Staring at the clock, John was attempting to will it to go faster. His office was relatively quiet, save for Mary's quick typing at her desk. The last appointments of the day had long since gone, and other doctors had decided to call it a night and head home. John and Mary were two of the remaining five people in the whole office.

While in his trance, John pulled his phone out of his pocket and reread the last message he'd received.

Come home after work. You will have time to dress before we go out tonight. -SH

The message made John smile. He was day dreaming about what date Sherlock had cooked up for them tonight. Perhaps we'll be going to the theatre. Or possibly for a walk through the gardens. Hmm...I wonder. John pocketed the phone once more and stared at the clock again, each tick resonating loud in his ears as if to taunt him with it's snail's pace.

When staring at the clock didn't make it go any faster, John decided to work on something to try and make the time pass. Charting was tedious and dull work, but it needed doing and John couldn't think of anything better to do. He rummaged through his bottom desk drawer and pulled out several patient files that needed his attention. Can't put these off forever I suppose.

Pen scratched on page after page as John filled in all the necessary information. He found a rhythm and the activity achieved it's purpose in fully distracting him. When he finished the last file from his drawer, John looked back over at the clock. To his delight he only had 20 minutes until the end of the work day.

"Mary," he called out as he stacked the files neatly on the corner of his desk. The short, stout, blonde nurse came in and smiled at the pile of completed charts.

"Finally decided to get to those I see Doctor Watson."

He smiled back and picked up the papers to hand to her. "Pretty slow day today, no better time to get these all filed away don't you think?"

"Quite a slow day I agree. I'll get these filed away for you Doctor Watson."

"Please, call me John." Smiling, he handed over the papers. "Don't worry about filing them till Monday. I think you and I both deserve to go home a bit early tonight."

"Well thank you John. I will see you Monday morning. Have a good time on your date tonight."

"How...How did you know about that?" John was baffled, he hadn't said anything.

"You've been grinning at you phone all day, while simultaneously practically counting the minutes until you can leave. And this is the first time I've ever seen you leave early. All of that pretty much screams 'date.'" She gave John a sly smile and exited his office, closing the door behind her using her heeled foot.

Excitedly, John shrugged on his coat and made his way down to the curb where he was able to hail a cab. "Baker Street please," he told his driver. After buckling in, he pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Sherlock.

On my way home. -JW

John eagerly stared at the screen waiting for a reply, but after 3 minutes with no sign of one he put the phone down on the seat next to him and began to wonder what Sherlock was up to. I hope he's not too nervous. Maybe he's regretted asking me to go out tonight. Why isn't he responding? A vibration against his leg, made John jump.

Excited to see you.- SH

John's heart fluttered, and at once his fears were dispelled.

In the flat, Sherlock heard his phone go off with an alert that he'd received a text. He was in the shower, but expecting the message would probably be from John, he hurried out.

Stepping out of the shower, Sherlock was a god to behold. He lazily slung a towel around his lower half, which sagged immediately and only hung on by his protruding hip bones. Water droplets were rolling slowly down his pale skin, leaving little paths behind them. The cool air of the flat hit him once he opened the bathroom door, and steam rose in tendrils off of his body.

Once in his bedroom, he retrieved the phone from his nightstand and read the message from John.

On my way home. -JW

This should have made him happy, but a quick look at the time told him that John was going to be home early. That meant that Sherlock had much less time to get ready. He began running on auto-pilot, finger racing across the keyboard to send a response to John.

Excited to see you. -SH

His long fingers ran through his dripping hair as he moved to his closet. He began searching through his large assortment of suits, trying to decide which one would look just right. Settling on a deep purple shirt, black trousers and jacket, he pulled them out and gently laid them out on the bed.

In his drawer, he retrieved a pair of pants and pulled them on after drying himself quickly with his towel. Next came socks. Then trousers. He looked again at the clock and calculated that John would be home in about 5 minutes, so he dashed up the stairs to John's bedroom. Once in he eagerly picked out an outfit for John to wear. He laid each piece of clothing on John's made bed and then practically tumbled down the stairs in his haste to continue his own grooming needs.

The door to the flat opened and John called out, "I'm home."

From Sherlock's closed bedroom door, John heard a reply. "Ah excellent. Please shower and then get ready to go. We have reservations so best not to dawdle. Everything should be ready for you."

John raised an eyebrow, wondering what could possibly be 'ready for him.' Nevertheless he headed to the bathroom and stripped down for a shower.

Sherlock had left a fresh towel out for him and had set out his razor. John smiled at the gesture, this was something Sherlock had never done for him before.

Baring in mind that they had reservations, John made his shower quick and efficient. He stepped out from under the steaming water, wishing he had five more minutes, but decided he didn't want to be the reason they were late tonight. He wrapped the towel around his waist. John was a short and muscular man. His tan skin glistened underneath the water beads. Unlike Sherlock's pristine skin, John's was marked with many a scar, most prominently the one left by the bullet he'd taken in Afghanistan.

John was clean shaven and his hair was almost dry by the time he made it up to his room to get dressed. He was surprised at the outfit clearly laid out for him on his bed. He eyed it almost suspiciously. It was one of the only suits John owned, preferring to wear comfortable sweaters and jumpers. Must be going somewhere fancy.

He decided to go the easy route and dress in the clothes Sherlock had picked out for him. Clean white shirt and simple black trousers and jacket. I can handle this for one night if it will make Sherlock happy.

John walked down the stairs to the living room to find Sherlock pacing back and forth.

"Ah finally. Come on, we're going to be late." Sherlock handed John his coat and steered him out of the flat.

"Sorry, where are we going?" John could sense the urgency in Sherlock, but what was causing it, he couldn't be certain.

"I told you we have diner reservations. Ah, there's our ride now." A large black sedan had pulled up and Sherlock opened the back door, motioning for John to get in.

"Mycroft?" John asked when Sherlock was seated next to him.

"I needed more reliable transportation than cabs for our plans tonight." Sherlock's eyes frantically darted out the window and back down to his phone. John couldn't read what was on the screen, but he decided to chalk this behavior up to nervousness.

The car pulled into the parking lot of a brightly lit, and packed Indian restaurant. The driver stopped the car in front of the main entrance to let the two men out.

"7:15, correct Mr. Holmes?" The driver asked as Sherlock was exiting the vehicle.

"Yes, and not even a minute late." Sherlock's voice was low, but John could easily still hear him. What on earth has gotten into him tonight?

Sherlock offered John his arm and escorted him into the restaurant.

"Good evening," said a young hostess. "Do you have a reservation?"

"Yes, table for 2. Holmes."

The young girl poured over the list, and John could feel Sherlock's muscles slowly tensing the longer she looked at the paper.

"Just one moment sir." The girl stepped away and began talking to a much older gentleman a few feet off. Sherlock was bristling next to John, but was keeping quiet for the time being. "So sorry sir," the girl began as she returned to her station. "It appears that someone had misspelled your name. Right this way gentlemen." She smiled and led them off into the middle of the crowded dinning room.

The other patrons were all finely dressed, men in suits and women in cocktail dresses. The whole place had an air of wealth to it. The sophistication and class where intimidating John a bit, and he was suddenly very grateful that Sherlock had picked out his outfit for him.

Up on a raised stage at the far end of the restaurant, a band was playing traditional Indian music, but it was very difficult to hear over the cacophony of silverware clanking, drinks being slurped, and conversations carrying on.

"I didn't expect it to be this busy," Sherlock said to John as they both looked around.

"It's alright. It's a nice place. Bet the curry here is amazing." John reached his hand across the table and placed it gently on top of Sherlock's.

A few moments later a waiter approached the table and offered the men a glass of wine to start off their evening. Sherlock asked for the best in house sending the man quickly away.

"So, how was your day?" John attempted small talk, but Sherlock seemed distracted, he kept glancing around the room, practically glaring at some particularly loud guests. "Sherlock?"

"Sorry, what? I can barely hear you over this din." Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he spoke the last word.

"I asked how your day was."

"Fine." Sherlock's short, clipped answer made John's stomach turn. What is going on?

"Are we here...on a case?" John asked after a few moments of rather uncomfortable silence between them.

"Of course not John, why would you think that?"

"You just seem really distracted, that's all." John knew something was bothering Sherlock. Is he bored? Is he bored with me?

"Just very perturbed by all this noise. How was your day?" Sherlock was willing himself to calm down, but how could they ever be expected to enjoy themselves in such a chaotic situation?

Their waiter returned with there order, which had taken 23 minutes to be brought out (Sherlock had timed it.) John's face fell ever so slightly when his plate was set in front of him. The change in his expression was so minute that no one should have ever been able to catch it, but of course Sherlock did.

"What is it John?" The waiter had been just about to leave, but stopped at Sherlock's words.

John was surprised, he hadn't really even registered what the problem was himself yet. "It's fine," he finally managed.

"No it isn't, what is it?"

"It's the wrong curry. But it's fine really." He looked at the waiter and tried to assure him that he was not upset, but Sherlock was having none of that.

"It's not fine John. Please take this back to the kitchen and return with the proper food. And don't take your sweet time please." Sherlock's tone towards the waiter was icy to say the very least.

The waiter apologized profusely and hurried off the the kitchen to fix the mistake.

"Sherlock, you know I'm not picky. I would have been fine with that one. It really wasn't that big of a deal." Sherlock just rolled his eyes at John's statement.

Five minutes had passed with no sign of their waiter. Sherlock hadn't touched his own food yet, preferring to wait until John got his. All the while, he was getting more and more anxious about how long this dinner was taking.

"Sherlock, you can start eating without me. Your food will be cold if you don't start eating it." John was trying to calm the obviously flustered genius. But nothing he tried seemed to work.

Finally, after waiting an additional 3 minutes, the waiter brought out the correct dish and apologized again for the mix up.

They began eating, and John had been right about the curry. It was excellent. The spice level was perfect for his taste, and as he ate bite after bite he felt like he was in paradise.

But Sherlock's mood was proving to be trouble in paradise. A manager was making rounds to each table to greet his guests. John groaned a little when he approached their table and asked Sherlock how their visit had been this evening.

"Truly, this has been a disappointment." Sherlock had barely touched his food, but no longer felt he had the appetite to eat.

"I am so sorry to hear that sir. What has been the problem?"

"Where to begin? We were held up by a mistake on your reservations list. The noise in here is atrocious, and completely hinders conversation. The speed of service was remarkably slow. And when we finally did get our meals, his was wrong." Sherlock was using his deducing voice. It's speed was rapid, his breath shallow, and the last word came out with a bite to it.

"I am so sorry sir. Let me remove his meal from your bill? Will that help to absolve the situation?" The manager was fidgeting under Sherlock's scrupulous gaze, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again.

"Money is not the problem. The whole dinner experience has been ruined and you want to attempt to fix it by removing a simple charge?"

"Sherlock, please." John was aware that a few people were staring now, and all he wanted to do was get out of here.

"I am so sorry that we have ruined your evening. Your dinner is on the house tonight." The manager offered a slight bow to Sherlock, all the while wringing his hands together.

"That's really not necessary," John chimed in, feeling extremely ashamed that all of this had been done because of his meal being wrong.

"It is my pleasure sir. Anything to make up for our mistakes here tonight. We hope to see you again some other time."

"I wouldn't count on it," Sherlock mumbled as the manager slinked away to tell the waiter not to give the men a bill.

Back in the car, Sherlock seemed a bit more relaxed, although he did keep checking his phone.

"For what it's worth, the curry there was delicious," John said, with the intention of making Sherlock laugh. But this didn't make Sherlock laugh. He did, however, reach over and take John's hand in his own.

The rest of the car ride was silence. John looked out the window and saw that they were turning into the parking lot of a cinema. This should be fine. He can relax while watching a movie certainly.

Sherlock looked at John with a smile as they walked, hand in hand into the lobby of the cinema. Smiling, that's a good sign. Sherlock left John for a moment to pick up his pre-purchased tickets for a movie he had thought they'd both enjoy. When he returned to John he asked "Mystery movie alright with you I hope?"

John smiled back. "Of course. But you know, the entire time I'm going to be thinking how you could have figured it out within the first five minutes." They walked towards the theatre door numbered 6. They had made great timing, and just found their seats when the lights began to dim.

John raised the arm rest from between them and cuddled up next to Sherlock, who placed his arm around the doctor's shoulders. The lights went out and the trailers began.

Sherlock had only accounted for 5 trailers, and there had been 8. This would put them at least 15 minutes late. At least! He quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. The tiny screen blazed white, causing a few people to groan behind him. John tried to snuggle closer, hoping to discourage Sherlock's apparent fixation on his mobile.

Sherlock wasn't focusing on the movie, it had only taken him 4 minutes to figure out the entire plot and now he was bored. Bored and anxious about the time. He glanced down at John, who was eagerly watching the screen, and decided to sneak another peak at the time on his phone.

Again, the people seated behind Sherlock were momentarily blinded by the flash of white light from the phone's screen. John elbowed Sherlock in the side, hoping he would get the point and NOT do it again. Unfortunately this was not the case. Sherlock checked the time again 11 minutes later, and then again 4 minutes after that.

The people behind them were audibly upset, and to John's horror, a theatre attendant came up to Sherlock and asked him to step out for a moment.

Even in the dark, John could see the confused look on Sherlock's face, so he pushed him up and walked out behind him and the man from the theatre.

In the hall the attendant addressed Sherlock. "Sir, it is a distraction and an interruption to use mobile phones in the movie. It's unfair to the other moviegoers, and our cinema simply does not tolerate it. We've received multiple complaints and we are going to have to ask you to leave."

Sherlock fixed the man with a deadly gaze. "You expect me to leave?"

"Yes sir, it's company policy."

"You are a waste of my time. I don't want to stand here and talk to an imbecile. Get me your manager."

"I am the manager. Please, don't make me call security."

"Come on Sherlock, let's just go." John was exhausted at this point. Whatever had put Sherlock on edge, must be steadily growing worse. The last thing they needed was to be arrested tonight. He took Sherlock's hand firmly in his and walked decisively toward the exit. Sherlock followed, thankfully, with little resistance.

Outside the theatre, they had to bide their time waiting for Mycroft's driver to return, he hadn't expected them out of the movie for at least another 45 minutes.

"Are you sure everything's alright Sherlock?" John's voice was barely more than a whisper. He didn't want to further provoke Sherlock.

"Aside from the restaurant fiasco and being thrown out of the movie, yes everything is great." Sherlock's sarcasm was usually sexy to John, but that was because it was usually directed at someone else.

"Let's just go home Sherlock," John finally said after he'd sat in silence for a few moments watching Sherlock pace the pavement.

"But our night is not over." Sherlock looked down at John and saw the tired expression he wore. He sank down on the bench next to John. "Why do you want to go home?"

"Because it's supposed to be fun Sherlock. I don't know what your problem is tonight, but you are being more of a hard-ass than I've ever seen you. At first I thought you were just nervous, but now I'm not so sure what to think. That waiter probably spit in my food. I've spent less time talking to you tonight than you have spent talking to other people. And we've been thrown out of the cinema. I don't even get to find out who the murderer was."

"There was no murderer. She's alive and living in Australia. She's been sending the flowers."

"Thanks for spoiling it," John said, rolling his eyes "Why have you been acting like this tonight?"

"I...I wanted tonight to be...perfect." Sherlock hung his head low, his curls falling forward to shield his face.

"Sherlock..." John placed his hand against Sherlock's back. "I know you wanted it to be perfect. But I told you earlier, not to stress this much about it. We could have gone anywhere tonight and I would have been happy as long as it was with you. Hell, we could have stayed in, ordered take-away and watched crap telly and it would have been fine. Don't overthink this Sherlock. Just be yourself."

John continued to rub Sherlocks back until he spotted their lift.

"Would you be willing to engage in the final activity of the evening with me? I will do my best to simply enjoy the experience."

John couldn't help but smile. "I guess I'll give you another chance. But you better have fun with this one."

The car brought them to a grand park, lit all over with ornate street lamps. Several people were walking through the greenery, and a little ways of, John could see one of those carriage-for-hires.

Sherlock took John's hand and led him in the direction of the carriage. As they closed the distance, John's heart began to pound with excitement. He had always wanted to take one of these rides, and now he was finally going to, and in the company of Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock was talking to the driver, so John walked up to the horse, a huge brown and white Clydesdale, and began stroking his muscled chest. The horse nickered slightly at John's touch. "You are such a beauty, aren't you?" John said to the horse as he stroked it's muzzle. "Yes, such a beauty. What's your name huh?" John looked at the harness around the horse's front and spotted, what he assumed was, the horse's name etched into the leather. "Spirit. What a wonderful name. You really are fantastic."

"Coming John?" Sherlock was looking quizzically at John. He had never really taken John for an animal lover. Maybe he could like dogs, even cats, but horses? That was a surprise even to Sherlock.

With a final pat on Spirit's muzzle, John climbed into the carriage and cuddled up next to Sherlock. The driver gave them a blanket to keep them warm, and then climbed up into his seat, and began the ride.

Sherlock was so warm and comfortable next to John that he was perfectly at ease, and his mind seemed quieter. He was stroking John's arm and he would lean down ever now and again to place a kiss on the top of John's head.

The autumn air was crisp, but not cold. John had never thought anything like this could ever happen to him. In a grip of romance and passion, he pulled himself up so that he was looking Sherlock in the eye and then threw himself into a kiss.

Their lips met, and both men, though exhausted, had been waiting for a moment like this for the past few days. Much like their first kiss, this one was controlled by passion. Their lips crashed together with no rhythm. John ran his tongue along Sherlock's lower lip, and he felt Sherlock's mouth open ever so slightly in response. But when John didn't press into the opening, Sherlock tried his hand at opening John's mouth instead.

Replicating John's licking motion, Sherlock was delighted by the little moan it elicited from John, and the opening of John's mouth to Sherlock's tongue. He pushed inside that mouth, wanting to taste everything about John. His tongue explored, and John's tongue did little to get in the way. This was new territory for Sherlock, and John wanted him to be able to explore and get the feel for it all on his own.

Sherlock began pulling away from the kiss, but John stopped him by biting down on Sherlock's plump lower-lip. Sherlock closed his eyes and groaned at the stimulation. Such a small amount of contact area, but the feeling sends shivers down my spine. This is a high, the likes of which I've never seen.

John slowly released Sherlock's lip from his bite. Then he settled back down, cuddling with his date once more.

"See what I mean Sherlock? It's about the romance. It's about having fun."

Sherlock could only hum in agreement.

Author's Note:

So longest chapter so far. :) I hope you all enjoy it. I really wanted to show Sherlock really overthinking their date, to the point in which it became unbearable to John. Keep in mind that Sherlock is completely new to all of these experiences. I have to thank my friend Johnnie once again for story inspiration and help in deciding on which way to go with this part of the story.

As always, I would love if you could leave me a review. Thanks to Larissa Baptista, MaximumNovak, Shiloh26, ZurethaMetal, dracomalfoylover666, fangirlobsessive, firekeeper75, imaginair101, HontePlonte, Wheeze121, clara56, lilithanders and mayaamendoza for favoriting and following. And a special thanks to fangirlobsessive and MaximumNovak for leaving me reviews.