Chapter Text
“Yes, Mummy! I have a gift for Mycroft!” Sherlock rolls his eyes, lucky that his mother isn’t in front of him. “Anyway, that’s silly, he’s got plenty of money to buy anything –” Rushing through Harrod’s Lower Ground Floor, he didn’t argue when she interrupts him to talk about how a gift is something more than just a thing, it’s the idea of the thoughtfulness. Lying one more time that everything was already done and beautifully wrapped he ends the call and enters the section he was looking for: Men’s Accessories. Oh. My. God! Half of London is here! It’s true that waiting until December 23 wasn’t his best idea... But I was busy! Catching a murderer is more important than getting a silly gift! His height giving him a bit of advantage, he surveys the display, trying to find the perfect gift that didn’t scream that he had waited day before Christmas! Shirt? No - everything he owns is bespoke; a new umbrella? No, they probably don’t keep the specially fitted model he used; cufflinks are out of question also, he’s constantly using grandfather's... Oh! Yes! That’s perfect! Walking with a sense of purpose, he extends his arm between two customers – one definitely gay sixty-year-old man and one woman clearly buying corporate gifts – and places his hand on his find.
John was following his list, not wanting to miss a thing. This is crazy, I can’t believe I got my boss for Secret Santa! The man was notoriously serious, too posh for the 25-pound limit, and too secretive for anyone at the hospital to know what he did in his spare time, so he had no clue what to buy for him. He’s probably cataloging his socks or ironing his tie! Anyway, bosses shouldn't be a part of Secret Santa! It's not fair! A Harrods’ gift card in hand to extend the allowed budget – an unimaginative gift from his sister for his birthday – he opens the door of the prestigious shop. Surprised by the sheer number of customers he realizes that he wasn’t the only one doing last minute shopping! Looking at the floor plan, he rapidly spots the section where he was going to find something neutral enough to give to his superior. I can’t believe it! How is it possible to choose something when you can’t see anything! Pushing through the crowd, he finds a way to get close enough to one of the counters. Looking at the price tags of the elegant accessories, he shrugs at the indecency of it. How could someone walk down the street in a 75-pound scarf when children can’t eat before going to school! Turning his eyes toward the end of the display, he finds the perfect gift! Cute but classy. Sliding his hand over the shiny mahogany, he catches his treasure with the tips of his fingers before pulling on it to get out of the crowded shop. But it wasn’t that easy. Tugging again he feels some resistance. Thinking that the tag or something was stuck, he grabs a bit higher, surprised when his fingers capture a hand.
“Excuses me, Sir, But this is mine.” Sherlock smiles coldly, not letting go of the marine tie.
“I was here first!” John protests, not knowing if he’s actually correct but not wanting to let it go. Turning to look at the man his words die on his lips. Ohhhh... Hello, Mister Beautiful.
Not letting go now that the other man was silent, Sherlock properly removes the tie from the stand and was about to turn when the smaller man touches his arm. “Sorry, but where are you going? That is mine.” The doctor, back from his brief trance, wasn’t letting the man go without a fight. At least not without his phone number! Fuck the tie!
Raising a brow, Sherlock smirks. “You are going to fight over a tie?” In defiance, he puts down the object of their discussion on the counter between them.
Standing as tall as he was able, John smirks back. “A silk tie with little umbrellas on it, yes.”
The detective was about to reply when another hand reaches for the tie. In unison, now two against one, John and Sherlock snatch the tie back. “This is ours!”
"Yours?" The lady asks with a smile.
"It's for my brother!" Sherlock protests as John shouts "It's for my boss!"
Realizing what the taller man said, the doctor adds tentatively "... who happens to be his brother..."
Now, resolutely smirking, the woman puts down the tie and leaves, shaking her head and muttering something about 'men'.
Sherlock, unsettled for a reason unknown to him, mutters, "okay, now that's settled, I wish you a nice Christmas" takes the tie and turns on his heels (A bit sad that his coat didn't do a nice swirl because the store was too crowded.)
"Wait!" The fact that the detective actually stopped was another sign that John Watson was special. "Maybe we can ask the salesman if they have more of them somewhere?"
"You don't need me for that..."
"Maybe I wish for a bit of company while I wait?"
Really paying attention to the man in front of him at last, Sherlock was flooded by information. 1.69 meter, doctor, no... more surgeon, military training, used to have a psychosomatic limp, ate muffins for breakfast, blueberry, likes his tea black, Earl Grey, sentimental, has been with his girlfriend for about a year, dark brown eyes... no... dark blue, full of light but full of doubt. As the perfection of his dilated pupils, choked breath, imposing stance registered in Sherlock mind he realized something else. Thinking about the people around them, he wasn't able to find a woman that could generate such a... But then. Oh. OOOOOH!. It's me. Bisexual.
Breathlessly, he finally replies "Company?"
"Yes, here or somewhere else." What are you doing, Watson, you girlfriend soon-to-be fiancée is waiting at home! "Fancy a coffee?"
"And the second tie?"
"Sod the tie, I'm going to get an assortment of teas at Whittard instead." He pauses, trying to recover the little good sense that he knew was still somewhere inside him... before giving up. "So? Nero or Starbucks?"
Waiting while the man pays for the tie, John is looking around him. Still unsure about the whole affair – coffee with a unknown gorgeous man few days before asking for his girlfriend’s hand – John is alarmed at the feeling of giddiness that is quickly spreading in his body and slightly afraid that the others shoppers were looking at him knowing that he is doing something wrong. This is crazy! I’m only going for a coffee with an interesting person, I am allowed to talk to people! And anyway, no one is looking at me. Not acknowledging to himself that the problem wasn’t the fact of going out for a coffee with a stranger, but the fact that the man is shaking him to the core. As the tall alien God turns to him with a questioning look, he stutters. “Sorry?”
“Where do you want to go? I really don’t mind either place.” Sherlock repeats, not stating that he actually doesn’t like to repeat himself.
Getting his wits together, John replies with a bit more confidence “Nero? It’s usually less crowded,” before showing the way to the exit door.
The temperature is perfect, a light snow, no hard wind, minus 5... Turning on the left on Brompton Road, the café is only a corner away on the other side of the street. The congested sidewalk didn’t allow them to talk on the few minutes’ walk, giving John the time to be calmer!
The place isn’t full and a few places are still available.
“Grab a place, would you? I’m going to take care of the drinks. What do you want?” He turns to look at the board, lost between all the options. “I think I’m going to go with a large latte... I drank enough regular coffee and tea all day long! Maybe even one with Seasonal Spices, whatever it may be.”
Sherlock smiles at the doctor’s dumbfounded look “The same then, but with almond milk, thanks!” Turning around – with a distinctive twirl of his coat this time! – the detective spots a table in a somewhat more tranquil space. He knows he is voluntarily avoiding the window, but he isn’t inclined to have Mycroft putting his nose in his business. Whatever business this ‘thing’ is really. Even if it’s obviously nothing of importance. But, having some kind of friend could be... nice.
He was getting out of his coat, stretching his arm to put it on a nearby peg, when John came back with the order. The small talk he has prepared while waiting (funny clever thoughts about what was actually ‘seasonal’ in the spices) disappears in a flash at the vision in front of him. If the man was sublime in his great posh wool coat, the vision of his slight body clad in a perfectly fitted suit is... sublime. Sarah. Sarah. Sarah.
“Are you all right?”
The deep voice brings the doctor back to the present and to the two real coffees in his hand. Placing them on the small table, he removes his coat as well, urging his body to stay calm! I am not a 14-year old at a party! I’ve been to war! Get a grip, Watson! Realizing that he hasn’t yet replied, he sits and murmurs, “sorry, I have a lot on my mind at the moment and sometimes… it’s all too much.”
“Being a doctor is certainly hard work, especially in ICU, even if it’s certainly less stressful than the army.” Sipping his coffee with a satisfied sigh he continues, without noting John’s astonished face. “Thanks for the coffee. It’s a bit garish with the artificial flavoring but the rush of sugar is what I needed right now.”
“What did you just say?”
“That’s the coffee is agreeable even if it’s overly sweet.” Sherlock repeats patiently. He frowns before taking another sip. God, this is tedious.
“No, no, not that, what you said before -.” Taking his first sip of the hot coffee – the git is right, this is oversweet! – he looks at the man before him. “Do I know you?”
“No, I don’t.” He waves a hand casually in the doctor’s direction, and explains more patiently than usual. “I deduced you, I can’t stop myself from doing it, sorry. Your life, your work, is written all over you.” A bit worried, he pauses, waiting for John to say something.
“How is it possible, how could you...” John is still gobsmacked.
He remains enthralled by the voice of the crazy man who starts explaining how he had spotted his security card, how his whole demeanor screamed military, how he is clearly in a committed confirmed relationship with a woman – he shivered at that one – and that he had recovered from a terrible wound to his left shoulder and a psychosomatic limp.
“But, but, this is... this is brilliant.”
“Brilliant,” Sherlock looks amused. “That’s not what people say usually.”
“No?” How is it possible for people to say anything else! “What do they say?”
“Piss off.”
Laughing, John shakes his head at the stupidity of human beings in general, “No, what you did is utterly brilliant.” Suddenly, he stops and scowls. “It’s kind of late, but my name is John. And yours?... I know nothing about you!”
“Are you sure?” Sherlock slowly finishes the coffee, a small grimace appears on his face as he swallows the last dregs. “You should already know things...” He smirks, looking at the other man expectantly and voluntarily staying silent on his name.
“No! I don’t...” At the beautiful man’s severe glare, he closes his eyes a minute, trying to put his thoughts together. “Hum... I know that you are tall, thin, fit,” he feels his cheeks turning pink, unable to stop it! “You are really observant. So you might be a therapist, cop or spy!” He chuckles before opening his eyes. “So, am I right, are you a spy?” He deadpans as Sherlock smirks at him “No? Okay... Too bad, you’ve got a bit of a James Bond vibe. So… something that I know. What I know is that you can’t be a cop; no cop has the kind of money you need to buy that posh clothes... You chose almond milk. You’re a vegetarian? Almond lover? Lacto-intolerant?”
“I’m vegan,” Sherlock replies, not knowing why he divulges the fact that was usually unknown except to his family, “And a cop may have won the lottery or regularly accept bribes...” he jokes.
“No, you have certainly been to public school and university... you can’t be a mere cop.” As the line for the coffee is becoming longer, John asks suddenly, “Do you want to walk a bit... it’s quite stuffy in here and people are waiting for our table.”
Before thinking too much about the implication, Sherlock eagerly rises from his chair, and grabs his coat. “Why not.”
“Hyde Park?” John proposes.
“Perfect!”