Sherlock was tight-lipped as they entered the restaurant, but he'd agreed to come along because it meant so very much to Tessa. He knew it would entail meeting some of her friends, at long last; he had successfully avoided it previously, despite her occasional requests. And he had to admit, she never pestered him upon his denials, or sulked at all to try and get her way, so it seemed only fair to finally say yes. Tessa hadn't said it out loud, but he believed she sensed-quite rightly-that he had to proceed slowly; that the whole experience was so very new to him that she had to take care not to make him bolt before the chance came to see if they had the potential for something long valued her patience more and more each day.

So…..he supposed these introductions were inevitable, if they were to continue their relationship. He supposed eventually he would even let John in on the secret, although he dreaded the ribbing that was certain to follow (once John got over the shock of it, of course).

But to the matter at hand; his best game face was called for. Tessa was leading him towards a back corner of the restaurant, where several tables had been grouped together, a cacophony of various conversations greeting them well before they reached the area. Sherlock estimated there were at least two dozen people there, laughing, drinking, and generally enjoying the company and champagne, which was flowing quite freely.

Before they'd even taken seats at the crowded table, Sherlock heard a man's deep voice calling to Tessa that he'd saved a seat for her. She wagged an admonishing finger at the man, shaking her head, then turned to smile at Sherlock reassuringly. Sherlock placed the man's face quickly enough—the actor who played Duke Orsino. He was glad that Tessa had rejected the saved seat, glad that her hand was firmly in his. He was already starting to regret acquiescing to her request.

At last, though, Tessa found room enough for them to sit side by side, and in moments Sherlock watched as a champagne glass was pressed upon her. She considered it a moment, then turned to ask him, "Will you have some?"

"No, not just yet," her told her. He was deliberating ordering something stronger, should a server come around.

How out of place he felt, but all he could do was grin and bear it. Tessa, aware of his discomfort, leaned over to him, kissing his cheek in violation of their agreement. Well, at least it was just his cheek; he was noticing that these theatre people were very free with their public displays of affection, so he gathered Tessa was actually treating him with some reserve. That was until she laid her hand on his leg, beneath the table; it was the lightest of touches, and in the midst of her lively conversation with the woman to her right, he wondered if she even realized she'd done it. Surprising himself, Sherlock found he actually liked the feel of her familiarity in so public a setting, and when Tessa turned back to him, the glint of her eyes told him she was enjoying it too. He moved closer to her, telling her confidentially "I think I'll have some champagne, after all."

And so he sat, the quiet observer, trying to smile at the proper times, watching the interplay of Tessa's peers. There was quite a lot of ribald banter and more than enough superfluous flirtations. Groups broke up and reformed as people left one seat in favor of another, so that movement seemed fairly constant. Yet Tessa remained at his side, still sipping her first glass of champagne, and finally the time arrived—the ginger-haired one was zeroing in on them. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, searching for her name...Jenna. The boisterous, brassy one, the one Tessa had told him was infamous for her love affairs, but loyal to a fault to her closest friends. She took the seat opposite him, finishing off a nearly full glass of champagne and setting it on the table between them. She nodded to Tessa, and turning to Sherlock, gave him a wink and a bold grin. This, he thought, should prove interesting.

"Ah ha!" she exclaimed, "so you're the one has our Tessa so befuddled. About time you came around." She extended her hand to him, and when he met it, her grip was surprisingly firm and lingering. "I'm Jenna Weston, but I'm sure Tessa's told you about me." She winked again, then turned to Tessa; tipping her head in Sherlock's direction, her grin even wider, she teased her friend, "Not bad, but can he dance?"

Tessa sighed in mild exasperation; she had expected Jenna to come on strong—it was her way—and it was one of the things she loved best about her. With a shake of her head, Tessa replied, "Well, it hasn't quite come up yet." She turned to Sherlock, addressing him as much as answering Jenna, "But I'm sure if he chooses to, it will be marvelously. He's brilliant at everything he does." She arched her brow and bit her lip-as was, so often, her habit- and Sherlock could actually feel the heat of a blush rise in his cheeks. And he had still to even speak a single word to Tessa's friend.

He felt a bit like he was adrift in a dingy without oars, for it appeared Jenna was waiting on an equally witty rejoinder to her comments. Tessa was quick to throw him a lifeline, slipping her hand onto his forearm, "Sherlock solves the cases that baffle Scotland Yard, sometimes without even leaving his flat." He liked the note of pride in her voice. "And among his many accomplishments, he plays the violin with the soul of artist."

Sherlock was unaccustomed to anyone talking him up in such a way. It warmed him as much as the champagne had done. "Tessa's description fell short of relaying your vibrancy, Ms. Weston. I'm glad to finally meet you."

"Touché, Mr. Holmes." Jenna replied, with a hearty laugh, "You just be sure to take good care of our girl here. She's got a very soft spot for you, ya know." Sherlock liked what he saw behind Jenna's smile—loyalty to her friend, enough to challenge any comer who might seek to hurt Tessa. He nodded, smiling crookedly. He knew he wasn't through the gauntlet just yet, as there was still at least one more of Tessa's friends waiting in the wings.

Jenna picked up her empty glass, saying as she rose, "I'm parched. And that bottle over there is calling my name." She winked, at Tessa this time, and quickly moved off to the far end of the table, landing in the lap of another of the actors, ruffling his hair before planting a full kiss on his lips. He promptly refilled her glass, returning the favor by nuzzling her neck.

Tessa looked a just a little sheepish, but said fondly, "I did tell you about her."

Sherlock chuckled, "Yes you did. And clearly you did not exaggerate."

Tessa was looking at him, softly, as though she was mulling something over. It was one of those times when he couldn't quite read her; times that he had grown to enjoy for the challenge they presented. She looked down, running a hand through her hair, then finished her champagne. Whatever it had been, it would have to wait, for the second of Tessa's best-loved friends was approaching.

A polar opposite to Jenna, Sylvie was a quiet, petite, mother of two. Sherlock concluded, from the wedding and engagement rings she wore, that she lived a more comfortable lifestyle than most actors populating off-West End productions. Tessa had told him that Sylvie's husband, Jasper, was a scenic designer, whose work was in constant demand. She'd also told him Sylvie had a wicked sense of humor, and could be very bawdy when in her cups. Sherlock braced himself for what might come.

Sylvie bore two glasses of champagne, handing one to Tessa as she said, "I see Jen's made her presence known." She looked to Sherlock, "I hope she wasn't too naughty to you, Mr. Holmes. Or left you thinking poorly of our little company."

"Not at all. She was nearly the picture of good behavior." he replied, with an honest smile, "And you must be Sylvie."

"Oh, Tessa has mentioned me, has she?". Her voice took on an edge of affectionate reproach, as she turned to Tessa, "She's told us very little about you…"

"That's not true," Tessa exclaimed, in mock indignation, "I've shared all the pertinent information." She looked to Sherlock for a response.

He marveled again at how easily Tessa could lead the way for him in social situations; he saw immediately how she intended for him to answer. "Tessa knows I prefer discretion whenever possible.

"Right. That sounds like Tessa." Sylvie pulled the chair out to take a seat, asking politely, "May I?"

"Of course," Tessa answered, "We've been waiting for you to join us."

Tessa was savoring her second glass, and Sherlock now felt comfortable enough to leave her for a visit to the restroom. He returned to find the little crowd had closed her off from him, but he was not concerned. In fact, he found he appreciated the opportunity to observe her from a distance, to watch the ebb and flow of the people around her and how she interacted with them. Her easy laugh reached his ears from time to time, making him smile in his solitude. He also noticed a man or two paying her extra attention that they had not done in his presence. Tessa herself seemed not to pay it any heed.

He was glad to see, throughout his observation, that Tessa craned her neck several times in search of him. After about ten minutes, she began to look perplexed, and it was apparent she was no longer focused on the people around her. Why, he wondered, should such a minor thing make him so unexpectedly happy? It wasn't as though she showed any real interest in any of the men nearby; he was beyond certain she only cared to have him at her side. Sherlock shortly realized she was truly missing him, and as satisfying as that felt, he knew he should remedy that. He began to walk toward the table where she sat, when he saw Tessa rise, looking for him more seriously. The relief on her face when she spotted him made his breath catch a bit. She gave him a little wave, raising what had to be the remains of her third glass of champagne, in his direction. Then she was moving through the crowd, to meet him at the table's edge.

Sherlock leaned in close, so Tessa could hear him clearly above the laughter and conversations around them. He chided her gently, his tone indulgent in the face of her wide-eyed attention, "You did agree 'only two glasses'."

The champagne had warmed her nicely, amplifying somewhat her natural tendency to behave flirtatiously. This did not surprise Sherlock, but he also knew she always saved her best only for him. Tessa bit her lip, laying her hand lightly upon the lapel of his jacket, "It was only a wee bit more." Her smile was ingenuous, waiting for his response.

Sherlock tsk'd softly, brushing back a few strands of her hair, enjoying how that little gesture made her press closer to him. "No," he told her, his voice soft with lenience, "it was a full glass more."

Tessa arched a brow, answering cheekily, "I did drink it quickly, though."

Sherlock gave an involuntary smile, unable to even feign annoyance in the face of her pretty defense, "Indeed you did."

Tessa sighed quietly and gave him the lightest of kisses. Her lips tasted pleasantly of the champagne. "Just let me say my goodbyes," she asked, ceding the victory to him, "and you can take me where you will." She moved purposefully through the crowd to take her leave of Sylvie and Jenna; the later gave him a nod and a smile that seemed to imply he had ulterior motives for drawing Tessa away from them. To that, he didn't quite know how to react, looking down, a little self-conscious.

After the closeness of the restaurant, the cool night air felt refreshing. Tessa slid her hand into his without a word. Her skin was warm as it ever was; warm, soft, and as familiar now as his own. Sherlock realized that she had managed this feat—making such little things seem like second-nature to him- quietly, as she had managed each step forward in their relationship, patiently and unobtrusively. Never once a demand, but simple perseverance as she waited confidently for him to come around.

Curious as to why he seemed so solemn, concerned she had pushed Sherlock too far, Tessa asked him if everything was alright. "Perfectly fine," he told her, "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well…" Tessa paused, "I just hope my friends didn't come on too strongly. I know the whole evening might have been….hmmmm…. too melodramatic for your liking." Tessa looked to him earnestly, "But I'm very glad you joined us tonight. Its means a lot to me that you were willing to endure that."

"It wasn't all that unpleasant," Sherlock said, stopping to look at her reaction, "and it was …enlightening….to watch you in that context."

Tessa's brow was furrowed, "Context?"

"In your…"…Sherlock pursed his lips, searching for a better way to say it, "…where you seemed so comfortable and at home."

"Well, thank you," she said, "And you were perfect; I'm sure you won my friends over with ease." Tessa was facing him now, her eyes wide again, looking her softest, "You certainly won me over, but I suppose that's my weakness, isn't it?" She closed her eyes, stretching to kiss him quietly, briefly, then looking to him to proceed.

Sherlock's thoughts raced at a dizzying speed as he regarded Tessa's open, honest face. He knew what he felt at the moment was as much chemical as anything else; the addict in him recognized the feel of dopamine and oxytocin as they hit his system. That was fact. But there were so many more elusive things at play here. Tessa's ever quiet patience with him; her commitment to remain at his side this night as she understood he would be uncomfortable; the lilt of her laughter and the way she would lean against him at times-often when he wasn't expecting it; the taste of her mouth and the silk of her hair when it brushed against his skin; her optimism and resilience. That he had seen those other men look at her, which she either didn't notice, or more likely ignored as meaningless. And all the ways that Tessa showed him again and again, that she wanted—above all else-to be his.

Her face in the moonlight was all he could see now, as his mind finally reached the inevitable, but no less surprising, conclusion. Against his nature, he wanted her. Against all odds and as unlikely as London snow on Midsummer Day, he wanted her. Reason couldn't factor this or logic it away.

Tessa saw all this play across his face, but as rapidly as his thoughts progressed, she could not follow. She could only watch, waiting, hoping that whatever it was, he would turn to her if needed. When he did, it was swift and resolute.

Sherlock pulled her to him, his lips overwhelming her with sudden ferocity. They were standing on the street, in full view of passersby, but he just couldn't care about that anymore; didn't care at all as he held her face in his hands, kissing her as she trembled with surprise and happiness.

When he broke the kiss, gasping for air, Tessa whispered in amazement, "Oh Sherlock, you've never done that before."

His eyes were closed as he grappled to control this strange, new impulse, "I never needed to before," his voice a little rough in his distress. "Perhaps we could take a cab back to your flat? I'm not feeling quite myself."

(to be continued)