SHVoLB 6

(A/N: Next chappy! It's short but I hope you enjoy anyway! Woot woot!)

The duo soon found themselves in a strange coffee shop that Monica had referred to as Starbucks. They sat together at a small table in the corner, the men already having changed into their new clothes: the Hot Topic clothes upon Monica's fervent request. Holmes sipped his Double Chocolaty Chip Frappuccino happily as Watson rolled his eyes, he himself having ordered a simple cup of coffee.

"Really, Watson, it's quite exquisite. You should give it a try," he said with a grin and pushed his drink towards Watson who eyed it suspiciously before taking a sip. He coughed in surprise, pushing it back, "Quite potent, don't you think?"

"Mm," was Holmes's only reply as he took a long drink of it and Watson just knew he would be bouncing off the walls in a matter of minutes.

Watson's eyes wandered around the shop, only to widen a moment later, accompanying a choke on the coffee he had attempted to swallow.

"What?" Holmes asked and proceeded to pat Watson on the back.

"Over there," he whispered, pointing discretely at a table behind Holmes. The detective turned around and Watson could hear his sharp intake of breath at what he saw: Two young men sitting closely to one another, chatting softly with their fingers entwined on the tabletop. He whipped back around with an uncharacteristic flush to his cheeks.

"What do they think they're doing? I mean…in public?"

Monica snorted when she discovered the source of their shock. "It's okay nowadays," she explained, "People are a lot more accepting than they used to be." She raised her eyebrows pointedly at the two of them who quickly lowered their gazes to their own cups.

After a few minutes Holmes lifted his head and said quietly, "They keep glancing at us…"

Watson looked up only to burst out laughing at Holmes who, having disregarded his straw completely, now had a cream mustache. His eyebrows furrowed and he reached up to the corners of his mouth, "Is there something on my face?"

Monica was laughing now too, much to Holmes's distress. "It's right above your…" Watson said between chuckles, "Oh just let me do it." He reached forward and swiped one thumb over Holmes's upper lip and without thinking; licked it off. Watson's eyes seemed to double in size as heat crept into both of their faces. Monica pretended as if she hadn't seen but secretly smiled to herself over the sweet exchange.

Holmes broke their awkward stare with a fumbling smile and then seemed to find the surface of the table very interesting indeed as he tried to find a logical reason for the sudden tingle of warmth in his stomach. He glanced up enough to notice one of Watson's hands was absent from the table, no doubt absently massaging his aching leg and suddenly got an idea.

"Monica, may I speak with you alone for a moment?" he asked.

She looked up, surprised but then a broad smile crossed her face. "Sure." Watson watched, puzzled as they stepped just into the mall enough that they couldn't be heard over the din. They conversed for a moment or two before Monica handed Holmes something quite furtively and she returned into the shop. Holmes disappeared into the crowd as she regained her spot at the table.

"What was that all about?" Watson asked, befuddled.

"Hm? Oh, nothing," was all she would say and Watson was far too much of a gentleman to press her any further.

Sherlock Holmes had always prided himself on his superb sense of direction but a mental compass does not help very much when you're in the middle of an unfamiliar mall, surrounded by hundreds of shops and throngs of people. He had got what he had left Starbucks for: a lovely cane of a deep cherry wood with a gold head and inlay. It didn't conceal a sword but it would serve its purpose well enough until they could find Blackwood. Best of all, he thought happily to himself, he had left it at the shop for an hour to be engraved, killing time in a place called Spencer's Gifts until then.

He turned the cane over in his hand, reading the etchings carved into the gold: To my dear Watson. He had no idea why he was feeling so sentimental all of a sudden but some part of him, an increasingly dominant part, wanted to show Watson how much he cared. If only he could remember how to get back to Starbucks. Luckily though, he had found the centre of the mall at which a large fountain sat so he seated himself on its edge until he could gather his bearings.

He found himself lost in thought, when he felt a presence beside him and a male voice that was not Watson's.

"Looking for someone, love?" the young man next to him asked a little too pleasantly.

His eyes instantaneously sized the man up, as he always did when meeting someone new. He was almost a foot taller than Holmes, which he found disconcerting, with rather strange hair: black but tipped with platinum blond. His eyes were hazel, his build was lanky but strong with rather large hands, and he was wearing pants very similar to Holmes's.

The strange man must have mistaken Holmes's observations for something else as he leaned closer to him, putting an arm around his shoulders. Holmes froze, momentarily caught off guard.

"Well whoever it is, he's a fool for leaving such a pretty thing as you unattended," the man purred, "Now do you have a name or do I have to call you brown eyes?"

Said brown eyes widened as Holmes tried to scoot away, "You'll call me nothing of the sort," he said sharply and attempted to stand when he felt the man's hand close around his wrist.

"Come on, you don't have to play hard to get with me." With that, Holmes whirled around and punched him square in the nose.

The man dropped his wrist to clutch at his bleeding face, during which time Sherlock turned and walked quickly away from him. He wasn't quite quick enough however, for the man had grabbed both his shoulders and spun him around before he even had time to think but then, a fist came sailing through the air, colliding with the assaulter's jaw, causing a resounding "crack". The man fell backwards and into the fountain, down for the count.

An arm was around him and Watson was asking if he was alright. He shook himself out of his state of shock and looked up to find his friend shaking out his bloodied knuckles as he stared down at him concernedly.

"That man…he was…flirting with me…" Holmes replied absently, rubbing at his upper arms where he had been grabbed. He then noticed the forgotten cane lying by the fountain and rushed over to grab it.

"And I so hoped it would be a surprise," he sighed as he held it out to Watson who looked at him in confusion, "For you."

John stared at the cane for a moment before a smile curved his stunned features and he took it into his hands, turning it over eagerly.

"There's an inscription in the gold there," Holmes said proudly and Watson looked up at him with wide eyes.

"You had it engraved?" he asked and looked down at the words.

"Well I just thought it would be a nice touch. I know it's not as nice as your other one but seeing as Lord Black-Oof!" He was cut short by a crushing hug that made his cheeks flush a brilliant shade of red.

"Thank you," Watson muttered sincerely into Holmes's hair before pulling back and grinning at him broadly.

Applause erupted suddenly all around them and they came to notice a crowd of about twenty people who had stopped to watch the fight. Amongst them was Monica who let out a loud, wolfish whistle that caused them both to duck their heads bashfully.

Watson cleared his throat awkwardly before saying, "I think it's um…time to go home now."

"Indeed."

(A/N: Yay w I must thank Majerle for her suggestions about Holmes getting lost and being hit on while he's vulnerable. XD Sheer brilliance, my friend. Anyway, please review!)