I'm soooooooooooo sorry it took me so long. I really don't have any excuse at all (or at least non of them good enough to tell). But to make it up to you, I have not only this chapter ready but also 3 others. I'll publish them every week, I promise!
And I have some more good news, I have found myself an amazing bèta. thank you very much HollyEmpire00. All the love you give me, I'll give 50% to her. you know what this means? I need the double of the love ;)
I hope you enjoy this chapter, this is the one that makes the rating go up to T because of some words and innuendos

John was in Tesco's. The complementing had worked better than he had ever hoped. It had come to the point where he could tell Sherlock he looked amazing on any given day and Sherlock didn't think it was strange. Although he did seem to like it. He provoked John to complement him.

He would deduce something at the crime scene and look immediately at John, making it very obvious what he wanted. And who was John to disappoint the great Sherlock Holmes? Words like 'amazing' and 'brilliant' where just as familiar to John as his own name. Or Sherlock's. But now it was time to move on to the next phase. The food phase.

John had always known how food could stimulate certain reactions. Want to be romantic? Spaghetti. Want to make a guy hard? Bananas. Want to woo someone? Strawberries. Want to get laid? Chocolate and whipped cream. And of course don't forget sharing an ice cream at the end of a perfect date.

So yes, the way to a man's heart was through his stomach. And despite everything he claimed, Sherlock Holmes was human and was a man, so he must have some primal urges and John saw it his duty to wake them.

By food. Love food.

John wheeled his full trolley to the check out. Bananas, strawberries, spaghetti, oysters, figs, ice lollies, some wine and so on and so on. John smiled. If this failed, he would at least have had some decent meals to eat the following weeks. He wasn't sure if Sherlock would get all the innuendos he would be making, but the ones he would get, would be fun enough.

John could imagine what faces Sherlock would be making when he deduced what John was doing and they put him in a good mood, actually his mood was so good that he checked everything out at the self-service cash register with a smile.

John was enjoying one of the ice lollies he had bought. He liked this one. Strawberry-flavoured, so it was actually two in one, if you thought about it. But apart for the nice flavours and varieties of food and food combinations he discovered, this phase was a complete failure.

The more innuendos he made, the more Sherlock sulked. Take today as an example: they were having a nice conversation, Sherlock explaining how he found the murderer on the latest case, John typing it out for his blog, until John took out the ice lolly. Result: Sherlock fled to the kitchen to experiment with something that somehow produced a giant cloud of purple smoke. And when John would ask what Sherlock was doing (still working on phase one of the plan), he got a short "Nothing you'd be interested in" back.

A clear sign that Sherlock didn't want him around.

He sucked his lollipop. He didn't get what he was doing wrong. If Sherlock knew what he's doing, than why sulk instead of laughing at him (or jump him, as John hoped in his most secret and most locked up thoughts)? And if he didn't knew, than why sulk all together? His head started throbbing, whether it was a brain freeze or just too much to worry about, he didn't know, but he knew that this phase wasn't working and that he should quit with it. He'd give it one last shot and if it didn't work out the way it should, he'd start with something new tomorrow.

For tonight he had filled figs prepared, and he'd put a lot of work in it, so he'd enjoy them, no matter how Sherlock might react. Or that he didn't even like figs

They were eating in silence. Sherlock was probably mad that John forced him to eat and John was mad that he once again had to force him to eat.

"All right, spill it, John," Sherlock said all of the sudden, "Who is this new, much younger boyfriend of yours?"

John looked up in surprise "Excuse me?"

"Your boyfriend. It must be a boyfriend since you've been practising fellatio all week on any kind of food that people with little imagination like yourself use. Bit strange for seducing a girl don't you think? And he's obvious much younger than you are since we are eating figs. You hate figs. Something about their texture. But everybody knows what 'wonders' they do with you stamina. Your running along with me has made that you have quite an excellent condition, even after you left the army for a quieter life in London. So, a few years wouldn't make a difference. No there must be at least a gap of ten years, maybe even more. Midlife crisis already, John?"

John couldn't help it, he started to laugh loudly. It seemed all so absurd. All the troubles he went through and now Sherlock thought he had a toyboy. It was all just so daft.

Once he calmed down enough to react at the angry glares Sherlock was sending him for laughing at him (really what did he expect, that he started complementing him. He wouldn't have done that, even if Sherlock was right. Especially not if Sherlock would be right about something like this), he asked the most illogical thing of all;

"Why do you care?"

After all, even if he had had a boyfriend, it was none of Sherlock's business. He hadn't cared about John's girlfriends either, now had he?

"I don't!" Sherlock snapped, turning back to his food.

John smiled. If Sherlock said he didn't, there was just no point in arguing him…even though it was obvious that for some mysterious reason he did care a lot, at least enough to sulk about for almost more than a week.

Only later when he was lying underneath his comforting sheets, thinking the entire thing over once more, surprised at how right Sherlock had been, even though he was wrong. He had been trying to seduce a guy, who was much younger than him. He also couldn't stop wondering why Sherlock had cared that much.

Only when his clock had long passed the hour of midnight, he thought of something.

It was a crazy thought. Almost impossible.

But yet he couldn't stop thinking it. What if Sherlock cared so much, in his own weird way of course, had been so upset over this idée-fixe of John's 'boyfriend', because he was jealous?