He makes it to Angelos with 5 minutes to spare.
The place is packed, as it usually is, and there's a strong smell of basil pesto wafting through the air, with waiters wandering around holding customers dishes or stood by tables with notepads and pens in hand. The last time he came here had been exactly a week before Sherlock had jumped from Barts, and he can still remember exactly what they had ordered; John had forced Sherlock to order something, despite his protests of not being hungry, even though he hadn't eaten for 2 days straight, and Johns chicken had been undercooked. Instead of ordering another dish (which would have resulted in them waiting another 20 minutes), Sherlock had pushed his plate towards him and vehemently insisted that John take it. At first, he had thought he had only done it to get out of John being pushy, but when he had caught sight of Sherlock speaking to a waiter with his chicken dish in hand as they had been about to leave, he had quietly smiled to himself and felt a sudden warmth blooming in his chest.
John lets the memory sit in his mind and shifts over to let a waiter pass, who's holding a large pizza in both hands for a family of four, and he walks further inside, looking around as he tries to spot Stephen. A hand raises in a booth in the very back of the room and John grins when he sees Stephen and Molly waving him over, both of them smiling - neither of them have ordered, as they still have their menus closed in front of them, and there's a lit candle in the middle of the table, which makes Johns heart jolt when he's ripped back to another memory of Sherlock.
He shakes it off as he heads to the two and Molly stands to hug him, while Stephen simply beams at him. After John gets seated and they order their food, a low hum begins to settle around them, but it's broken when Stephen clears his throat.
"So, John…"
Johns nods as his eyes meet his, and it's then that he takes notice of his attire for the night - a black jacket over a white dress shirt and black pants; the exact same outfit Sherlock had worn on their first night here. His hair is still slicked back with those stray hairs pushed to the front, and his skin is milky white, but at first glance, it's like looking at a Sherlock mirror, which leaves John completely dumbfounded. Surely he hadn't done this intentionally?
Molly waves a hand in front of his face, "John?"
He's suddenly snapped out to hear Stephen laughing quietly at him, and his cheeks flush as he glances at her, "Mm?"
"You were staring at Stephen."
"Was I?" John frowns, ignoring the urge to push the candle over as a distraction from wanting the floor to swallow him whole, and Molly nods, her own cheeks dusted a pale pink. He pushes out a short laugh and lays a hand on the table, now directing his attention to Stephen, "Sorry, what were you saying?"
Stephen chuckles and shakes his head, "Erm, I was just wondering where your date is." He raises a brow, "I did suggest on the phone that we could double date."
Molly interjects, offering up a soft, "Wasn't she able to make it?"
John snorts as he feels his face flush, "No, uh - I don't...have a girlfriend."
At this, something seems to click in Stephens mind and he suddenly back peddles, "Oh...Sorry, John, I just...assumed - "
Johns mouth falls open.
Oh.
"Oh, no - Stephen - ha - no, I don't...I'm not…." His face is beet red now and he suddenly wants to leave the restaurant.
"I mean, it's totally fine if you are -"
"No…" He clears his throat and flashes a smile, "I know, but…I'm...no."
Molly exhales as her shoulders fall and she avoids eye contact with him, her own face changing to match his, but Stephen doesn't seem affected in the slightest, which...okay, definitely odd. John immediately thinks on the files again.
He folds his hands on the table and speaks as if they had simply been talking about the weather, "So, you're...single, then?"
Molly gives him a strange glance and John swallows. What the hell is going on? He looks at Molly, but she frowns back at him, her too having no clue what he's doing. John chokes out a laugh, and he breathes out a relieved sigh when he sees a waiter heading to their table with his hands full of their dishes, "Yes...and I have been for awhile…"
He doesn't look at Stephen as he says this, nor does he nod a thanks to the waiter as he drops off their food. But he can see Stephen still watching him from his peripheral vision, his fingers underneath his chin as his eyes study him. John feels a lump come into his throat - it's like being back in Mycrofts office, and his jumper seems to shrink in the heat of the place.
Neither men touch their orders.
Molly begins stabbing at her salad, and she's only able to get two forkfuls in before sensing the sudden tension between the two and she hastily sets down her cutlery to excuse herself for the bathroom.
John heart falls. God, what now? He begins picking at an old sticker on the edge of the table, trying to pretend Stephen isn't sat right across from him. But his presence is so demanding that it's almost impossible to ignore, and the mere fact that he looks exactly like Sherlock isn't helping. At all. He's torn in wanting to speak, but he knows he'll end up rambling, or staying silent and hoping Stephen will change the subject. Hell, maybe Molly will come back and start on a different topic entirely to ease the atmosphere down a notch.
He almost jumps when he sees Stephen unlink his hands and he grabs a dessert menu from the middle of the table, but his gaze stops on the candle and he's stilled in place, the paper poised in his hand. John steals his chance, finally feeling his face return to it's normal colour, and he opens his mouth to say the only thing that's on his mind right now,
"W-Why a candle?"
He smiles to settle his nerves, but it comes out a lot...flirtier than intended and he drops it, right as Stephen sees.
He rests his chin against his left hand and gives John, in what can only be described as, the warmest, loveliest smile he's ever seen and it leaves John utterly breathless,
"Oh, Angelo thought it would brighten up the room a bit."
He winks.
He winks.
Johns stomach curdles. He's just about to make his leave, but the restroom door opens and Molly steps out. Now he really can't run out of here.
John doesn't think he's ever had a horrible night out in his life. Not since Sherlock died anyway. His gut is tangled up with anxiety and every look Stephen gives him during the evening has the urge to take off growing stronger, but he instead pushes his food around on his plate and ignores Mollys feeble attempts at striking up anything that isn't to do with Sherlock. It's either that or work, and all of them want to avoid that as much as possible.
He feels an impossible guilt fall on his shoulders at being so rude towards the two, but his words have fallen in his throat and he can't seem to make new ones no matter how hard he thinks. Though they're both caught up in their own conversation, something about Molly going to visit her parents overseas, Stephen can't help but glance over at John to gauge his reaction. John's lost in his own world, however; with the embarrassment from earlier, the mortification of Stephen visibly flirting with him, Mycrofts riddled meeting, and the folder of Stephen stuffed in his bin at home, all he wants is to dive straight into bed and pretend this whole day had never happened.
He's so far gone that he doesn't register Molly leaving the table to pay, until he feels Stephen touch his arm, and he draws it back underneath the table, his face suddenly burning. Stephen leans forward and his voice takes on a severely different tone than it had with Molly earlier. Almost...regretful.
"I'm...sorry about tonight, John."
John glances at his left hand. As usual, it's trembling. Great. He shakes his head and puts his other hand out, "No..no, Stephen, it wasn't - "
"I need to tell you something."
John stops, "Okay…"
Stephen hesitates and his eyes lower from Johns for a moment, as if seriously contemplating something in his mind. John watches him, and soon, Stephen drags his gaze back to his. He takes a breath to speak, but they're both interrupted by Molly, who taps Stephens shoulder, bringing them both back to the restaurant.
Without another word, the two stand and follow Molly out, and John sneaks a peak at Stephen, only to see him not looking at Molly at all. He's staring up at the stars, and John snorts in disbelief.
You have got to be kidding.
The facial features, the voice, the eyes, he mannerisms and posture, the candle, the suggestion of Angelos, the choice of outfit for tonight, and now he's gazing at the stars.
This guy is seriously selling it.
He licks his lips, frowning to himself. His brain is already playing this incredibly familiar scene back and he knows exactly what's coming next.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
John decides to follow along and glances at him as Molly too tilts her head to the sky, "What is?" She asks.
John watches in utter confusion as Stephen carefully sets his gaze on his, and while his lips mouth the words, "the stars," his eyes tell an entirely different story.
You.
John swallows. He suddenly wants to kiss him.
Stephen smiles wide when he sees the expression on Johns face and he turns away to walk ahead to Molly, chuckling under his breath. John watches as he takes Mollys hand in his and he feels his heart break all over again.
What is he doing?
A cab pulls up to the curb as they get to the pavement and Stephen opens the door for Molly first, then motions for John to follow after. He glances at him, but gets in anyway, and as they pass, he swears Stephen touches his fingers at the final second.
He practically falls next to Molly and she stares in confusion, but he ignores it and stares out the window with his heart racing as Stephen climbs in the passenger seat. He gives the driver Johns address and John whips his head to stare at him.
Did his accent just...slip?
When Stephen doesn't look his way, he sighs and decides to finally give in to the night, his chin cold against the window pane. Maybe he's overtired.
That's it.
He hasn't been in a good place for a very long time, and his breakdown from the other night had probably set him back a few weeks. It's a lot easier to tell himself than the truth.
He sets his jaw when his eyes fall on the back of Stephens head. He looks so collected, so well put together, as if he hadn't been toying with Johns emotions the entire night. Or since they'd met at the cemetery. God, that hurts to realise.
John scoffs. Now he understands why Stephen has been playing as Sherlock this whole time. It had been a sick joke. An incredibly cruel, twisted way to remind him that no matter how far he thinks he's gotten, he will always remain right back at square one.
Is Molly in on it too?
Hot tears sting his eyes and he shuffles closer to the window, but neither Stephen or Molly acknowledge him for a single second. As soon as the cab stops outside his flat, he flings open the door and slams it shut, tossing a few bills at the driver before storming inside. He doesn't wait for Mrs. Hudson to greet him and instead heads up to Sherlocks room, where the file on Stephen still sits untouched in the bin.
He snatches it up and goes into the kitchen for some tea and a couple pieces of toast, already flicking through the pages as the kettle boils.
At this point, he doesn't care what he finds.
Criminal mastermind or not, Stephen is a complete asshole and he smiles to himself when he realises that, for the first time in his life, he's on Mycrofts side.
In minutes, he brings a plate of toast and his cup of tea into the living room, where he lands in his chair with the document on his knees. The clock on the wall ticks to 9pm and he settles into the cushion, his fingers already itching to get through this folder.
It's going to be a long night.