Chapter Text
"Just when we're you going to tell me I was dating a serial killer?" John shouted.
"I did tell you."
"Not until after my third date with her!"
"Nonsense! I told you last Wednesday!"
"Last Wednesday I spent the entire day at the surgery!"
"Hardly my fault you weren't listening!"
"You do know I can't actually hear you when I'm out!"
Lestrade groaned loudly. "Sherlock. I need to know the name of the serial killer John was dating." Both Sherlock and John turned sharply to look at Lestrade. "Janet Black. The bodies are buried in her landlord's backyard at 426..." Sherlock continued on with the description, finally telling Lestrade to hurry, that she'd be leaving the country in exactly an hour. Lestrade swore and ran to apprehend her, leaving John and Sherlock alone in the room. They caught a cab home, Sherlock thinking and John stalwartly ignoring his presence. John stormed upstairs before Sherlock, slamming the door to the flat behind him. John retreated to his room, not wanting to see Sherlock now, much less talk to him.
The next morning John was walking into the kitchen, still ignoring Sherlock, when Sherlock spoke.
"Why does it matter to you?"
"Because I could have died!"
"You were never in any danger."
"Sherlock! She poisoned her victims and there I was having dinner with her!"
"I would have intervened if..."
"Are you following me on dates again?" John interrupted. Sherlock was silent. "My God Sherlock! What are you so afraid of?" John stormed back upstairs, spilling his coffee on the way. He left Sherlock standing in the living room, and was too angry to stay and hear the answer Sherlock whispered.
John went downstairs hours later. Sherlock was asleep on the couch, his usually calculating face childish in slumber. The flat was cold, the winter outside making the windows frost over and the walls creak. Absent-mindly John spread a blanket carefully over Sherlock. He went back upstairs, crawling into bed, though he knew it would be a relatively sleepless night. It hit him then. And he was amazed he hadn't seen it. He was in love with Sherlock Holmes.
John always found the detective attractive, but he'd never seriously thought about taking it any further. Not until now, that is. And it was becoming extremely distracting! He'd gotten himself told off by Sherlock countless times, Sherlock thought he was simply not paying attention. John knew he was paying attention, but definitely not to their crime scenes. Did Sherlock know? Possibly. Probably. Maybe? It was so hard to tell with him. John was avoiding Sherlock as much as possible. He knew as soon as any kind of argument broke out the truth would fly out in an instant.
"John!" John froze on his way up the stairs to his room. "Why are you avoiding me?" John was silent.
"I'm not avoiding you. I'm going to bed."
"It's 4:30."
"I'm tired."
"No you aren't."
"Fine. No. I'm not." John whirled to face him, feigning anger and trying desparatly to come up with something to yell st Sherlock for. The real reason could not be known. John faltered in seeing Sherlock's face. Sherlock looked genuinely concerned.
"You never..." John stopped, the rest of his sentence dying before it could even be fabricated.
"John? I never what?"
"Milk! We're out of milk!" John proclaimed suddenly, rushing out of the flat. What was he going to do? Sherlock had been bound to notice the change. Even the least observant person could notice it fairly easily, it must have been child's play for Sherlock. Maybe Sherlock had seen through him, and maybe that was why Sherlock had let himself be ignored and avoided for so long. But why the sudden confrontation?
A new girlfriend. That was the answer. Someone that he could use to explain away his change in demeanor. He didn't really want a new girlfriend. Janet had made him question his judgment, and lessened his desire to have a girlfriend. That was the only answer. Get a girlfriend. With this decided, John headed back to the flat.
A loud crash greeted John as he arrived as 221B. He rushed upstairs. A shouting match was ensuing in the flat. "No!" "I told you! You will go! And you will have a date on your arm! That's final!" Mycroft rushed past John on the stairs, not even acknowledging his existence. What was going on here? John stepped over a broken mug into the flat.
"You're becoming my fiancé." John heart beat stopped.
"What?" He practically shouted at Sherlock. Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"For a day. Mummy is having a party on my parents anniversary. I'm supposed to come. With a date. Which, has to be you."
"Mycroft said a date. Not necessarily me."
"It has to be you. Who else could stand me for that long." John blinked, almost flattered at the mention of his long suffering state. "No milk?" Sherlock asked. John flinched.
"The store was out." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but didn't respond.
John needed a girlfriend. Not an engagement. Especially not an engagement to someone he was trying to hide feeling for. This was not going to be good.