"So how does this go exactly? Sherlock was standing in the living room, freshly showered, hair (somewhat) brushed, nicely shaven, and in a gorgeous suit, when John was coming down the stairs.

John stopped dead on the last step. His mouth agape. "You look...amazing Sherlock." While people often said things like this out of courtesy or habit, when John said it tonight, he meant it.

The buttons on Sherlock's deep red shirt were straining slightly as the fabric clung to his chest. His black trousers were straight and neat, but hung low on his hip bones. His jacket was also black and pressed to perfection. Even his black leather shoes were freshly shined and had the neatest knots John had ever seen.

When Sherlock heard the compliment he shyly looked down and adjusted his shirt. "You look nice, as always." Sherlock returned the compliment, and he did mean it, but if John hadn't said it first, he wouldn't have even thought to say it.

John wore a loose fitting, but clean and pressed light blue button down shirt, tan trousers, a tan suit jacket, and brown leather shoes. He heard Sherlock's compliment, but he was still drinking in the slight of the tall detective.

The sound of Sherlock clearing his throat brought John back to the present. "Oh right. Thank you. It was short notice, but I managed to get us a table at a nice little restaurant. Our cab should be here in a few moments. Shall we go down to the curb?"

The cab picked them up 5 minutes later, Sherlock slid in to the darkened back seat, followed by John. In the silence Sherlock stared out the window into the black sky of London. 3.1415926535897923284...

"What are you thinking about?" John asked when he noticed Sherlocks lips moving slightly.

"What?" Sherlock's train of thought was broken at the sound of John's voice. "I was uh..." Sherlock bite his lip. "Reciting digits of pi."

John raised one eyebrow. "Can I ask why?"

Sherlock hesitated a moment, he had never divulged this little habit of his with anyone, with the exception of Mycroft. "I uh... I use it as a way to deal with anxiety."

"Oh. How many digits do you have memorized?" John was under the impression that this was the most personal thing Sherlock had shared with him yet.

"129." Sherlock felt relief that John didn't seem to find this habit odd or unhealthy. Rather, he seemed to be more impressed by it than anything. "Everytime I get to the 130th digit, I can't seem to get it, it's perpetually slipping out of my mental fingertips." His brows furrowed in frustration at the thought.

"That is incredible," John said with audible sincerity.

"Really? How many do you know?"

Now John felt like a proper idiot. At first he thought of lying and upping the number to something a bit less sad, but then he worried Sherlock might test him. Honesty is the best policy after all. "Just the standard 3.14." He waited for Sherlock to laugh at him but when no laughter, and not even a condesending smile, came John felt some comfort. "But Sherlock, you don't have to be anxious. We're just having dinner." He reached over and placed his hand on top of Sherlock's, running his thumb across the cool pale skin.

When the car pulled up to restaurant, John and Sherlock eased out of the back seat. John leaned against the car and pulled out his wallet to pay the driver. When the fare was squared away, he rushed up and grabbed the door to the restaurant before Sherlock got a chance. "After you," he said with a motion of his hand.

"This is the place we came on the night that we first met," Sherlock noted.

"Yes we never got to actually eat anything if you recall. Too busy chasing down a murderous cabbie."

"You know Angelo will be pleased that his deductions about us were correct?"

"I thought he might."

"Sherlock!" Angelo's voice boomed as he came to the hostess podium. "You actually going to eat this time?" His laugh was like a drum beating and it echoed around the entire restaurant. "Ah John, I see the leg's doing better."

John nodded politely. "I called ahead for a table for 2." John really wanted to get on with the date portion of the evening.

"Ah yes, I got it all set up for ya. Right this way." Angelo led them to a small secluded two-seater table that he'd adorned with a single candle. He smiled as the two men sat down. "So date night is it?" Angelo was absolutely incapable of hiding his own excitement.

"Yes actually,"John responded with confidence. "Our first. Might we have a bottle of your finest red wine?"

"I knew it! I said it from day one! Didn't I say it! Oh congratulations! I'm so happy for you two!" Angelo was beaming, and although John desperately wanted to be alone with Sherlock, he had to admit that Angelo's enthusiasm was infectious. Even Sherlock was grinning. "Alright gentlemen, I'll be right back with that vino."

Sherlock turned his attention back to John as Angelo walked away. He was marveling at John's confidence. He had worried that John would be embarrassed or ashamed of him, but John never seemed to fail to surprise him.

Dinner was going smoothly. Sherlock was lecturing John about the electrical conductivity of various types of flesh, including human. John was trying to keep up and remain interested, not because he particularly cared to learn the information, but because it was something that Sherlock seemed fascinated by.

Suddenly, Sherlock stopped his lesson. "I'm sorry, I'm being rude."

John's jaw practically hit the table. Not only had Sherlock stopped, voluntarily, mid-rant, but he had actually apologized.

"No, no, don't worry about it. I find you extremely interesting."

"Really? That's not the response I usually elicit from people."

"The amount of interest I feel towards you, most people can't elicit from me."

Both men looked down at their plates, slightly embarrassed, but flushed with emotion.

Angelo came back to their table holding a plate with a large slice of tiramisu and 2 spoons. "Desert to share. On the house."

"Thank you Angelo. This is very nice of you," John said and Sherlock nodded his agreement.

Over desert, Sherlock asked John questions about his early life, such as schooling, career aspirations, and first romantic endeavors. This was the first time that Sherlock had ever explicitly asked John about himself, he normally just deduced everything.

"Sorry Sherlock, I'm not used to this type of conversation with you. I would have thought you would have figured out all of these things already."

"Honestly? I have. Almost all of my deductions have been correct I must say." Sherlock never could help himself if he had the opportunity to show off.

"So why let me go on like this and bore you with information you already know?" John asked, feeling slightly silly that he had been talking for so long.

"I was attempting what most people engage in as normal conversation. Did I get it wrong?"

"No, no. You were doing very well. But you don't have to try and be someone else. You can be yourself around me. I like you the way you are."

They finished off desert and Angelo came by to drop off the check. Sherlock reached out, but John grabbed it first. "I took you out on the date, I pay the bill," John said, slipping his credit card into the check holder.

"Thank you for dinner John," Sherlock said in the cab ride home. "It was a very pleasant experience."

"You're welcome." John was feeling a pleasant buzz from the wine, and drunk on Sherlock's company.

The cab lit up when Sherlock's phone buzzed with a text message. The message was from Detective Inspector Lestrade.

Third murder. Same pattern. No prints, DNA, or sign of break in. Ideas?

Sherlock's fingers flew across his keyboard.

Be there in 15. Make sure Anderson hasn't touched anything. - SH

"Everything alright?" John asked.

"Another game has begun my dear Watson. Change of plans driver." Sherlock leaned forward and began instructing the driver on the quickest route to get to the crime scene. The driver was giving him a dirty look and quite plainly ignoring him. "Why do these drivers never take my directions?" Sherlock asked as he flopped back down against his seat.

"Because most people don't like being told how to do their job." John smirked, but he knew Sherlock was right, if the cabbie would follow Sherlock's route, they would be there at least 5 minutes earlier.

"Well if they're doing it wrong, someone should tell them." Sherlock put his hand on John's knee. "Are you alright with this?"

"Of course. No date sounds better than dinner and a crime scene."

Author's Note:

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. As always, I'd ask if you could please review. Also, I hope fans of the show remember Angelo from the very first episode. I have to give credit to the idea of writing him into the story to my best friend Johnnie. Thanks Johnnie for the awesome, and adorable, idea! Hope you all enjoyed!