"I'm not entirely sure how to respond to that. I suppose you're not unattractive yourself. I mean, obviously we're very different physically, and you dress nicer than I do. I mean that sort of thing doesn't seem to really bother you though. Not that it should. I feel a little underdressed now yet you knew where we were going and decided it would be okay to go anyway. So that's a nice thing to do, I suppose? Umm, anyway. I'll share the red wine with you. Got to branch out from the beer every once in a while. I think I'll have the spaghetti lobster." He closed his menu too and finally lifted his eyes, tentatively meeting Sherlock's, aware he'd been rambling inherently.

"Sorry for the rambling. I just. It's very nice here. We don't usually do this. Well not exactly like this. I'm also pretty sure our waiter thinks we're dating. Also my hand kind of hurts. I'm also aware I upset you earlier too. I just feel like an arse."

This time his jittery vocalisations were stopped when Sherlock reached out and took his hand that was drumming away on the table. The action added to the aforementioned strangeness of the evening and he was beginning to wonder whether the blood loss from earlier was making him delusional. He looked at their hands together and couldn't help when he flinched slightly when Sherlock began rubbing soothing circles into the back of his hand with his thumb.

"I'm very aware you're acting extremely out of character. I think even Lestrade would notice. The fact you're uncomfortable with me looking at you for extended periods of time, coupled with your feelings of inadequacy and thanking me for coming here with you dressed as you are suggest you believe this to be a potentially romantic endeavour. That and the repeated assertion that "we don't usually do this" and that the restaurant is of a higher quality than usual. You think that I've taken you here as a show of sexual prowess and romantic interest." He said, keeping his face straight, not giving anything away as he studied his features intensely for his response.

The look Sherlock was giving him suddenly felt like he was burning his soul. He'd had it all but beaten out of him as a teenager that even being close friends with a man was wrong. Not to mention the idea of romantic intentions between two men. He took a few deep breaths and willed his breathing to slow down; for it to feel less like he was suffocating.

"How long have you known Italian?" He asked eventually, dropping his eyes to the menu again but not moving his hand away from Sherlock's soothing ministrations.

"3 years. I found myself needing it for a case; naturally. It's proven very useful. Florence has a lot of fascinating natural features if you're into that sort of thing."

The waitress walked over and smiled at them as she waited for Sherlock to finish speaking. He quickly pulled his hand from Sherlock's and placed it in his own lap nervously. The waitress twisted her hair around her fingers nervously. The 30-something was definitely what he would class as his "type". Classically beautiful and blonde and her uniform hinted at an attractive figure. He was certain that Sherlock would have worked that out too. Their order was relayed and he avoided looking at "Charlene" , after she had touched his arm more than once and for far too long.

"She's single and fond of you; a lot of cats." Sherlock said when she had barely turned her back to leave their table.

"Thanks for that mate." he rolled his eyes and gave him a smile. He tapped his fingers on the table again whilst he waited for their drinks. The lack of cases also meant that their usual positing on the theories and motive weren't present and their usual conversation topics non-existent. He realised that he didn't know much about Sherlock other than through their work and what Mycroft had told him.

"To unease and the human condition." The detective spoke and they clinked their glasses together once their red wine had been delivered and decanted. John chuckled and took a sip, not entirely surprised when it was one of the best wines he had ever tasted. They'd often joked that his palate was only suited to ghastly tin can concoctions as Sherlock eloquently called his regular beers.

"Oh yeah. Before you think I didn't notice the way that chap was smiling. Di romantico?" John asked when the silence was making him feel uncomfortable again.

Sherlock twitched his nose minutely before pausing for a few seconds longer than usual.

"Somewhere quiet and in the back."

The pause was interesting because it was rare for Sherlock to pause before answering. It was indicative of a lie. He also wasn't an idiot. There was no way that the word "romantico" was so far removed from the similar English term. It wasn't like Sherlock to lie to him in casual settings, so he made a note to discuss it with him at another time when he wasn't feeling so self conscious.

The week had been more difficult than usual and he'd been looking forward to the warm comforting haze of alcohol to numb everything for him. The red wine wasn't disappointing, but he also hadn't expected to share the evening and his drinking time with Sherlock at an expensive restaurant.
"Alright Sherlock, seeing as you seem so confident that Charlene is fond of me, who would you take home from here?" He asked, using it as an excuse to sneak a look at the patrons and employees around them. The atmosphere was pleasant with the restaurant being just over half full. No one seemed to have recognised them; thankfully.

"What a fascinating turn of events. I admire your attempt to deviate the conversation from yourself to me. In light of the day we've had, I'll humour you. Our waitress is unbearably drab, and uninteresting. The two women on our left as we walked in are both married but carrying on extra-marital affairs with each other's husbands that they think the other doesn't know about. I've been considering the idea of mentioning it to them on our way out. The lone female at the bar keeps looking over here but given the way she's dressed and her beverage of choice I'd say you're more her type. So, I think I'd rather go home with you. You're more interesting, plus you're house trained." He finished, taking a sip of his wine.

John could feel the blood rushing to his face and he stood up quickly, cursing himself as he knocked the table upon standing. Luckily the drinks remained upright, but the blood red liquid in them resembled a stormy seascape.
"I just need…" He started but then trailed off when he wasn't entirely sure what he needed in the moment, other than for the world to open up and swallow him whole.

"Take all the time you need;" Sherlock said, nodding in his direction.

The restaurant bathroom wasn't too far from where they were seated and he was thankful that it was empty. He crashed through the door, leaning on the sink, his breaths coming faster and faster. He turned on the tap and splashed the ice-cold water on his face.
"Get your shit together Watson." He growled into the reflection before him. The next few breaths were also ragged, but he managed to get them under control and they eventually slowed to his normal pace. This was an unusually extreme reaction for a situation such as this, and the only person he'd usually call on to help him would be Sherlock, but somehow it just felt wrong.

Due to there being more love for this than I expected, I'm hoping to post the new chapter in a week or so. Thank you for all the love 3

Due to there being more love for this than i expected, i'm hoping to post the new chapter in a week or so. Thank you for all the love 3