Chapter Text
It begins, innocently enough, with a text message to John Watson.
18:27
There is no food.
The reply comes instantly.
18:27
Is this an invitation for me to ask you out?
Sherlock blinks. Twice. Then a third time, slower. He stares at the screen as though the words might rearrange themselves into logical sense.
18:29
…I fail to see how a lack of sustenance constitutes a romantic proposal.
18:30
You’re cute when you’re confused.
Sherlock’s mind accelerates.
Possible explanations:
1. John Watson has suddenly decided to flirt with him aggressively.
2. John Watson temporarily lost his mind.
3. John Watson is conducting an elaborate social experiment designed solely to torment him.
Sherlock scowls, thumbs hovering over the unfamiliar keyboard of his new iPhone. Unless John had undergone a complete personality shift within the past three hours, none of these explanations are satisfactory.
18:32
Clarify your intent.
18:33
I thought I already had.
Sherlock’s grip on the phone tightens.
18:33
Your previous statement lacked sufficient clarity.
18:34
Alright. Let me simplify it for you.
I’m asking if you’d like to go out.
18:35
If this is an attempt at humor, it is poorly structured.
18:37
Wow. Playing hard to get already? You texted first.
Sherlock freezes.
His mind, so adept at processing crime scenes, conspiracies, and human folly, stalls.
Because this is John.
John, his friend of over four years.
John, who is about to be married.
John… No.
Sherlock’s gaze sharpens.
Is it John?
Contact name: Jim.
That is correct. He remembers saving it. Vividly.
Then Sherlock goes very, very still.
There is another Jim in his phone.
He has two Jims.
He opens the contact.
Jim from It.
Sherlock’s eyes flick back to the messages.
18:36
I’m asking if you’d like to go out.
Sherlock’s mind recalibrates at speed.
This is, quite obviously, the other Jim.
Jim Moriarty Jim.
Sherlock’s stomach performs a wholly unnecessary movement.
18:37
You are not John Watson.
The response is immediate.
18:37
No, I’m not.
Sherlock does not reply.
The typing indicator appears.
Disappears.
Reappears.
He watches it with the same intensity one might reserve for a bomb countdown.
18:40
What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?
Ordinarily, Sherlock would have responded within seconds, but this requires calibration. Because this is not John.
And, far more importantly, again, this is Jim.
18:42
You initiated a line of questioning under false pretenses.
18:42
My apologies. How did that happen exactly?
18:43
You allowed me to assume you were someone else.
18:43
No, I didn’t.
You decided that all on your own.
Sherlock’s jaw tightens.
18:44
Your contact name is misleading.
18:44
And whose fault is that?
Sherlock does not dignify that with a response.
18:46
So. Now that we’ve cleared that up.
Would you like to go out?
There it is again. Direct, unadorned, and completely absurd.
18:46
Your persistence is irrational.
18:46
You haven’t said no.
Sherlock’s thumb hovers over the screen.
He could very easily end this. Block the number. Delete the contact. Reassert control.
That would be the sensible course of action.
18:47
Your definition of “going out” lacks specificity.
18:47
Dinner.
You mentioned having no food?
There is no food.
He closes his eyes briefly.
This is, without question, the most ridiculous chain of events he has ever participated in.
18:47
You are extrapolating an invitation from a statement of fact.
18:48
I’m improving it.
Sherlock huffs. A quiet, involuntary sound that borders dangerously close to amusement.
18:48
And if I decline?
18:48
Then I’ll assume you’re not as interesting as I thought.
Ah. There it is.
Not a threat, a challenge.
His grip on the phone steadies.
18:49
You are attempting to provoke me.
18:49
Is it working?
18:49
Yes.
18:50
Good.
Eight o’clock. Clos Maggiore.
18:51
You are making a considerable number of assumptions.
18:52
And you’re still replying.
Sherlock’s mind runs through the likely outcomes of the evening.
Every conclusion points to the same answer: this is a terrible idea.
18:53
…Very well.
18:53
Knew you’d say yes.
18:54
I did not say yes.
18:54
See you later, honey.
Sherlock stares at the message for a long moment. Then he locks the phone and rises, already moving toward his bedroom.
There is, he recalls, a black turtleneck he has not worn in quite some time.