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“From your photo, I had imagined you’d be a bit taller.” John nearly pinched himself for saying that.
The way his eyes squeezed shut for that quick moment and how his mouth pulled into a frown told Sherlock that he hadn’t meant for those to be his first words while they were stuck in a firm handshake.
John mentally berated himself. It wasn’t like he hadn’t already seen Sherlock Holmes’ picture weeks before they’d agreed to have this… meeting. It’s just that…well, pictures didn’t really do anyone justice these days. They’d failed to inform John that Sherlock’s eyes would be so striking. Not off-putting, but off…
“Yes well...” Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath. As he expelled the air, he finished his thought, “Most people come to the same conclusion. A well-made coat can go a long way.”
John simply stared for a moment. It wasn’t until he felt the moisture building in-between their clasped hands that he came to his senses.
John quickly pulled his hand away and shoved it deep into his pocket. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed at John’s jerky movement, but he simply filed it away in the folder he’d been mentally constructing since the moment they’d approached one another.
Short, but held his head up with the posture you could only obtain by spending time in the military, as a fashion model or ballet dancer. Military it is. The clothes he wore had been neatly folded, but hardly new, years old, in fact. He maintained a steady regimen. Repetitious, habitual behavior, another sign of a man who’d served his country. Not to mention the cut of his hair, but that was just too obvious.
“My apologies, I hadn’t meant to…” John shook his head, unsure of what he was trying to say. He dropped it before something unnecessary managed to slip out. Instead, he nodded towards the restaurant they’d been perched in front of. “Well, should we go in?”
“After you,” Sherlock gestured towards the door. John nodded, a bit more skittish than he’d liked, but his nerves were getting the best of him.
They walked inside and to the table in the back by the window. It was a nice seat, because they could look out at the busy London streets. John’s eyes were focused on them, while Sherlock’s were on John. Observing.
It wasn’t until the waiter showed up to the table that John tore his eyes off the pigeon picking crumbs up off the sidewalk.
“Mr. Holmes!” A burly man announced, clasping Sherlock joyously on the back with his heavy hand. “Glad to have you back. You and your date can order anything off the menu free of charge!” He looked to John and winked.
Sherlock saw the knee-jerk reaction building up in the way John’s jaw tightened, by the way his right eyebrow twitched and how he’d squeezed his hands into fists. I’m not his date. He could see it on the tip of John’s tongue, and seconds later he could see John bite said tongue.
A forced, “Thank you,” came out instead.
Sherlock turned to the man, Angelo, with a nod to get him out of earshot so that he could focus his attention on his newfound interest. Angelo took the cue. Another wink and he was off to bug a new set of patrons.
Alone again, Sherlock wouldn’t let the streets steal John’s attention. He could already see the graying man’s eyes trailing off. He wouldn’t allow it. “So,” he began in a loud enough voice to shake John out of his thoughts. “Clearly this is your first time... exploring this side of yourself.” Possibly not the best way to kick things off, Sherlock realized when John pursed his lips and did something close to a glare.
A second later the look was gone and replaced with a twist of confusion and uncertainty. Innocence maybe.
John cleared his throat before he was able to speak. “Well yes, my uh... sister, she downloaded the app on my phone. I was going to delete it but...” he hesitated.
“But you were curious,” Sherlock answered. It was obvious, really. Even so, John looked surprised to hear those words. Just then, Angelo walked over with tea, knowing that’s how Sherlock took most of his meals.
“The usual for you and your date?” Angelo asked, and again Sherlock could see the same reaction in John. As before, he ignored it.
“That would be adequate. I’m assuming you enjoy pasta?” Sherlock asked John and he nodded dumbly in return.
Angelo smiled and walked off. John seemed relieved that the tea was there. He was in desperate need of something to do with his hands. He stirred and sipped at his cup, keeping his eyes on the creamy liquid as opposed to Sherlock’s piercing eyes.
Sherlock sipped at his own tea, masking his glee well enough. He wouldn’t admit aloud that this man intrigued him immensely. Nearing forty, silver, gray and brown hair that aged him handsomely, stocky yet muscular build, ruggish, proper, and a load of things Sherlock lacked in his own respect.
Sherlock wasn’t one to call any type of human being his own. Each person had his or her own level of attractiveness. What he saw in John could be seen in the good looking Hispanic man who’d taken his order at the shop across the street from his flat, or his ex Irene, who was nothing like either man.
And yet, when he’d finally decided to put himself out there once again, and downloaded that silly app for nothing more than the hell of it, the moment he’d seen this man he’d matched with and could tell a hundred things about him by his picture, he knew he’d needed to set up a meeting. If nothing sexually gratifying was achieved, then at the very least Sherlock was given the opportunity to see this man in person and the thrill of deducing every detail about him from head to toe.
The most interesting of all the facts laid so clearly out in front of him, was the glaringly obvious discomfort in his own sexuality that John practically radiated.
“It was your sister.”
“I’m sorry?” John blinked up at Sherlock.
Sherlock straightened, unfazed by John’s shocked expression and simply continued, “You’re completely incapable of holding proper eye contact with me. Your leg is bouncing, not because you’re bored or have a short attention span, but because you’re nervous. Even though you chose a location that was far from your hometown, your shoulders are tense like you’re waiting for someone to spot you and damn you for being out with me. Naturally, that could only mean that where you grew up, being homosexual or the like was typically frowned upon. Something you’d rather do behind closed doors as opposed to an open space such as this restaurant.”
“But what does this have to do—?”
“With your sister?” Sherlock quickly interrupted. “Everything, obviously. You’ve seen what it’s like first hand to be treated differently because of your sexuality. It was your parents or school bullies, possibly both. Older sister most likely.”
“How would you—?”
“I know, because you’ve watched her mature and figure out her sexuality before you figured out your own. After seeing the way she was treated, you did everything you could to be as much of a man as humanly possible. You dated women all your life, went off to the army, and now you’re nearing forty and haven’t had a single satisfying relationship. Am I wrong?” Sherlock finished, and was surprised that John wasn’t completely red faced and ready to take out his eye.
Instead his mouth was hanging open and his eyes were wide as if he’d just seen a magic trick.
“Fantastic,” John gasped.
Sherlock was sipping his tea when he heard this, and struggled to not spit it out. He choked on it a bit instead, wiped his mouth and sat the cup aside as to not cause any real damage.
“What?” Sherlock managed through an effort to clear his throat.
“That. What you just did there. Brilliant, really,” John licked his lips and shifted around in his chair like an excited little kid. It was the most Sherlock had seen in his expression since this little meeting began. “I’ve looked you up, you know. Not that it’s hard, since you’re all over the telly. The Science of Deduction. Your website said you could tell a software designer by his tie and an airplane pilot by his left thumb.” John laughed and rubbed his forehead while he gushed. “To think the stories are true. You could tell all of that, and the only bit of information I’ve told you is that I’m from a small town near Sussex. Bloody fantastic.”
“Sorry, you said fantastic?”
John paused and had the decency to look embarrassed by his own outburst. He sunk back into his seat and scratched the back of his ear. “Well yeah,” he confessed with an awkward laugh.
Sherlock stared at John for a moment, absolutely perplexed, then took another sip of his tea. It wasn’t until he swallowed and straightened once again that he responded, “That’s not the reaction I was expecting.”
“You were expecting me to strike you?”
“Wouldn’t be completely unwarranted.”
“Then your deductions aren’t as accurate as you think they are, Sherlock Holmes” John smiled, a bit of confidence there that wasn’t before.
Sherlock chuckled and leaned back on his chair, “You may be right about that, John Watson.”
Their plates were sat in front of them moments later, and the meal was as delicious as it looked and smelled.
Somehow the afternoon turned into a rather enjoyable conversation that flowed easily between the two.
John opened up completely. As if, having Sherlock unveil what was winding him up so much allowed him to loosen himself. He told Sherlock about his job at the clinic, and listened enthusiastically while Sherlock told stories about the cases he encountered as a consulting detective. He’d been careful to glaze over the gritty details while they ate their pasta, but when their plates were cleaned all bets were off.
The sun was coming down when they both felt it was time to leave, and at this point John had already pushed his insecurities aside for the completely captivating man who had made them seem so much more insignificant than they had been all his life. This man, Sherlock, made it so easy for John to come out of his shell. Oh, and those looks he gave John. Dangerously flirtatious, but not obnoxious in the least.
They walked out of the restaurant laughing together. A stark contrast to how they’d looked when they’d entered.
Sherlock raised a hand to haul a cab when John quickly grabbed it and pulled Sherlock around to face him.
Neither appeared to see the bold move coming, because Sherlock narrowed his eyes out of curiosity, and John flinched like he was having second thoughts. It seemed the soldier within him wouldn’t allow him to let go of the hand and back down.
He looked up into Sherlock’s eyes with a challenging determination. Sherlock tilted his head as he spoke, “What are you doing, John?” He asked because despite how much he was enjoying the closeness, John’s grip around his wrist was growing rather tight.
“Oh,” John quickly released Sherlock’s wrist and balled his hands into fists at his side. “I’d like… well…” John looked away. That same uncertainty was creeping back in. “How should I say this… would you like to? I don’t know…”
“Do this again?” Sherlock answered, and while his face remained passive, there was something about his eyes that couldn’t hide the excitement there.
John let out a breathy laugh, and Sherlock had to reorient his thoughts because of how suddenly taken he was by the natural attraction he had towards John.
“Yes,” John finally answered through a breath.
Sherlock leaned forward and pressed their lips together. Short, chaste, nothing dirty and lingering, just a quick peck that he’d been wanting to do since he’d first seen that light spark in John’s eyes.
“Yes, that would be… good.” Sherlock answered once the air was circulating between them again. His lips curled up into a smile, while John’s broke out into a wide grin. And wow, John had no idea how good he looked like that. It was maddening.