ladies and gentlemen, the most awkward february 14th ever

[punchmeitssubtext]

Sherlock Holmes did not, as a general rule, remember birthdays or favorite colors or even a handful of the major holidays. His concept of time was skewed and his understanding of interpersonal relationships relied almost entirely on biological markers and verbal cues. He hated parties. He hated people insisting on traditions. He hated the assumption people made that holidays meant you automatically violated your own privacy and spilled your innermost thoughts.

And yet.

And yet here he was at Angelo's, watching the thin icicles on the window-frame shimmer in the headlights of passing cars.

This is mad, John had said, that first morning after, and he couldn't disagree. It made him a little angry, almost, a little upset that his own comfortable view of the world had been so skewed by a single outside influence.

But it still felt better than the drugs or the cigarettes or even most of the case work.

So he waited.

Comments

[punchmeitssubtext]

Sherlock's brain was suddenly transmitting signals into his chest--and he'd always wondered why the emotional response should register there, in a part of the body that really had no business processing and interpreting stimuli.

"Surgery went very well, then," he remarked, lightly.

[fighting_northumerland]

"Well enough," John shrugged, "not so much fun that I'd rather be there than here."

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Damn it--there it was again. It was little more than an irrational twinge, one of those momentary arrhythmia that happened every now and again, but for Sherlock it registered as sharply as a bruise.

He already knew this man was a steady part of his life, a constant in a career that demanded chaos. He already knew that they had tangled themselves into a complicated mess that wasn't likely to come undone. He already knew the word love applied.

So why did his nerves jitter and lurch now? John laughed frequently--why was it suddenly different?

"Feeding me up," Sherlock muttered, and cleared his throat. He'd get this under control.

[fighting_northumerland]

"You need it, and it keeps the dust off our frying pans. Win-win," John said, cheerily. He settled into a comfortable silence for a moment, just taking Sherlock in-- the man he wasn't sure he'd ever fully understand. For whatever reason, that didn't out him off a bit.

"You're quiet."

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"And you're happy."

He could have sworn those weren't the words he'd meant to say, but there they were. It struck him, in an absurd rush, just how ordinary this situation was: he was having dinner at a regular hour, at a regular restaurant, on what could presumably be called a regular date. Ordinary people must do this sort of thing day in and day out, as naturally as breathing.

It was terrifying. And also fantastic.

[fighting_northumerland]

John smiled in reply, then thought for a moment.

"I am. I am...so happy," he said, tactfully.

"Are you?"

[punchmeitssubtext]

"Is that even something you do, happy?"

"You machine."

"I always hear 'punch me in the face' when you're speaking."

"Yes," he replied, almost too low to hear. "Yes."

[fighting_northumerland]

John frowned. It was the response he'd hoped for-- no, lets be honest, wanted, but...

"Are you sure? You seem so...preoccupied."

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"It's..." He racked his brain for the right words--there was too much information to explain, too much to distill down into a clear message when he hardly understood it himself.

"New," he managed at last, and immediately felt like the word choice was painfully inadequate.

[fighting_northumerland]

John nodded in an understanding way-- not that he understood, not completely, but he empathized.

"Good thing about Angelo's," he said, lightly, "never gets old."

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He began to slide his hand across the table, towards John, but stopped himself. No. Not in public--other people could assume whatever they liked or stare as much as they wanted, but whatever sentiment he shared was for one person and one person only.

"I had to tell him to leave off decorations for the table," Sherlock replied, glancing out the window. "He looked like he wanted to do more than candles. Nice fellow, but he can be... enthusiastic."

[fighting_northumerland]

Did everybody know before I did? John wondered.

"God," he murmured. "Enthusiasm, indeed. If he had his way there wouldn't be any room for silverware."

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"It could be worse. You should have seen my inbox this morning."

Okay, so he'd mass-deleted most of it. But that was just the risk you ran when you emailed a consulting detective with things that were decidedly not cases.

"And before you ask," he added, his smile returning by inches. "I am going to eat tonight. Doctor."

[fighting_northumerland]

"So soon?" John asked, curiously, but we as clearly pleased. "Before you know it you'll be getting all your vitamins on a regular basis."

[punchmeitssubtext]

"Don't press your luck."

He paused for a moment, tipping his head slightly to one side, his eyes still fixed on his partner's face.

"...John," he said, a genuine note of curiosity in his voice. "When you look round this place. What do you see? Just--what are the things you notice?"

[fighting_northumerland]

John looked hard, wondering just when they were about to be jumped and by whom.

"Well, its erm..." he started. "It's a bit dim in here. Have our meals cut into the electric bill? And all the tables-" he stopped short.

"All the tables are for two. Damn it."

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He had to laugh at that.

"Well, yes," he said. "Should I tell you what I see?"

[fighting_northumerland]

"Of course," John said, leaning in slightly despite himself. That was one of the most fun parts of being with Sherlock- getting a tiny glimpse of the world through a man genius' eyes.

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Those long fingers started drumming on the table again, a swift and regular pattern.

"The woman two tables over is about to tell her partner she's pregnant. You got a haircut three days ago but you didn't go to your usual place, probably because you were in a rush or you were in a different neighborhood anyway. Five tables behind us, to the left, the fellow in the green shirt is considering proposing to his boyfriend but he's probably not going to do it here. You called Harry this morning but didn't talk to her--she's probably out, or busy with a girlfriend, which you were counting on. Our waiter, Billy, has taken up practicing guitar again, likely to impress the barista at the coffee shop on the opposite corner. Your shoulder hasn't bothered you in at least five days."

[fighting_northumerland]

We aren't about to be attacked, John thought, and for the first time he wasn't totally relieved by that idea.

"Is this...a date-date, then?" John asked, slowly. He was clearly in unknown territory, and if he was lost then Sherlock-- well, actually, who knew where this was going?

"Because I should just say up front that I'd completely forgot what day it is."

[punchmeitssubtext]

"No. Well--a bit. If you like."

Half of what I see in this room is you, you oblivious dick, because somehow I've gone backwards from serious adult feelings to--to goddamn butterflies. God. You are such an idiot. I hate that I want to kiss you in public. My pupils are probably huge right now. This was the worst idea I ever had. Fuck. I am such a wanker

"I just--thought. Since you're always on me to have dinner at a normal hour, and..."

[fighting_northumerland]

"No, no, it's lovely!" John said, reassuringly. "You know I enjoy spending time with you when the rest of the world is awake as well! It's just- usually I'm supposed to take care of this kind of thing," he shrugged, awkwardly.

How heteronormative.

[punchmeitssubtext]

"Sorry. I just--it was a thought." It was one of those rare moments where Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, was visibly embarrassed--a bit like that moment, when they'd first moved in, that he'd begun compulsively cleaning after John had remarked on how big a mess it was.

"Billy," he called, over his shoulder. "Can I--glass of white wine please. Thanks."

[fighting_northumerland]

"Sherlock," John grabbed the man's hand across the table and held two in his own.

"It's lovely," he repeated again, firmly. "If I had known you were watching the dates, I would have-- well, that's not true, I think you'd throw me out of the flat for picking up anything that's in the shops right now. Everything is vibrant, pink, and revolting. But you understand?"

[punchmeitssubtext]

For a moment Sherlock was totally silent, his eyes just a little wider than usual--he might be a genius, but he couldn't seem to figure out when John would take him by surprise. Maybe he never would.

Then he turned his hand a little, so he could squeeze John's fingers.

"Thought you'd find the pink a bit much too," he murmured.