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„Do you really have to do this, John?”
John sighs audibly. “Yes.”
“But why?”
“Because today’s Valentine’s Day, Sherlock.”
“It’s a day invented by sellers in order to give consumers another reason to spend their money on tedious things they are likely to throw out afterwards.”
“I didn’t buy anything for her. Besides, I’ll only be on the date for a couple of hours. You’ll survive without me.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it.”
John pinches the back of his nose before retrieving to his room to decide what to wear. He leaves a sulking Sherlock on the sofa.
*
Forty-five minutes later he returns to the living room, freshly showered and fully dressed. Sherlock, who’s still in the exact same spot on the sofa, glances at him.
“What?”
“You’re sure you want to wear this jumper?”
“Yes. It’s cold outside.”
John can practically feel Sherlock furrowing his eyebrows. “You’re about to go on a date, you should at least wear a shirt.”
“You do realise that you don’t have a say in this matter,” John replies but checks himself in the mirror nonetheless. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone for such a Christmassy jumper. Maybe he should show his flatmate that he can have a sense of fashion if he wants to.
“Better?” he asks after changing into his only black shirt. It sits a bit too tightly, considering John bought it ages ago, but he doesn’t really mind.
Sherlock opens his eyes, probably just noticing that John had even left. He doesn’t say anything though, his eyes piercing into John.
John looks up and down his body. “What’s wrong now?”
Sherlock clears his throat. “Nothing. It’s ... better,” he finally says.
John doesn’t have time to be confused right now – he’s already late for the date.
*
At the restaurant, everything is covered in pink balloons and red roses. There are so many candles on the table that the waitress can barely place the glasses of wine onto it. The girl he met on an online dating website seems nice. They talk for a while and John tells her everything about his work with Sherlock. She seems impressed.
“Yeah, well. That was how I first met him. He’s really not at all how he’s described in the papers. He’s –“ John’s thoughts wander to Sherlock for a moment and he feels his face turning into a grin – “Brilliant.”
“Wow,” she replies. “Is he hetero or why didn’t it work out between you guys?”
John starts to giggle, because the amount of people assuming them to be a couple is getting ridiculous.
“It’s not like that between us. It never has been. He’s just not like that.”
But she won’t take it. “Look, I really don’t want to get in between whatever it is you two are having. You clearly like him more than you admit. I’m sorry.”
And then she leaves. John stays, because he went to some extraordinary length to get this reservation, and he wants to try this bloody steak that everyone’s been recommending to him. Only, he doesn’t want to sit by himself in a restaurant on Valentine’s Day. He retrieves his phone from his pocket and texts the one person who’s responsible for his sudden solitude.
The reply comes at once.
On my way. SH
*
When Sherlock arrives, some heads in the restaurant turn. That git is wearing a purple shirt and a tailored suit which he definitely wasn’t wearing before, John notices. He has to swallow when Sherlock approaches the table.
“Evening, John. I think you’ve set up a new record tonight.”
“Shut up.”
“What happened? Didn’t she enjoy the balloons and the candles?”
“I dunno. Apparently I’ve talked a bit too much about you, and a bit too less about her.” He shrugs his shoulders. She was kind of boring, anyway.
Sherlock seems pleased.
“So I guess you’re stuck with me after all,” he adds.
His best friend doesn’t reply.
“Is this too weird? We can leave if you want, but I’ve been meaning to try this steak for so long. I don’t want to waste the opportunity.”
“Why would it be weird? We go out for dinner all the time.”
“Yeah, I know. But it’s different today, isn’t it?”
Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Only because this day is known as a love holiday doesn’t make it any different from any other day.”
“Fine, what do you want to eat then?”
*
The steak is delicious, and John enjoys himself more than he likes to admit. Spending time with Sherlock is natural. He doesn’t have to pretend to be someone else; or only show his best side. Sherlock is the only person who truly knows him – his good and his bad side. And, more importantly, who likes him in spite of it.
“And what did Molly reply?”
“That she hoped I didn’t need the foot to satisfy a fetish,” Sherlock says.
They start to giggle simultaneously.
“Just out of curiosity, what would you do if this was a real date?”
“Er, well, I’ve got my methods.”
“Your methods?”
“My flirting methods, you know.” Talking to Sherlock about flirting is making John uncomfortable. He shifts in his chair.
“Show me.”
John arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
“Obviously,” Sherlock replies and leans back in his chair.
“Okay, fine.” John gets up from his chair and lifts it, placing it closer to Sherlock’s and sitting back down.
“So, when I like a woman, I compliment her on her looks.” He looks at Sherlock, thinking about what he could compliment him on. There seems to be too much.
He decides to settle on something neutral. “You look wonderful tonight.”
Something in Sherlock’s expression shifts. John decides to not dwell on this part any further and looks down.
“Then I take her hand –“ he carefully takes Sherlock’s hand into his own and starts to draw tiny circles with his finger – “and I try to convey my attraction with my eyes.”
He looks up from their intertwined fingers. Sherlock seems frozen. Well, he was the one who suggested this, so John doesn’t feel too sorry for him.
John stares into Sherlock’s eyes – those distractingly gorgeous eyes – and forgets what he was supposed to do next. He’s still holding his friend’s hand, which feels warm against his own. Sherlock doesn’t even blink.
After a while, John realises that they’ve been staring at each other for longer than strictly necessary, so he retrieves his hand and pushes his chair back into its initial position.
“So, what do you think?” He tries to ask in a normal tone.
Sherlock clears his throat. “It’s quite... effective.”
John doesn’t have time to wonder what the hell that’s supposed to mean, because the waitress arrives asking if John and his boyfriend would like some desert. As usual, Sherlock doesn’t comment on it. John decides that she probably wouldn’t believe his protest anyway, and remains silent.
“Shall we leave?” He asks instead.
Sherlock nods but looks at John intensely, probably thinking about something more profound than whether he would’ve liked to stay for desert after all.
*
They decide to walk home. The sky is clear and they can see the stars. Is it really that late already, John wonders. He seems to forget the time when he’s with his flatmate.
“Do you still find them beautiful?”
Sherlock looks at him in confusion.
“I mean the stars. You once said they were beautiful.”
“You remember that?”
“Yes. So?”
“I do. They’re fascinating,” Sherlock replies, but his eyes are fixed on John.
John clears his throat. “They are, aren’t they?”
*
At home, Sherlock declares that it’s still too early to go to bed. He sits down in his chair and John, as usual, follows him. Whiskey glasses in hand, they share a comfortable silence and John wonders, not for the first time, if the girl had a point earlier.
“John? I’m glad that your date decided to leave,” Sherlock says, interrupting John’s thought process.
“What, why?”
“Because that meant I got to spend the evening with you.”
He states it matter-of-factly, probably not realising what the words do to John.
“You’re supposed to spend Valentine’s Day with the person you love,” John replies. He’s not sure why he points it out.
“Exactly.”
Sherlock’s stare is intense, and all of a sudden it’s too much for John.
“But you don’t... do that.”
“You think I’m not capable of loving?” Sherlock’s voice is calm, but the hurt in his eyes betrays him.
“No, that’s not what I meant. No. I just mean not in that way.” John feels heat crawling onto his face. Why are they even having this conversation?
Suddenly, Sherlock shifts forward out of his chair, until he’s on his knees in front of John. He places his arms on John’s armchair and comes alarmingly close.
“Are you really that bad at deductions? Don’t you know that you’re the person I care about most in the world? I know I’ve never explicitly said it, but I thought my actions spoke loud enough.”
His face is now even closer, so close that John can see the tiny brown spot in Sherlock’s right eye. He doesn’t know what to say or do; all he can focus on is Sherlock’s face, and the feeling of his hot breath against his own.
“That feeling is mutual,” he manages to get out after a while. Sherlock’s eyes are full of honesty, and all of a sudden John is sure that Sherlock does feel things that way. And it’s that knowledge that makes him realise what he should’ve seen all along. He’d choose Sherlock over and over again – no woman could ever reach the same level of admiration and love John feels for the consulting detective in front of him.
“That’s good.” Sherlock’s voice is deep now.
John licks his lips when Sherlock’s stare wanders towards them. His heart is beating frantically in his chest. He slowly tilts his head forward and closes his eyes.
Sherlock gasps a little when their lips touch, and John immediately pulls him closer. Sherlock’s lips are soft and perfect, and of course the prat is fantastic at kissing, just like he is at everything else he does. John parts his lips and slides his tongue against Sherlock’s, who reacts with a slight moan. Suddenly John’s hands are in Sherlock’s hair, Sherlock’s body is crowded in between John’s legs and the innocent kiss has turned into something more passionate. And it’s not enough anymore. He pulls Sherlock up and together they stumble out of the living room and into Sherlock’s bedroom, where John shows his flatmate how much he means to him.
*
“John? Are you asleep, yet?”
“Not yet,” John murmurs. He has almost drifted off curled in Sherlock’s arm.
“Was today our first date?”
John grins. “I’d say we’ve had our first date a long time ago. We just didn’t know it yet.”
“Oh, okay. Although I hope you don’t count the dinner when we were interrupted by the Japanese who tried to kill me as a date.”
“We’ve had worse evenings.”
“What about when you made that thing with peas once?”
“Didn’t you like it?”
“I did. Although I do prefer to let Angelo do the cooking.”
“Shut up and go to sleep, Sherlock.” John feels a kiss being pressed to his head, and falls asleep with a smile on his face.