These Days

Truth Hits Like a Train

John POV. John tugged uncomfortably at the tie that was now strapped across his neck, the checkered print fabric serving as a portable noose. Mary was in a pretty blue dress, sitting on the squishy couches next to the wall and tapping her handbag impatiently against her leg.
"It won't be another twenty minutes, but could I tempt you with another bowl of our specially roasted peanuts?" asked a waiter, looking very uncomfortable in his position. John and Mary were among the long line of customers waiting for their turn at a table for the fanciest restaurant in town. John hated everything to do with the fancy restaurants and classy waiters and formal suits and stupid ties. He claimed to Mary that he had reserved a table and everything, but in reality he was going to do that during the day, but he had gotten quite distracted by Sherlock. If only he could go back in time, so that he could be at that coffee shop with Mr. Holmes and not at some fancy crap place with his own wife. Maybe that wasn't the best thing to be thinking of when he was on a date, but it wasn't even a date, more like an excuse to get dressed up and pay much more money than necessary. Mary was only dragging him out because she was afraid they weren't spending enough time with one another, that they were getting too distant and that the love they once shared was fading. Well, she wasn't wrong, but the love that they once shared, at least in John's opinion, was long gone.
"Ten more minutes." The waiter said once again. "We are very sorry for the wait." Mary just groaned, her blonde hair waving down her back as she slouched over onto her elbows.
"This is pathetic." She decided.
"You got that right." John agreed, crunching down on yet another complimentary mint. Even though the waiter was right there this had to be his tenth, and the staff was too scared to say anything.
"If you would've just made reservations..." Mary sighed.
"I did make reservations, maybe they didn't write it down!" John hissed.
"This entire restaurant is rubbish." Mary decided.
"Yes, yes it is. I hope the food is worth the wait." John groaned.
"We can seat you now." The waiter said, holding two menus in his hand and smiling a very apologetic smile.
"Oh, brilliant." John exclaimed, helping Mary up out of her place on the couch and leading her to the table. It was a small round table with a golden table cloth draped over top of it, a candle and a single rose sitting in the middle. The whole restaurant was built for stupid couples, low lighting, violin music, the whole deal, but women like Mary just eat it all up, even if the food was worse than the atmosphere. They sat in their stupid fancy chairs and looked at the stupid fancy menus while the waiters ran around with their fancy tuxedos and fake accents. John sat in his chair and Mary sat in hers, examining the small print cursive menus the best they could in the dim light. The waiters came around and gave them water and wine, and their food came out in the smallest portions possible for like a hundred dollars each.
"So, where were you today?" Mary asked, picking at her small thing of chicken and looking at John accusingly.
"I went to the coffee shop, but I bumped into Sherlock while I was there so we went out for cheesesteaks." John shrugged.
"And Sherlock is...." Mary asked.
"Oh, ya sorry, Mr. Holmes." John pointed out. Mary sighed; as if that was the answer she didn't want to hear but knew it was coming.
"That's nice." She sighed.
"What's wrong with Mr. Holmes?" John asked.
"You know how I feel about him." Mary pointed out.
"But he's not creepy, you got one impression on him and I asked, he said you were one of the last parents and he was just tired and ready to go home." John defended.
"You talked to him about it!" Mary exclaimed.
"We were on the subject." John defended.
"Honestly John, what stays secret in this house?" Mary asked.
"I just think you should give him another try, that's all." John sighed.
"Should I go in then, the next time he calls one of us for pointless matters?" Mary asked.
"They're not pointless." John defended.
"John, I assure you, none of the other parents have been dragged to that school more than us, he's stalking us or something." Mary guessed.
"You think he's stalking us? Hamish is in gifted, he needs to keep us updated, see how Hamish is taking it, all of that." John pointed out.
"That's pathetic." Mary grumbled.
"Well Hamish likes him, I like him, I think you've just got a biased opinion." John decided.
"He's odd, admit it, he's got those glassy eyed stares and those stupid answers to questions, obviously he doesn't listen to a word anyone says...."
"Mary, stop, he's my friend okay? If you don't have anything nice to say don't say it at all! I think he's a very good person and a nice man, so don't be attacking him every time his name comes up in conversation!" John demanded. Mary sighed, twirling the fork between her fingers but not saying anything, as if John's sudden burst of violence was hurtful. Honestly John didn't know where all that had come from, Mary was 100% right, but for some reason John knew Sherlock didn't deserve all of that torment. Even though he was a complete weirdo he was also one of the most intriguing people John had ever known.
"Sorry I snapped." John muttered.
"It's okay." Mary sighed, cutting her broccoli into more manageable sized pieces silently. John sighed, eating his own food and not saying anything as well. For some reason all of this conversation about Sherlock made John want him to be there instead of Mary. He'd much rather spend an evening out with Sherlock, talk about reasonable topics, avoid restaurants that cost more than ten dollars for an entrée, watch some crappy movie at the theaters and then part ways. John would look up and see Mary across from him, and well, he was strangely disappointed in his choice of companion for the evening. When the Watsons finally got home they paid the babysitter, who was watching a now sleeping Hamish, and got ready for bed themselves. Since it was only Saturday they were able to stay out later than most nights, but it was only ten o'clock when John turned off the lamp by the bed. Mary was already snuggled into her pillows, but John only looked at her and silently sighed, an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach.