Habits of the Heart

VIII

They sat together in the cab, shrouded in silence. The blanket of quiet followed them into the small cafe they had agreed on.

A lady, whose smile was so forced it almost hurt to look at, led them to the booth in the corner. Sherlock went to the right John to the left.

Sherlock gazed out the window, suddenly interested in studying the outside world, while John studied the menu. Tension caused the few feet between them to feel like miles.

What was he so scared of? John never had troubles speaking to anyone. He cleared his throat, drawing Sherlock's attention.

"So, uh, what are you getting?" He asked, laying the menu down and smiling warmly at him.

"Hm? Oh, I don't eat." He said simply, waving him off.

"You must eat something.. You're skinny enough as it is!"

"I'm fine John. Anyways, why did you ask to eat out?"

"I-I just wanted to thank you, you know, for taking me to the hospital and all." He murmured, studying the now faded scar in his hand. Did he just stutter?

"That all?"

"Yeah.."

"Mmm... No its not." He said simply, turning his gaze back out to the window.

"Excuse me?"

"Fidgety, dilated pupils. Here, let me see you hand." He offered out his hand, waiting for John to show him his.

Slowly, John held his hand out towards Sherlock, eyeing him with suspicion.

"It's fine, its healed." John murmured.

With a quick movement, Sherlock had his hand wrapped around John's wrist.

"And rapid pulse..."

"I... What?"

"Have you two decided on what you wanted?" John jumped in his seat, surprised by the interruption.

"Um yeah.. Yes! I just want the grilled chicken with fries and a sprite." He said quickly. The lady nodded and looked over at Sherlock who just shook his head and returned to look out the window. She shrugged and quickly wrote down what John had ordered, before turning and rushing off towards the kitchen.

Silence shrouded them once again.

John just grinned to himself, looking back down at his hand. The tension between them was unbearable, but at the same time he was happy. If that even made sense.

"What were you saying about my pulse?" He asked, looking back up at the genius. The corner of Sherlock's lip twitched upward.

"Never mind about that. Just collecting information."

"Aw come on now! You can't just grab my wrist like that and not tell me why! Show off a bit, I wanna know." He said. The tension ebbed away as John continued egging Sherlock on. He knew Sherlock would want to show off. He always does.

"John, why did you really ask me out?" He said, unable to suppress the smirk that appeared on his face.

"To thank you, I told you that."

"No really. Why did you ask me out?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do."

"You know as well."

"Of course I do."

"Then why ask?"

"I want to hear it from you."

John glanced down, suddenly very flustered. He flattened his palms against the fabric of his jeans. He was scared, and he knew why. He wondered if Sherlock could tell. Looking back up a Sherlock and covering his fear with a mask of happiness, he took a deep breath before speaking.

"I just might.. I dunno.. Like you?"

"Obviously."

John looked at him, clearly shocked for a moment, before laughing. His body shook as he guffawed. Sherlock looked at him in confusion.

"Still and arse I see."

"What? Was it something I said?" He asked, clearly confused.

"No. It's nothing. So, will you please explain to me what the pulse and dilated eyes meant? Because I am lost."

"Signs of sentiment." He said flatly, looking back out the window.

John frowned slightly, watching him.

"Do you not care?" He asked, almost in a whisper.

Sherlock gazed out the window for a moment longer. You could almost see the great mind of his working, reeling with the new information and putting it together like a simple puzzle. A puzzle he enjoyed working. John was a puzzle he never wanted to finish.

"I do care.. That's why I had to check."  He said, voice remaining flat as his eyes scanned the outside world. He sounded like ice. "I didn't want to do something regrettable. Something stupid. Something like this..." He turned and faced John, hand moving across the table and grabbing his chin lightly. Before John was able to realize what was going on, soft lips had planted themselves on his own.