CASE CLOSED
Angelo placed two menus and a candle on the table. Ever since their first meal there, he had insisted on the candle. John smiled warmly at the man. If only he knew what they'd been up to in the past few days. "You are going to eat, right?"
"Eating is boring."
"You just got to solve a murder by shoving a frozen pig into a bloody wood chipper. I know eating can't compare to that, but let's celebrate, OK?" He reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand without thinking. His thumb rubbed the other man's hand. "That was easily the second most disgusting experiment you've ever done while we've been together. This is a special day." Let's celebrate? Together? Special day? Where the hell did that come from?
"Really, John? A special day? Let's celebrate?" He looked down at their hands. "I'm not shagging you after dinner." A huge smile took over Sherlock's face. John recognized it as 'his' smile; the smile only John got to see.
John laughed and moved to let go of Sherlock's hand. He tightened his grip and stared at John, daring him to break the contact again. "That's really terrible, isn't it? I just sounded like I'm going to wine you, dine you, and shag you until you can't walk straight." He winked at the man holding his hand hostage. "It's just a shame I'm not gay."
"You keep saying that and maybe one day you'll believe it." John swallowed hard. Only Sherlock with that deep, seductive, smooth as silk voice, could make that sentence sound sexy. "Your pulse is elevated," he whispered as he let go of John's hand and picked up his menu. "I guess I could go for a little… something."
John blushed. "Why are you doing this to me?"
"Because I can. Really, John. Stop being so predictable. It's…"
"Boring." John copied Sherlock's hand wave. "You know I'm an idiot. You shouldn't expect so much of me. You know I'll never be that unpredictable."
"You surprise me every day. I'd say you're very unpredictable."
#
John would never be able to explain how he wound up on the couch with the detective's head in his lap, but there they were, watching some procedural cop show. He was amazed at how well behaved Sherlock was being. Normally, he paced the room and pointed out the inaccuracies in the program. Neither of them had said a word since leaving Angelo's, not even after sharing dessert and earning a wink from the restaurateur. They had held hands in the cab, though. That simple gesture said more than words could, any way.
This was weird. Very weird. Now that Sherlock had touched him, they both couldn't get enough of it. He softly ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair and massaged his scalp. The detective hummed softly, making John smile.
Sherlock knew the Doctor had gentle hands, but he was amazed at how gentle they really were. The way they touched his scalp - he'd never felt anything like that before, and he didn't want John to stop. Why had he built such a wall? Oh, right. Mycroft. His parents. Well, he didn't live with them any more. He lived with John and he could change for John. He would change for John. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of John's hands. He felt butterflies in his stomach. The effect John was having on him was starting to become clearer, but he was still struggling to understand what it really meant.
John had gotten lost in the TV show and hadn't noticed Sherlock falling asleep. He gently shook him awake. "You should go to bed. The couch isn't the most comfortable place to sleep."
"Can we sleep in my room tonight?" Sherlock stretched and yawned.
"Can we do what?"
"Sleep. In my room." John could almost see the snark dripping off of Sherlock's words. "Together."
"Um, OK." He paused, considering his next words. "What is this? What are we doing?"
"We're going to bed."
"We're sleeping together! It's not normal for two blokes to just get in bed together!"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I sleep. You don't have nightmares. It may not be, as you say, normal, but it is mutually beneficial. Am I correct?"
"Sod off." John stormed off to his room. He wasn't sure what he was going to do after he put his pajamas on, but he knew a part of him wanted to join Sherlock in his room. He slammed his closet door shut and sat on his bed. Was it possible to have an intimate, physical, relationship without sex? With Sherlock of all people? It seemed like they'd already started to. Hand holding, sleeping together, scalp massages, cuddling on the couch. They couldn't look more like a couple in love if they tried.
Sherlock's door was closed when John finally made up his mind. He knocked lightly before pushing the door open. The detective was sitting in bed, writing in one of his many notebooks. John could hear the scratching of his pen as he poked his head in. "Can I come in?"
"I've been waiting for you." He finished writing and then closed the notebook. "Come on, then." He lay on his back, arm extended. Once John had settled in, Sherlock sighed happily. "So. We're making this a habit?"
"I guess so. I can't wait to see Lestrade's face at the next crime scene."
"He'll be thrilled. He's going to win the office pool."
"How do you… never mind."