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John flicked his wrist out in front of him to pull back the sleeve of his jacket.
He checked his watch, which read 1:45 P.M. Sherlock was fifteen minutes late.
John’s eyes scanned around the nearly empty café, looking for a dark, curly head to pop up, towering over everyone, but came up empty.
He looked out the window from his barstool seat and watched as the rain poured in sleets and the wind stirred, pushing the rain in every direction. He let out a small sigh and opted for ordering without Sherlock.
***
John had gone through a full cup of tea and two pastries before Sherlock burst through the front door of the café.
He was soaked head to toe, and when his eyes finally landed on John’s, he smiled and walked briskly over to where he was sitting. He pulled up the stool next to him, opening his mouth to speak before John cut him off.
“You’re late. And you’re a sopping mess—Sherlock, where the hell were you? You couldn’t have sent a text? I’ve been sitting here waiting for over half an hour, you sod!” he exclaimed, trying to maintain the annoyance in his voice but unable to stop a smirk that dared to play on his lips.
“Maybe I deserved that,” Sherlock said, grinning as John rolled his eyes playfully.
“But John, I’ve got something good this time. I was at Scotland Yard with Lestrade—there’s a serial killer on the loose. They’ve managed to connect the dots on a few of his hits, and this is where it gets interesting, John. This one is different. He’s got a certain interest—it’s always the particular ones that you have to be careful about. They’ve always got something more going on underneath. They’re the fun ones. But listen, John, Lestrade wants me to go undercover. Tomorrow night, I’m catching him. I’m going to be at The White Castle. I don’t want you to get involved, John—this one is too risky. I could risk putting you in danger or blowing my cover,” Sherlock whispered lowly, leaning towards John so he could hear better.
John looked up at him with furrowed brows and concerned eyes.
“Sherlock, what? You’re going undercover? Why you? Also, hold on—why can’t I be a part of this? It’s never been an issue before. And what do you mean by ‘particular’? What makes this one special?” John asked, eyes flickering over Sherlock’s face.
Sherlock met his gaze with steady eyes.
“I just can’t get you involved, John. It’s too dangerous this time. You mean too much to me to get you wrapped up in something that could have been easily avoided. And well… our killer—he has a specific liking towards drag queens. Specifically, ones with ginger wigs and blue eyes, which is what’s got Lestrade so interested—telling don’t you think? Anyway, tomorrow I’m going undercover, and I’m going to see what the motive really is behind all this when I catch him,” Sherlock said, smirking as he caught the idea dawning on John, his eyes widening in surprise.
“So… you’re going undercover then? In drag? The Sherlock Holmes is agreeing to getting all made up and performing a stage routine?” John asked cautiously, feigning nonchalance but unable to keep the confusion and slight interest from his voice.
Sherlock gazed back at him with an impish gleam in his eye and grinned, nudging John with his elbow.
“You know what matters to me is the work, not how it gets done. Plus, this is a one-time thing—when will I get another chance like this, John?” he smiled eagerly, with his head resting in his palm.
John couldn’t help but pause for a moment as he simply stared into the stormy blue eyes before him, unable to keep a smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Well, let’s hope this is a one-time thing for you, because hate to break it to you, Sherlock, but I fear you would make a horrendous woman,” he said, smiling innocently up at Sherlock before he broke out into laughter.
Sherlock’s laughs soon joined in as their voices were drowned out by the storm that raged on outside.
***
It was the next evening, and John sat in his chair, miserable.
The fire crackled, but not a sound in the world could drown out the worries in his head.
He hadn’t missed being on a case with Sherlock since their first meeting, and he couldn’t stop the pit that slowly started to form in his stomach.
What if he can’t catch him on his own? What if he gets hurt? he thought, his mind racing.
But something was itching him in the back of his head.
Behind all of the worry, there was a curiosity that lingered.
What would Sherlock look like? It would be hilarious, obviously. Should I go just to check on him? he wondered, trying to push down the nagging questions at the back of his mind.
He looked down at his left hand and held it out flat, noticing his tremor had made an appearance, and his right leg had started to bounce with anxiety.
Yes,I should go to put my mind at ease if anything, but mostly to keep an eye on Sherlock and make sure he’s okay, he thought to himself unconvincingly, standing up and heading to grab his coat before he made his way out the door.
***
John had texted Greg to give him details about Sherlock’s mission in exchange for the promise of photos.
John got out of his cab when they made their stop at The White Castle. He walked through the doors and was immediately flooded with loud music and the strong scent of many colognes being mixed together among the sweaty bodies.
He quickly walked up to the bar, catching a few glances on the way, and ordered a stout. He made his way to a relatively hidden table that was still facing the stage and sat down, sipping his drink and checking his phone every few minutes to see if Sherlock had sent any updates.
It had been about 45 minutes, and John still waited.
A few acts had gone on already; queens lip-synced to the latest hits and comically stuffed wads of cash in their bras. Some had even made their way through the tables, making jokes and engaging with the people watching.
John laughed and had clapped politely, mostly wondering when Sherlock was going to make an appearance, but had nonetheless enjoyed himself.
He had begun to zone out, staring out the window as cars drove by when he heard a voice over the loudspeakers.
”Thank you! And for our next act, everyone, please give a warm welcome to our baby queen of the night, Mrs. Shirley Temple!” the announcer yelled enthusiastically into the microphone.
John chuckled at the name.
That would be a cute name for Sherlock, he thought, when he finally looked up and saw…her.
He stared, eyes wide and mouth agape. He gulped dryly and felt his heartbeat quicken, his stomach suddenly dropping to the floor.
John watched as Sherlock glided across the stage in a long, dark blue dress and pinned-up ginger hair.
He batted his eyelashes, swaying his hips as he made his way up to the microphone and the song started to play.
John sat still for what felt like years.
What was happening to him? Why was he acting this way? This was Sherlock!
That’s when Sherlock looked around the room, mouthing the words to a sultry song as he gestured at people in the crowd, and slowly, his eyes slid to John’s.
He made no face that indicated he was surprised, but rather, that he was expecting him to be there.
John felt a heat creeping up his neck and into his cheeks, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away.
Rather, it was like he was entranced, and he couldn’t bear to break the moment between the two of them.
Sherlock continued to mouth the words to the song, his eyes dancing over John, and his plush, rosy lips grazing the microphone.
He managed to maintain his steady gaze and calm composure, but he couldn’t keep a small smile from playing across his lips when he met John’s eyes.
Finally, he looked away, and John felt a piece of him disintegrate.
Suddenly, everything became too much for him, and he needed to leave. So he left his table, and he didn’t look back as Sherlock continued to enchant all of his onlookers.
John stepped outside the bar and took a deep breath of the cool, crisp air.
He leaned against the building and looked up towards the sky, searching for any signs of stars amongst the dark layer of night.
That’s when he felt a few stray tears start to stream down his face as he continued to silently watch the sky, unable to blink away the image of Sherlock gazing deep into his eyes, as if he could hear every single one of John’s thoughts.
He couldn’t slow down his rapidly beating heart, or push down the feeling that was seeping into his every breath.
Because he saw Sherlock standing there, capturing the heart of every person in the crowd, but all John could think about was how beautiful he looked standing on that stage, and how he didn’t want anyone else to feel that way.
Because suddenly John was a well of want, and it was beginning to seep out of him, forming pools at his feet.
But the most terrifying thought he had, was how long he had felt that way, and buried those feelings deep inside of him.
Because of course, this wasn’t the first time John had thought Sherlock was pretty.
But, it was only now that he realized what that meant.
John felt the tremor in his left hand coming back, causing it to shake at his side as he desperately tried to slow his breathing.
It didn’t work however, as his breaths began to pick up, coming out quick and shaky. A few more tears managed to trickle down his face as he clenched and unclenched his fists.
I like Sherlock, he thought, feeling the cold breeze bite at his tear-stained cheeks.
And now I don’t know what to do.