I forgot to thank arty diane for the lovely prompt in the previous chapter. This one goes to hatondog. Please keep the suggestions coming—they're my favorite to write!
John straightened Sherlock's tie. "Don't look so nervous. This is just practice."
"Nervous? I'm not nervous. Who said I was nervous?" Sherlock took the tie himself, letting it rest a bit off-center. He looked around their flat, amazed at the transformation. No vials or tubes; no paperwork or body parts. Just organized, clean, albeit eclectic furniture situated at perfect geometric angles. In the center, John had set up a small table with an off-white table cloth, a red taper, and their chairs.
"No, of course not." John cleared his throat, attempting to hide his amusement. Tonight was rehearsal for an imminent undisclosed case necessity, as Sherlock had aptly put it, and John was glad to help—not because he particularly wished to be useful, but because, goodness, he was going to witness how Sherlock Holmes naturally acted on a date.
"Now remember, I'll give you pointers along the way, but you take the initiative. Let's see what you know on your own," John said, knocking on their own door and stepping out of the way. Another knock quickly followed, and he looked at Sherlock to respond.
The detective took a deep breath and strode to the door, letting in Mrs. Hudson.
"Hello," he said flatly.
"Hello, Sherlock."
John cleared his throat. "Let her in; take her coat." Sherlock flinched as though he should have known as much and allowed his date to enter.
"I trust your commute was fine," Sherlock tried.
"Yes, yes. That cab fare is always going up, isn't it? Such a shame. And the weather, it's been dreadful lately, but we can't be surprised, can we? I will say, though, traffic wasn't too—"
"Boring."
"Sherlock!" John bit, sinking into the couch. He'd promised to be as unobtrusive as possible, but goodness.
"What? Her tale is obviously false; look at the way her hand flutters about. Not to mention that I know she lives just downstairs."
"I'm roleplaying," Mrs. Hudson quipped.
"And you contradicted yourself. Saying the commute was fine then complaining about all the ways it wasn't. Ridiculous."
"People make small talk on first dates, Sherlock. It's what they do."
"Small talk. What a waste. Why can't people just get to the meat of it?"
"You said you wanted to practice. Go on."
Sherlock sighed, sitting in his chair, stretching his neck, staring at the ceiling. Mrs. Hudson pulled out her own chair, obviously peeved, but neither she nor John said anything. They had to make progress.
"So…" Sherlock's words, deep and lethargic, rolled to the floor. "How was the weather?"
"We already talked about weather."
He threw his hands up and looked at John, desperate.
The doctor offered a pitiful smile. They'd be here longer than he thought. "You're doing fine. Keep on. And maintain eye contact; that proves you're engaged in the conversation. You should have pulled her chair for her, too. Manners, remember? I asked you to keep them in your mind palace. But you and I can practice small talk later; let's move into the deeper part, alright? Give her a compliment."
Sherlock closed his eyes, only opening them again when he seemed ready to continue. "Your housekeeping skills are quite proficient."
Mrs. Hudson blushed. "Sherlock Holmes, I'm not your—"
"Try again," John said over her. "A physical compliment, maybe."
"There's no reason to praise something for which someone has no control—"
"Sherlock."
He sighed, locked his eyes with Mrs. Hudson's. This was hard, requiring a greater deal of concentration than he had imagined. Normal social cues were lost on him; he was aware as much. Grasping something as complex as a date was perhaps the hardest lesson John had endeavored to teach him. He looked back at Mrs. Hudson, who was clearly losing patience.
"Your eyes are quite exquisite. The fibers have a fascinating entanglement; they appear to mingle like spider webs, momentarily catching the light and reflecting back the most delicate of browns."
Mrs. Hudson and John stared.
Sherlock fidgeted. "Did I do it wrong?"
John involuntarily let out a laugh. "No. No, you didn't. I didn't know you had…well, wow." He placed two plates on the table.
Sherlock pushed the food away. "In preparation, John, I read many of your emails to former girlfriends. Quite poetic. I'm at quite a loss as to why none proved successful."
Mrs. Hudson laughed and dug into her well-deserved dinner.