Live In Love

The Real Feelings

By the time John had finished with his shower, Sherlock had composed eight pages of music. It wasn't that John took a long shower, it was just the fact that Sherlock knew exactly what this piece would be. He quickly scribbled the last note then slid the sheets in to a slot in his desk so John wouldn't see.

He went to his room and pulled out a blue button down shirt, dress shoes, and, begrudingly, pulled out a pair of jeans. If I want John to know I am serious about this, I really need to put in my fair amount of effort. He gathered his clothes and waited for John to exit the bathroom. Once he heard him start up the stairs, he rushed to take his shower. He was in and out in 10 minutes flat, a record time considering his hair took an average of 7 minutes to wash properly. He climbed out of the shower and towelled off quickly, making sure to thoroughly dry his hair. He walked out of the bathroom and down the hall, and almost collided with John.

Sherlock smiled at John's appearance. He was wearing khakis and another plaid button down, this one red. His hair had been combed in the Army-style it was intended to be in. He looked dashing. Sherlock quickly recovered and replaced the smile on his face with his usual stoic expression.

"Sorry about that," John said. John looked Sherlock over as slyly and discretely as he could, but Sherlock noticed. He forced himself not to smile again. John finally met Sherlock's eyes and grinned.

"You look nice. You're wearing jeans," John stated, and Sherlock refrained from any sarcastic remarks. This is so much harder than I thought it would be, he said to himself.

Sherlock smiled at John and grabbed his coat and scarf. "To Angelo's then," he proclaimed, wrapping himself in the garments before heading out the door.

The two took a quick cab ride to the restaurant, and the conversation was pleasant and surprisingly not awkward. John made an inquiry about what Lestrade was calling about. Sherlock guessed it was a lost rabbit, again. John predicted he lost his keys. Sherlock, knowing fully well this was a possibility, laughed so hard he thought he would bust a gut. What is wrong with me?! he thought as he wiped tears out of his eyes. He looked over at the man beside him, the rugged features of his profile standing out against the window. Oh yea, he's what's wrong with me.

The two men entered Angelo's and were greeted by all the staff. They frequented the restaurant; it was John's favorite. Sherlock had made a note of that. Right when they sat down, the waiters brought out their food. John looked at Sherlock with slight confusion.

"I called while you were in the shower and reserved a table. I also took the liberty of ordering, I hope you don't mind," Sherlock told him. John looked bewildered.

"You know my order?"

"Of course I do, why wouldn't I?"

"I didn't think minor details were allowed in your mind palace," John said as he dug in to his eggplant parmesan. Sherlock smirked and looked at John.

"No detail about you is minor to me," he said softly, so only John could hear. John stopped eating and looked up at Sherlock. All he saw, however, was Sherlock shove a huge forkful of pasta in to his mouth and eat like he hadn't tasted food in months.

Once Sherlock and John had both finished their meals, they left the restaurant and decided to walk back to the flat.

"So tonight you wore jeans, made a reservation, ordered my favorite meal by memory, didn't make one sarcastic comment, and you ate an entire meal. Is this your way of gently telling me what happened in the cab was some drunken fluke?" John asked, only half joking.

Sherlock chuckled and quickened his pace. "Quite the opposite, John. Tonight was my way of telling you that the cab scenario was, in fact, very sincere."