that he had a sister not a brother...and Sherlock actually looked angry at himself for missing that...Is this man for real? John wondered. He had never met anyone who had intrigued and interested him the way that Sherlock did.
Sherlock for his part was surprised...again. He had expected John to be angry or at least irritated at having all the details of his life laid bare, but John had laughed and said it was amazing. Sherlock had been intrigued by the man from the moment he read that note...everything from the manner of expression to the content, had been interesting.
And then he saw him, the warm, kindly face, lined with pain and experience, but still friendly and open...he had taken an almost instant liking to him and here they were, sharing dinner, talking and laughing like old friends. Is this man for real? Sherlock wondered. He had never met anyone who made him feel so comfortable and relaxed and happy?
...
Several hours later, John lay in bed, his head full of Sherlock. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so comfortable with someone, so quickly after meeting them. The dinner had been the excellent, the conversation even better.
That had gone on until late into the night...it would still be going on if John hadn't remembered his early shift at the hospital and judged it prudent to go to bed. He was in bed, but unable to sleep. His mind was too alert and he had a lot to think about. Well, whatever else, I've made a friend today, he thought.
Sherlock didn't even try to sleep. He lay on the couch, fingers steepled under his chin, thinking of the wholly unexpected evening he'd had. He'd never been easy around people. He found it hard to make small talk and to be polite and seem interested in what everyone else had to say.
It was even harder to think before he spoke. He hadn't had to do any of that with John. He'd said some outrageous things in the course of the evening and John had laughed and taken it in his stride...Is this what it feels like when you really connect with someone? He was still wondering about that when his long day caught up with him and he fell asleep.