Wow. According to my email, about six people are already watching my story. And I got a review! Goody! So shout out to Lemonpaw, my first ever reviewer... ever! I like exclamation marks! Time for Chapter Two! Yay!

On another note, this story probably won't be any longer than maybe ten chapters. It's just a test, really, as I get used to fanfiction in general, and the character's personalities, and how OOC it is okay for them to be. But I don't even really know where this is going. Improvisation, people! I might write another Sherlock after, or I might try and test out something I also enjoy, like Doctor Who or Sonic.

Anyhoo, Chapter Two! (also, rhyming FTW!)

Chapter Two

Sitting in the pub, I cast my eyes over the empty tables. Of course the tables are empty. It's only two in the afternoon. It's only just opened. What am I expecting? Perhaps all the time I've spent on cases with Sherlock has given me the expectation of constantly meeting people. But now it's just me, a couple of regulars, and the bartender.

Whatever. I'm thirsty.

"Same again, please." I call over to Mark. He looks up from the glass he's rinsing, and gives me what I decide is a pitying smile.

"Again? But it's so early. Is everything okay? Oh, don't worry; it's none of my business, really." I gave him a grimace in reply. Nodding to confirm the order, he set to work on my second cider, and I took the time to check if I had any texts. Mycroft might have been spying again, or Mrs. Hudson could be wondering why Sherlock had cut a hole in the curtains.

One message:

I apologize for my clumsiness earlier. –SH

"What?" I had to glance at the screen for a few seconds before I decided it really was Sherlock who had sent the text. He'd been acting strange for some time now, but I just didn't know why. Mark came to me with the cider and I handed him the money, then took a large gulp. I didn't quite understand what had caused this change in Sherlock, but damn it, I was going to find out. I quickly sent a reply:

There's no need to be sorry. What's gotten into you, anyway? –JW

I finished the cider in a few more big gulps. The alcohol felt nice, cooling my worry over my flatmate and setting a barrier between me and my problems. But I knew not to drink too much. That just causes more problems. But all I could decide to do at this moment was to drown my sorrows in cider; under the promise that there was no way just one more glass would have an effect on me. I waved over to Mark, he'd get the message. Sighing, I felt my phone buzz in my hand. I looked down.

Nothing's gotten into me, John. That's like saying Anderson's IQ finally passed to the levels of a bumblebee. But there is something I have to discuss. Meet at the park at eight? –SH

I smiled. That's more like Sherlock, cracking jokes about Anderson and brushing off incidents like bits of fluff on a jacket. I texted a quick 'okay' back and settled into my third drink. Surely a bit of courage would come in handy.

A few more drinks wouldn't be a problem.

I stumbled down to the park. Sherlock's frame stood beneath an oak tree, calm and sophisticated. Perhaps it was just the drink, but he certainly looked like an angel, the tree branches acting in place of wings. He looked angelic. He was angelic. My breath caught in my throat – definitely not the cider. Sherlock looked up – he must have been reading something on his phone – and gave off one of his simple, radiant smiles. God, he looked good.

"Ah, you're here. A little bedraggled, but here nonetheless." Sherlock's calm, normal voice called to me from a few metres away. I couldn't help wondering what it would be like if he actually whispered. I don't think I've ever heard him whisper, and I wonder how cute it'd make him sound – cute? How drunk am I?

"Sherlock, whatchu want?" My voice seemed a bit slurred, but I'm sure that Sherlock wouldn't fail to understand what I was saying.

"I've been wondering... you could do with a treat. After all, you've been a bit stressed lately, and I haven't got any cases worth my interest, so..." Sherlock seemed almost as dazed as I was. There was something wrong, wasn't there?

"Sherlock... you 'kay?"

"Uh... of course, John. Keep up; I did say so earlier, didn't I?" Sherlock's tone seemed quieter, more... afraid.

But of what, I couldn't say just yet.

That's Chapter Two I guess. Next time, we'll find out what Sherlock's treat is, and maybe we'll find out a little more about John's feelings for Sherlock... or perhaps vice versa.

Until then!