John refused to drink any wine at first until Sherlock pointed out that the more serious law he was breaking was dating his teacher, and really, Nigel wouldn't dare question the age of Sherlock's date. John gave in and realized how unbelievably expensive the wine tasted. He was used to settling for cheap beers.
John wasn't sure what to say after his outburst. He felt slightly uncomfortable under Sherlock's gaze. Sherlock, who wasn't always noticing of human reactions, picked up on the discomfort.
"Really, it's fine, John," he insisted. "I can understand how you would make that assumption."
John feigned a smile. "I didn't mean to make a scene."
"You say that as if I'd care what any of these idiots think about me. I don't. I only care what you think about me."
John took a gulp of the wine. "Have you done this before?"
"Dated? Once."
"I meant have you dated a student before." John was surprised to hear Sherlock had only dated once before.
"Never. I don't typically date, and I'm rather new at teaching."
"Then how do we go about this?"
Sherlock pursed his lips together. "I guess... we'll keep it a secret. At least for now."
John laughed. "Well yes, I understood that much. But how do we maintain a relationship when we're always locking classroom doors and pretending to talk about chemistry in dimly lit restaurants?"
Sherlock shrugged. "People are generally stupid. They won't take notice."
"Alright." John let it go, but he still harbored some uncertainties.
The food arrived, arranged prettily upon deep red plates. John had ordered a steak, while Sherlock had settled for his 'usual,' a salad topped with grilled chicken. Looking at his thin frame, John doubted Sherlock ever ate much.
"So, are you working on any cases now?" John asked between bites of tender steak. The food was expensive, but it was also good. Better than anything he'd ever imagine tasting. Sherlock, however, was merely running his fork through the salad without actually eating it. At least he was drinking the wine, which John had a few glasses of for himself.
Sherlock's eyes lit up at the question. "Yes. There's been three murders. The police think they're just suicides, but they're murders. I just need to find the common link."
"That sounds interesting," John commented.
"Really?"
John laughed. It was interesting that Sherlock was consulted by the police to solve their toughest crimes. It was even more interesting to see the sparks in his eyes when asked about a case or the way his lips turned up at the corners and he started talking faster with excitement. "Yeah, Sherlock, it's really interesting."
Sherlock sat across from him with a big goofy grin that reminded John why he had found the man so initially intriguing. "I have an idea. Let's go." He stood up quickly, pulling on the big sweeping coat and wrapping his blue scarf around the long alabaster neck.
"I... but... I haven't finished eating yet!"
"You'll live, John," Sherlock insisted.
John crossed his arms. "I thought we were eating dinner."
"We are. We did. Now we're going to do something fun."
"But..."
Sherlock grabbed John's hand, entwining their fingers together and consequently increasing the speed of John's heartbeat. "John," he pleaded in his deep voice that resonated throughout the blonde boy's body.
John's resistance melted. "Alright. Where are we going?"
"Crime scene. Hurry up."
"Excuse me?"
"While we were waiting for the food I received a text that there was another body. Let's go check it out."
"I don't know, Sherlock..." John started. "I'm not sure being around a group of cops with your semi-drunk student is the best idea."
Sherlock sat down with a thud and a pout on his face. "Fine. You're probably right." He downed another glass of wine.
It wasn't long before John had passed the semi-drunk phase onto completely intoxicated. Sherlock wasn't much better, although he seemed to have a greater resistance and it had taken him a few more glasses than John.
"Johnnnn, let's go see the crime scene!" Sherlock slurred.
John laughed. "Is that your idea of an ideal date?"
"Yes."
John laughed harder as Sherlock, swaying slightly, stood up and pulled at John, guiding him out the door. Outside the air was crisp and the sky dark. They piled into the first cab they could hail and Sherlock gave directions to the driver, insisting speed was important as they were going to solve a murder.
"Whatever, dude. Just don't throw up in my cab."
Sherlock rambled on about his murderer theories, one of which blamed his brother for all the apparent suicides. John doubted this one was likely but it appeared to be the answer Sherlock wanted most. They stumbled out of the cab in front of an apartment surrounded by police cars with flashing lights, the area taped off.
"Sherlock!" a man called, walking swiftly over. His hair was silver but his face was handsome still.
"George," Sherlock huffed in reply.
"Greg," the silver-haired man corrected. "Who's this?" He pointed at John.
"Not important," Sherlock said, waving a hand dismissively and nearly falling over. Greg had caught him. "He's with me. That's all that matters."
"Sherlock, have you been drinking?"
"So what if I had?" he slurred. "Are you going to tell my big brother?"
"Shit, Sherlock, what the hell were you thinking?"
"I was thinking the wine tasted pretty good."
"It's just a drink, mate," John cut in. "He's not driving. He's not underage. He's not succumbing to alcohol poisoning. He's fine."
"Sherlock, who the fuck is this? I'm calling Mycroft." Greg pulled out his cell phone.
"No!" Sherlock insisted, fumbling for the phone. "Don't call Mycroft! He can't know!"
"He needs to know if you're falling off the wagon, Sherlock!"
Sherlock bit his lip and looked at John. "That's not what I'm talking about."
Greg followed his gaze. "Oh? Oh. Shit, Sherlock, who the fuck is this kid?"
Sherlock scuffed his shoe on the ground. He didn't look up when he told Greg: "He's my boyfriend. Geoff, you can't tell Mycroft."
"It's Greg, and alright, don't worry. I remember what happened to the last one. Here, let me give you a ride home."
"But I want to see the body," Sherlock whined.
"You're no use to me like this," Greg insisted. He opened the door of a police car. "Sherlock, get in the fucking car."
John and Sherlock scrambled into the back as Greg talked to a woman named Sally, telling her he had to run a quick errand. John could feel her glaring at them through the window.
"Alright," Greg said, starting the engine. "Where am I dropping off the kid?"
John glanced at Sherlock. Even in his inebriated state, he knew Greg couldn't drop him off at the dorms. It would raise too many questions. Like why a boy living in freshman dorms was drunk, or why Sherlock's boyfriend was a freshman at the school he worked at.
Sherlock settled a hand over John's. "He's coming to Baker Street with me," Sherlock commanded.
Greg gave them a look through the rear-view mirror but didn't protest.
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