John Watson
The cafe itself is quiet and I can't help but glance around. It's Friday night in the middle of London, this place should be bustling with locals and tourists. But instead we find a table rather quickly in the shrouded corner of restaurant. Our waiter wobbles up to us, obviously having had a long night already, and I order two cups of tea, knowing if Sherlock talks we'll get a nice bit of saliva in our food tonight. I look around, all of the lighting is soft and all of the tables are covered with a decorative but cheap material. Someone is trying hard to make this place look more put together than it normally is. The waiter returns with our tea, setting down some sugar and milk as well. Glancing at me, he tells us he'll return shortly to take our order. We acknowledge accordingly.
"What are you thinking of having?" He asks me, his soft voice still penetrating my chest in the quiet room. He knows what I like, he's asking to see if I'll switch it up a bit this time.
"I think I'll have the soup." I comment back, meeting his gaze as I set the menu aside. The light flickers in his eyes and I have to physically pull my own eyes to something else in the room. The paintings on the walls aren't done particularly well, seemingly to match the rest of the building in that aspect. I've never been here before, but it's obviously Sherlock has. He hasn't even picked up his menu and yet I see a contented look on his face as his eyes search the dining area for our somewhat sloppy waiter.
"I knew you would say that. I'll have that as well." He states, and I watch him carefully as his mouth sips the brown liquid from the small cup. His face is soft, but his features are always so hard, so observant. I don't want to know everything that runs through his mind as I imagine pretty much everything does.
"Have I got something on my face?" He asks, his hand suddenly touching mine as my thoughts are jumbled and pushed aside. The thin fingers roll over the top of my hand and I try desperately to keep my heart rate at a normal pace. I clear my throat move the touched hand to grab my tea.
"No, no. I just thought I saw something on the teacup. It was nothing though." I reassure him, nodding carefully. The waiter walks up sooner rather than later and takes our order. I give him a small smile, hoping to myself lighten his mood but it doesn't seem to work. My lower lip pouts out for a second before Sherlock turns, facing the window.
"Do you know what today is, John?" He turns back to me, square and strong shoulders facing me. He's so thin. I exhale softly, and begin to look around brainstorming as to what today could be. It's Tuesday, September 12th, 2012. I glance up at him, he's sat back against his chair and folded his arms. He's waiting on me to figure it out. I know him by now, what he does when he's waiting for answers that only a certain person can give him. Of course he already knows the answers but refuses to give them up. He wants to hear the words escape their lips.
Then it hits me. My lips turn into a wistful smile. I meet his gaze and lean forward on the table. I let my elbows support my chin. The tip of my tongue licks the edge of my mouth.
"One year ago today, we moved into our flat together." I say triumphantly. I watch his reaction. It's not what I had hoped. A small pang of guilt, I think, twitches in his eyes as he learns forward as well. That's not what he was talking about. Great, I've blown it now. I exhale softly, my heart feeling like someone has wrapped a tight knot around it.
"What day is it?" I dare ask, in the softest of whispers, eyes wide with...vulnerability. I'm nervous as to what he's going to say. I'm completely unsure of what type of Sherlock I'm going to receive next.
Sherlock
Eyes dilated, pulse elevated, holding his breath. By God, he's exceptional. I'm taken a little aghast at his remembering of the day we moved into together. It was an important date, and I should have remembered. But for so long I've thought of nothing but cases, murders and mystery. My brain is stuck on that function and for as long as I can remember it's best that way. No deep emotions, nothing concrete. Except for John. He's still staring at me as I jumble through the vast knowledge in my head. Today is Mycroft's birthday. It wasn't a big deal to either of us, really, but I thought it should be nice if we stopped by and give him our condolences on turning another year older.
But now that I think about it...
It was late afternoon, just after lunch. I was working in the lab, some strange case or another. Stamford brought the man into the lab, and I immediately knew what he was there for. I'd mentioned earlier that I'd needed a flatmate but I wasn't sure Stamford would come through so quickly. I remember seeing him for the first time. He had a limp, though I suspected that was slightly psychological. But he seemed...different. Different from all the other people I've ever met. All of the selfish people who only want things in the world for themselves. But in this man, Dr. John Watson, I saw nothing but..innocence. A man who had dedicated his life to saving those around him. That much I could deduce in the first few seconds, there was more of course. Not married, in the army, recently returned home, living alone, the list goes on and on.
"Sherlock?" His voice saying my name makes my heart race for a moment, before I push my thoughts to the reality that is in front of me. I'm usually not so distracted but with John, I can't help it. After clearing my throat:
"Yes, sorry John, thoughts for a new case were forming..." I pause.. "Today is Mycroft's birthday." I inform him, taking a careful look into his soft gray eyes. They twinge with a small amount of pain and that in turn pains me. Before he can say anything, I continue.
"I was going to suggest we pay him a visit, but since you've been kind enough to remind me that it is, for all intensive purposes, our one year anniversary we should get something a little stronger than tea, if you don't mind." He smiles, knowing I rarely indulge in alcohol. But tonight it's worth it. Seeing the smile on John's face makes me want to reach my hand across the table and hold his, but before I can make a move, the waiter returns to the table with our soup. It feels like hours have passed since he's taken our order. He sets the bowls down in front of us with a harsh warning to let them cool for a few moments. I quickly ask him for a couple ales and he obliges, returning moments later with two glasses that are full to the brim.
"I want to propose a toast." I state, holding my glass up. He promptly lifts his own glass and taps it against mine. I can tell his smile is genuine and it makes my heart flutter. I let my tongue run over my bottom lip as I think of the words to say how I feel about this date in our time line.
"John, you're my best friend, and tonight, I drink to you." I say gently, tapping my glass against his. With that, I raise it to my lips and swallow the strong liquid. It burns all the way down my throat and I've missed that feeling. I finish it within moments and signal the waiter for another. John, on the other hand, seems to be taking his time with his drink, cherishing each sip as he watches me. I find myself examining him as well. He has premature wrinkles around his beautiful eyes, and his face is weathered from the extremes of war. He's gorgeous, I conclude. The waiter brings me my second drink and I sip this one more slowly, actually enjoying the taste. By the time I'm finished with this one, John has finished his first and getting another. I smile to myself, unaware of the bubbling feelings inside me. Is this what happiness feels like? I haven't been this kind of happy in a long time. I set my glass aside and by instinct the waiter refills it. I nod my head towards him as John pushes his half empty glass away. He watches me carefully and in my inebriated state, I attempt to analyze his face. But, I can't. The words I usually see become blurred and for the first time in my life I'm actually okay with that. I know John will take care of me. He always has before.
John
I watch Sherlock down his third drink and smile as his stories about his cases before me become more and more animated. I could sit and listen to him talk forever but as I check my wristwatch, it's now somewhere between midnight and one in the morning. We'll have to be up early to begin to screen more clients from his website, should the police not come to us with a new case. I pick up the tab for Sherlock since he obviously can't handle himself right now. Although, even in this state, he seems acutely aware of things around him, things he would normally keep to himself.
"She's having an affair." He states as we pass a couple on our way out the door.
"You can tell because she's all dressed up for him. She has on a wedding band but he doesn't. She must have forgotten to remove it before coming out to meet him. She's obviously not his wife but he doesn't seem to mind." I grab Sherlock's hand and try to pull him away from the table but he continues on his rant.
"Did she tell you she was gonna leave him for you?" He asks, pointing at the man. It's at this point I find the strength to pull him away, putting myself between him and the once happy couple. I keep his hand firmly locked in mine as we make our way out onto the street. It feels like there are more people out now than there were a short hour or two ago. Or maybe it just feels that way because I'm holding another grown man's hand and they're now staring. I find myself not caring and hail us a cab rather quickly, quite sure that if I don't get Sherlock home and in bed soon, I'll not hear the end of it soon enough.
We climb into the cab within minutes and I give the cabbie our address. He grunts some sort of response as I buckle Sherlock in. As I lean in to do so, his fingers find my face, touching it gently, skin on skin. There isn't the barrier of his gloves anymore and that makes my cheeks glow red. I clear my throat and sit back against the seat. We'll be home soon and I'll put him to bed. Then, in the morning, everything will have returned to normal. But then again, maybe I hope things will stay changed.