I've gotten so many nice reviews for my last chapter that I thought I reward you all with a new chapter already. (Yeey me!) I hope you like this one as much as I do; I had a lot of fun writing this. (My teachers hate me, since I kept writing this during class, but I just couldn't stop)
Love from me to you and if you want to show your love for me, please review

The next morning John woke up as confused as he had been when he had fallen asleep.

It seemed so unlikely for Sherlock to be jealous, but what other explanation was there? And if Sherlock was jealous, how could John use it best in his advantage? Maybe he could…

BOOM!

John sat up with a start. Something had exploded downstairs.

He quickly hurried down the stairs, taking two steps at a time. It wasn't the first time Sherlock miscalculated the force of the explosion and needed John to take care of whatever wounds he'd gotten this time. ("I was right John. The suspect could never make this poison without getting sever damage on his hands. Au, careful John. I plan on using them again.") But when he came downstairs he was met by what could only be called a shocking sight.

It seemed like a bomb had been set off in their kitchen. A bomb filled with batter. Everywhere he could see there was batter; the ground, the chairs, even on the ceiling. On the table were some black, square-shaped things he supposed were attempts at toast and in the middle of the battlefield stood Sherlock with the flour in his hair and batter on his face.

It was quite a sight.

"What happened here?" John asked, not sure whether to laugh or to be angry, after all, he would be the one to clean up this mess.

"You seemed upset yesterday, after my…" Sherlock paused for a second, thinking of a word which would describe yesterday's event in a (more) positive way. "Questioning, so I cleared most of the body parts out of the fridge," He pointed to a pile of boxes in a corner. "And made you toast and waffles. Well I…attempted to."

John started laughing at the face Sherlock made. It was somewhere between sadness, disappointment and surprise, like he couldn't believe he had failed.

Of course the moment John started laughing, all these emotions vanished of Sherlock's face to make room for an angry glare. It might have worked hadn't a drop of batter slowly made his way down Sherlock's face.

If you asked him later, he couldn't say what had possessed him, but the next he knew, he'd taken a step forward and whipped the drop away with his thumb. And because he hadn't made a big enough idiot out of himself, he apparently thought licking his finger clean would do the job. Sherlock's eyes went wide with surprise and he stared at John with such an intense look that he simply couldn't look away.

He noticed how Sherlock's pupils were dilated. He liked the colour of Sherlock's eyes. How their colour would change with his mood. He'd seen them grey, blue, green and various combinations of them, yet there was not one colour which made his heart beat as fast as the black that they were now.

Hoping he wasn't reading this wrong and that Sherlock felt the same want and need as he did at the moment, he slowly tilted his head, just enough to make his intentions clear without forcing anything. Apparently, though, he had nothing to fear, because Sherlock showed the same intentions, a little more hesitant, but still his head was in what could be called the kissing position and as they moved closer and that beautiful cupid bow came within snogging distance as well, John wouldn't believe how perfect this was.

"Ah-eum…"

John felt Sherlock going rigid in his arms and saw the mask fall over his face. If there was any emotion showing before, it was definitely gone now. And so was his chance.

John turned around to see who the stupid culprit who ruined everything John had worked so hard for these last few weeks was. Naturally it had to be the same person who started it all.

"Lestrade," Sherlock said even more cool than usual, like he was trying to make up for whatever Lestrade may have seen.

"I hope I'm not bothering you, but we have this case and I don't even know whether it is my division or not," Lestrade said, quickly working down the blush on his face from watching these men standing in such an intimate position.

"You're always bothering me, but bringing a case with you instead of your sniffer dogs does help, I suppose," Sherlock replied.

"Alright then," Lestrade took a seat, as did Sherlock. The inspector placed some pictures on the mess on their coffee table. "Two men in a room, both died from heart-failure, one had both wallets in his pocket, empty, and the other had all the money and the cards in his pocket. Windows closed down, door closed from the inside, no secret passages, not even a fireplace. Basically, they robbed each other and then died." Lestrade explained.

Seeing that the two men would be busy for quite some time, John set himself to the task of making tea. He added Sherlock's five desired spoons of sugar and splash of milk in before handing it to the man. John considered whether he should be worried that he knew how Sherlock took his tea, but of course John was always the one to the make the tea.

After giving Lestrade his tea as well and getting two grumbles as a response he supposed should represent the men's form of 'thank you', he seated himself in his chair with his own cup of tea (spoon of sugar, drop of milk) and looked at Sherlock working. No matter how long he knew Sherlock, he would always be amazed by how this beautiful man's brain worked. His voice was very soothing and soon he felt his eyes fall close.

Apparently he'd fallen asleep, because when he woke, he saw Sherlock putting on his coat and disappears through the door. He was gone in seconds.

"Where did he go?" he asked Lestrade who was still sitting in Sherlock's chair the pictures in front of him, looking like Sherlock just dumped him there. Which he probably had.

"I don't know. He said something about red ants and just run off." Lestrade answered "I'm sorry about bursting in like that, earlier. I would've left if this case wasn't so damn confusing."

"Never mind, Greg, it's not your fault. I'm just scared that he'll realise what he was about to do and he'll shut me out completely. A chance like that, to surprise him, to catch him of guard, will probably not happen again." John sighed. In other words, they will not happen. Life really does suck.

"What brought it up anyway?" Lestrade asked, looking at the mess in the kitchen.

"Oh, Sherlock cooked." John said, following Lestrade's glare. "He failed terribly, but Sherlock looked so adorable with batter all over his face, that I couldn't resist tasting."

"Wait what? Sherlock cooked?" Lestrade looked shocked. That was hard to believe.

"Yeah, he put a cross-examination on me last night and he was becoming a bit too enthusiastic, not to say rude, so he apologised. By giving me something to do for the rest of the day apparently." John answered, most like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"So now he cooked and he apologised? And you're sure you're still not together?"

"Not funny. Although I think he might be coming around..."

"What do you mean?"

"Yesterday, the enquiring, it was about my 'boyfriend'." John grinned. "He's putting one and one together, but his solution is currently three. He knows I'm trying to impress someone, he just doesn't get it's him. And yesterday, I guess something snapped because when we were eating figs..."

"Figs?" Lestrade interrupted him.

"Good for the stamina." John winked, as Lestrade broke out in laughter. "Shut up. So while eating, he suddenly cracked and I think he might have been jealous. And this morning I woke up to this," John smiled, gesturing around the kitchen. "I should make him jealous more often. Do you have anything to do tonight?" John joked.

"Unfortunately, I already have a date tonight," Greg replied, puffing up his chest, looking rather proud of himself. "But I don't think you should dismiss the idea as just a joke. You haven't tried to make him jealous and you've already almost kissed. Imagine what would happen if you'd really try."

"Maybe. But now enough about my love life or better lack of, who's your date?" John asked.

Greg started blushing and fiercely shook his head. "Sorry mate, not going to tell you."

"Come on; at least tell me if your date is male or female."

"No, thank you."

"Male it is."

"How did you know?"

"I didn't, I just guessed. But I know now." John smiled cheekily. "Now let's see, who do you know that you'd be willing to date."

"Please don't do this..."

"You don't have a life outside your work." Lestrade sputtered in protest. "Oh, come on Greg," John said, "even we know each other through Sherlock which is work. So somebody you know through work. Please don't tell me you're dating Anderson."

"No! He's married. I know what it's like to be cheated on; I'm not going to do that to someone else. Besides even if I was, he's not my type at all."

"So not Anderson. Dimmock?"

"Who do you think I am? A paedophile? I'm honestly not dating someone from work."

"Ok, in that case you're dating someone related to your work. Let's see who we have. Well, you're not dating me, I know that. I desperately hope you're not dating Sherlock, that would be very cruel, but it would be someone related to him. There for I should know him. It's not like Sherlock knows that many people. Well, besides all his enemies, but of course you'd never..." John trailed off, as if coming to a realisation. "Wait just a minute! No! No way. Him?"

Lestrade turned crimson "Why not?"

"But he's his brother. He's like Sherlock but even more creepy."

"Maybe, but with more tact and inside to personal boundaries. He has all the up-sides, without all the down-sides." John started laughing and soon Lestrade followed, knowing he'd sounded just as much as a love struck fool as John had did so many weeks ago.

"So soon we'll be trading stories about the brothers Holmes?" John said throughout his hiccups.

"How long has this been going on anyway?"

"We've known each other for more than 8 years, been friends for 5, lovers for 4 and best friends for 3." Greg replied snappily.

"Cute."

"Shut up."

And the laughing restarted. They were still laughing when Sherlock returned.

"Arrest the wife. She killed both with red ants-poison." He said as soon as he entered, hanging up his coat as if what he had said was the most natural thing in the world.

"How... You know what, never mind." Lestrade held up his hands as he stood, taking a deep breath. "Thank you Sherlock. A pleasure as always, John. We should go for a pint sometime soon, when you're free."

"He won't be free anytime soon." Sherlock said, before John could even open his mouth.

Lestrade grinned, giving John a small wink. "Think about what I said, John. I think it might actually work." And he was gone.

Sherlock turned towards John, a partially suspicious, partially curious expression on his face. "What was Lestrade talking about?" Sherlock asked.

John shrugged. "Nothing special. Forget about it."

"Fine. Chinese?"

"Actually, no," John said, willingly to give everything a try. "I have a date tonight."

"So there actually is a boyfriend." Sherlock said, voice suddenly dropping ten degrees. It was a statement; not a question. Good sign.

"No, merely a date. But he is gorgeous and some years younger. And not boring at all. I think, no I know you'd like him." John said, a plan already forming inside his head.

"I seriously doubt it. So where did you said you'd take him to?" Sherlock asked, trying to sound casual.

John smiled. Sherlock was so predictable sometimes. "I was thinking about taking him to DSTKT. But I have to get ready. Lestrade stayed longer than I had predicted."

But Sherlock ignored him, already lost in thoughts.

John came down in his T-shirts and jeans from phase two. He had put on a black shirt, combined with a white tie. He had dressed to impress and without being vain, he really believed he had succeeded.
Sherlock was in his usual thinking position. Hands to his lips, like he was praying for ideas, but John saw his eyes dart over to where he stood. Not in the mind-palace then.

"I'll be going now."

No answer.

"There are some leftovers in the fridge. Next to the tongues."

No answer.

"Fine. Be that way. I'll be staying out late, don't wait up."

No answer.

John slammed the door shut. Why did Sherlock have to act the way he did? Things would go so much easier if he wouldn't chose his damn pride over his feelings. He smiled. Not so long ago, he thought Sherlock didn't have any feelings and now... now he was sure that they were there and most likely they were directed towards him.

He walked the last block to the restaurant, smiling when he thought about his date. It was all a bit last minute, but it would take his mind of all Sherlock-related things. He would enjoy his date and see what happened between them later.

He told the waiter his name and was directed towards his table. Another sign that fate wanted this to happen: even though there was normally no way you got in here if you hadn't reserved months before, but apparently someone just cancelled their reservations when John called. He thought Mycroft had something to do with it, but let it rest. There would be enough opportunities to thank him later.

He had been waiting for fifty minutes, steadily growing more nervous, when the door opened.
"Took you long enough, I started to believe you wouldn't come. Here have a seat."