"You're looking for a man, 6 foot 2 or 3, about 14 stone, who works as a waiter or cook."
"How on Earth can you possibly know his occupation?" Anderson shot at Sherlock from across the room.
"Lestrade, if you do not remove Anderson from my presence, I will. And it will not be by means of the front door." Sherlock was on the floor, peering through his small magnifying glass at a barely visible footprint.
"Go out and get some air Anderson."Lestrade barked. Before Anderson could argue, Lestrade cut him off with "Now." The forensic scientist sulked down the stairs and out the front door.
John felt slightly bad for the man who had just received a scolding. But then he remembered all the times that Anderson had teased or taunted Sherlock, and his empathy quickly faded away. John had never felt quite so protective of Sherlock as he did right now.
Lestrade leaned down and used a low voice to ask Sherlock, "How do you know his occupation?"
"His shoes are slip-resistant, required by most food establishments. His weight would suggest a physical labor job. The two highest possibilities would be cook or waiter." Sherlock stood up and with a wave of his coat, turned and headed for the door. "Come along John."
"Is that is?" Lestrade began to follow Sherlock.
"I just gave you the gender, height, weight, and occupation of your killer. What exactly are they paying you for?" With that, Sherlock was down the stairs and back into the street with his coat flapping behind him. John apologized to Lestrade and quickly followed Sherlock outside.
Another cab ride. Sherlock sat in silence in the dark car, his fingers steepled under his chin. He was thinking.
John knew not to interrupt him during his train of thought. So he just sat back and waited for Sherlock to emerge from his trance-like state.
"Is it customary for the recipient of dinner to give the person who paid sex?" Sherlock finally said.
John choked. He had been under the impression that Sherlock had been thinking about the crime scene they had just left. "Sorry? What?" he finally managed.
"I was under the impression that most men expect to be given sexual favor in exchange for their purchase of dinner. Is this information incorrect?"
"Well a lot of blokes yes...But you don't have..." A furious blush crept across John's tan skin. "I'm not one of them."
"You don't want to have sex with me?" Sherlock's voice was normal. He was holding in an emotion he didn't often feel, self-doubt.
John was sure that he was scarlet. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "It's not that I don't want to Sherlock, it's just..."
One little word, just, and John watched Sherlock's face fall.
"I want you to feel comfortable Sherlock. It's not a matter of expectation or reciprocation. Let's just let things happen. Don't worry about what most people do. After all, you and I are definitely not most people." John took Sherlock's hand in his. He could feel Sherlock's pulse pounding through his thin pale skin. The usually near-silent breathing that came from Sherlock, was now hitching in his chest. "If you want to recite pi aloud, I'd love to hear it. I'm sure it's a fascinating experience." John gave Sherlock's hand a slight squeeze.
Sherlock's eyes fluttered shut and he gripped John's hand tight. He hadn't done this aloud since he was a child. But he knew it would help him to calm down, so he entered into the grand doorway of his mind palace and went to his storage space for pi.
Deep breath, head held high, concentrate, now begin to speak. "3.14," Sherlock began, his voice breaking slightly. "15926535897932384626433832795028841976939937510582097494459230781640628620899862803482534211706798214808651328230664709384460...I can't...I can't recall the 130th digit." He had rattled off these 129 numbers in about a minute and a half. John was speechless.
Sherlock's heart rate had come down and his grip on John's hand loosened a little. He sat listening to John breath, keeping his eyes closed until he counted a satisfactory number of beats per minute.
When his eyes slowly blinked open he looked over to John, who reached his free hand up, placed it on the back of Sherlock's head and pulled Sherlock so that their faces were inches apart. "A fascinating experience indeed," he said before pressing his lips gently to Sherlocks.
The only sounds were the hum of the car and the scrape of fabric on fabric as the men's lips met. Sherlock breathed in deeply, savoring the smell of John's aftershave, which was fast becoming his new favorite smell. He could feel the slight scrape of the stubble that was left by John's electric razor against his cheek. Warmth seemed to radiate from John's whole body, and Sherlock welcomed it.
The kiss broke as John pulled back slightly. He let out a hot breath against Sherlock's face. Although it had been a closed-mouth kiss, Sherlock's lips were puffy and slightly reddened from John's passion.
Sherlock insisted on paying for the cab ride as they pulled onto the familiar street. Once that was squared away, they headed upstairs into their shared flat.
Author's Note:
Hi guys! I hope you're all enjoying this story so far. I'm really excited to get them through their first official date *squee*! I promise that at some point there will be more *ahem* adult themes, but I really want to build their relationship first.
Also, I've read on a couple of sites (mostly pinterest and tumblur) about a piece of head canon which I absolutely love and so incorporated it into the story. Basically it says that as a kid Sherlock would recite as many digits of pi as he could in order to deal with anxiety. I think this is something that is so characteristically Sherlock that I just had to put it in my story.
Let me know what you guys think. I've mapped out pretty much the whole story, and now its just about actually writing it. I am about halfway through with chapter 9 though, so update will be coming soon!
Thanks again for reading.