Like a Fairytale

Official Date #1

"Table for two please." John said with a smile. The tall boy looked at the two, and you could see the gears turn in his head, trying to figure out who was standing in front of him.
"Follow me." he decided, grabbing two long menus and walking over to a seat next to the wall. This was an ideal location considering no one could look through the window and see the two of them. They both sat down and ordered two waters, just because they were saving their money for dinner. When the waiter walked off the two of them picked up the menus.
"Great Sherlock, you picked a place with menus you can't even read!" John exclaimed with a laugh. True to his word, the menus were all written in Italian, so there was loopy cursive writing illegible anyway, but in another language it was nearly impossible to read.
"They're translated underneath." Sherlock pointed out.
"Oh." John mumbled, now just noticing the cursive. The waiter came back and took their orders, John ordered a personal pizza and Sherlock ordered three cheese ravioli. They looked around at the dinner crowd, old rich people in dresses, all trying to look fancy on a week night. Sherlock rolled his eyes, the rich old ladies scared him a bit, and they were very unpredictable to be honest. And in the other corner there were some college age kids, obviously on a date themselves, but too busy kissing over the table to have much conversation. If only it were socially acceptable to kiss John over the table, but alas the entire restaurant would probably burn them for witchcraft. There was a candle flickering in front of them, Sherlock had no idea what for, but it looked romantic and flickered ever so slightly in the dim lighting over John's face, and that was worth his life savings. John looked gorgeous, as usual, Sherlock felt like the luckiest guy in the world to be able to actually look at him.
"You look thoughtful." John decided.
"Just thinking." Sherlock shrugged, which was true. He didn't exactly elaborate on that very much.
"What are you thinking about?" John asked.
"Just how good you look right now." Sherlock admitted, blushing a little bit and looking around the tables to see who else had heard his pathetic attempt at flirting.
"Well then, I'm sorry I interrupted." John laughed. Sherlock just rolled his eyes; John could be such a loser some times.
"Your parents won't mind that you didn't eat with them right?" Sherlock asked.
"They shouldn't, no." John shrugged. "How about yours?"
"No, of courses not, I haven't talked to them since Redbeard was murdered." Sherlock said with a frown.
"Oh come on Sherlock, Redbeard wasn't murdered, he was put down." John pointed out, which only made Sherlock frown more.
"So you're perfectly okay with them killing my best friend?" Sherlock snapped.
"Of course not, but Redbeard was in a lot of pain I'm sure, and there was no chance in him recovering from that." John pointed out.
"There's always a chance. They could've spent their prized fortune on medications or surgery, but no, they had to go and kill him." Sherlock growled. He could feel a slow fire spreading over himself, it was hate, anger, blame, and he couldn't let himself think that Redbeard should've died. But now even John was on the side of the Devil, and that simply couldn't do.
"I'm sure you know in your heart..." John started.
"I don't care what's in my heart. It's stone cold anyway, as you reminded me a couple of times before." Sherlock pointed out, scowling a scowl that would make any man in his right mind cower in fear. But John, being the stubborn little football captain that he was, didn't start cowering.
"I didn't mean it like that." he muttered, obviously not in the mood for defending himself and possibly having an angry boyfriend go storming out on him. They didn't need that much attention drawn to them. The fire died down inside Sherlock a little bit, but he still frowned angrily. What did John know about the murderous entities that were his parents?
"Ya well, it came out wrong I suppose." Sherlock snapped. John looked at him suspiciously, as if trying to see if he were being serious or not.
"So, there's a game this Friday, I was wondering if you'd do me the honor of attending." John decided, changing the subject completely.
"And why should I do that?" Sherlock asked, feeling very sassy right now. John's smile faded, but he seemed to think Sherlock was just playing around.
"Because I'll play a lot better if you'll be waiting under the bleachers for me." John decided. At that Sherlock's anger faded almost completely, as if someone had just doused his anger fire in embarrassed love.
"Oh, well..." Sherlock didn't know just how he was supposed to answer to that. "Sure I'll come."
"Perfect." John decided with a large smile, which, for once, was returned. Their food came in a little bit, and they were both very amused to find that, instead of a personal pizza, John had accidently ordered a whole one. It came with its own stand up little platter and everything, and compared to Sherlock's little bowl of ravioli looked like Godzilla or something.
"I'll eat it." John decided after the waiter had gone, but he definitely sounded doubtful.
"I'll help when I'm done with this." Sherlock assured, poking around at the ravioli on his plate.
"You don't look like you could even eat three slices of pizza." John defended.
"One time I ordered a pizza just for myself, on another occasion where I wasn't talking to my family, and I ate the whole thing over the course of breakfast, lunch, and dinner." Sherlock admitted.
"How many times a year do you not talk to your family?" John asked.
"I try to avoid them as much as possible, but on times like this, maybe three a year." Sherlock shrugged.
"How long do they last?" John asked curiously.
"Oh, about a week or two. It's always mom that breaks first, crying about whatever happened and begging me to rejoin them because we're a 'family' and we need to 'stick together'. In the end it's so pathetic I end up just going with it." Sherlock shrugged.
"You poor thing, you have family that cares about you." John said with a little pouty face, but Sherlock just frowned and he shut up.
"If it weren't for you I'd be sitting up in my room, starving myself no doubt, and living alone with all of these, these feelings." Sherlock said the word as if it were a swear word, which it kind of was to him. Sherlock Holmes was too good for silly things like feelings, not when there were things like mathematics and intellect. But that never lasted long because he takes one look at John and his heart puffs up like balloon.
"Well I'm glad you're here too, because without you I'd be failing math even more than I am now." John decided with a shy little smile, taking another bite of his enormous pizza.
"What's your grade now?" Sherlock asked.
"A C, 85% or something stupid." John said, but he said it proudly.
"That is really good!" Sherlock assured.
"What's your grade?" John defended, squinting his eyes suspiciously.
"Well, I don't want to brag, but it's a 104%." Sherlock said, smiling modestly.
"Oh my god Sherlock, is there anything you can't do?" John asked.
"You've seen me play sports." Sherlock pointed out. John sighed, rolling his eyes.
"Okay, I guess there are some things you can't do." John decided.
"Oh, wow John, thanks!" Sherlock exclaimed, but he was laughing.
"I thought you didn't want to hear lies!" John defended.
"I didn't but don't sugar coat it!" Sherlock just rolled his eyes with a laugh.
"Oh my god Sherlock, you're seriously such a dork!" John decided.
"I'd say the same to you." Sherlock laughed.
"Oh shut up." John threatened, but he seemed only too happy to be called a dork by Sherlock. They ate the rest of their food in comfortable silence, Sherlock eating his ravioli slowly and John pretty much devouring the pizza like he hadn't eaten in three years. Sherlock thought this was quite odd, but it fit John's personality so well that it was kind of funny. Sure he might be on a date with another guy, but you'd never believe that someone so manly could be gay. He's dated all the best girls, he's the football captain, wearing shorts in the winter, muscular with wavy short hair, and now he could eat an entire pizza before Sherlock was done with a small plate of ravioli. This is why the universe is so untrustworthy, just when you thought you knew something about human nature a guy like John starts kissing Sherlock under the bleachers. Not that Sherlock was complaining or anything; he was over joyed to see that anyone had the possibility of turning over to the gay side.
"See, told you I could do it." John pointed out as he picked a fallen piece of peperoni off of the silver tray.
"Well, I stand corrected." Sherlock shrugged, dropping his own fork and admitting defeat. He was done with his own plate; save a couple of chunks of cheese floating around in the mysterious cheesy liquid, but he didn't think even John would eat that.
"Was there a bet on that?" John asked hopefully.
"No, there wasn't, and I wouldn't give you my money even if there were." Sherlock pointed out, pressing his hands over his pockets playfully as if he expected John to steal from him. Like the two richest boys in the entire town needed to steal from each other and make bets to get some extra cash. John checked his watch and Sherlock thought he heard a slight curse under his breath.
"It's already six thirty; my parents will be dead worried." John grumbled.
"Mine probably think I went and jumped off a roof top or something. Only Mrs. Hudson knows about you, so they think I'm mad with depression." Sherlock shrugged. That actually wasn't all that bad.
"Alright then." John decided, just as the waiter came over with their check. As soon as it touched the table John snatched it up, before Sherlock could even protest, and looked at it quickly.
"What is it?" Sherlock asked anxiously.
"That doesn't concern you." John defended, getting out some money but not letting Sherlock see which bills he had actually gotten out.
"Oh don't pretend to be a hero, come on, I can afford my own bloody ravioli." Sherlock pointed out.
"Not a chance." John debated, flagging down the waiter to come get the money.
"No John, I swear to god, I can pay for my own..." the waiter came, cutting off his sentence.
"Thank you, I hope you both enjoyed your meal." The waiter said, and they both smiled politely back up at him until he disappeared, and then it was mad rush to empty their pockets for the tip. Thankfully Sherlock had a ten in his pocket, and he slammed it down on the table before John could even get his roll of cash out.
"How much do I owe you?" Sherlock demanded.
"Only a nice goodbye." John pointed out, getting up from his chair and grabbing his bag.
"Oh, so now you're trying to get rid of me?" Sherlock laughed.
"Of course not, I just don't want to get killed by my parents." John pointed out. Sherlock got to his feet as well, pulling on his trench coat and walking out of the restaurant. The sun was sinking now, since they were on stupid winter times and all of the days couldn't be bothered to shine much sunlight after six. Sherlock and John walked side by side; the streets were pretty much empty since everyone was either at home or in some restaurant or something. Sherlock had the sudden urge to take John's hand once again, but he thought better of it, since there were so little people they could be spotted over a long distance.
"That was good, that pizza was amazing." John decided as they walked farther down the street.
"Ya, the ravioli was pretty good." Sherlock agreed.
"I just hope that stupid waiter won't go blabbing about it to any of his friends." John decided.
"Why would he do that?" Sherlock asked curiously.
"Because people like drama." John shrugged.
"I don't think he will, and if he did I don't think he would've recognized us." Sherlock pointed out.
"I think we'll be okay." John assured. Sherlock nodded in agreement, walking peacefully alongside of him. They had just past the park, which was shutting its gates (no people in past dark), and there were some little kids running into their houses as if the darkness would swallow them whole.
"I remember when I was a little kid; I used to be terrified of the dark." John remembered.
"It's not the dark you were afraid of; it was what was in the dark." Sherlock corrected.
"I always felt like the Big Bad Wolf would come and eat my face off." John admitted. Sherlock burst into laughter, trying to picture John at this age cowering at a drawing of a wolf.
"That's adorable." Sherlock decided. "When I was little all of the business men used to scare me, with their polished shoes and crisp suits and perfectly folded hair, I always thought they'd break into my room and steal Redbeard or something." Sherlock admitted.
"Really, business me?" John asked, as if he didn't believe it.
"Well, I was convinced they were all vampires because one had sharp teeth and he worked nights with foreign affairs, so I broke in one day and brought a big flashlight, mirror, and a clove of garlic. I snuck up to his desk and shined the flashlight in his face and shoved the garlic in his nose and I was dragged away by security." Sherlock admitted.
"You're kidding?!" John exclaimed, doubling over with laughter.
"Sad truth, mom and dad came to get me, still in their pajamas; I was grounded for so long." Sherlock sighed.
"That's adorable." John decided.
"I thought it was for the best, like who wants a vampire working in your office building?" Sherlock pointed out. They were rounding the corner to John's house, and Sherlock's heart sunk because he knew that his time with John was becoming scarce. There was basically no one on the streets now, and the numbers will be reduced once again when John goes into home sweet skyscraper.
"Well, I guess this is goodbye then." Sherlock shrugged. John frowned, they both really didn't want to say goodbye.
"I suppose." John muttered. He grabbed Sherlock's hand without warning and pulled him into a small alley, out of anyone's view unless they looked purposely around the corner. Sherlock's heart leapt, there was only one reason John would want to get out of the public's eye.
"I told you all I wanted was a nice goodbye." John pointed out, standing on his tiptoes and planting a soft kiss to Sherlock's anxious lips. Of course now his heart melted once again, but John seemed nice and satisfied, as if that was all he was expecting out of this evening. Sherlock wanted more of course, and he was sure John felt the same, but with a flirtatious smile John disappeared around the corner, obviously going into his not so humble abode. Sherlock stood there for a little while, standing with the heaps of trash bags and the beat up old shopping carts, trying to etch the feeling of John's perfect lips onto his. After a while, when he had calmed down enough that he wasn't blushing too furiously, he walked down to his own house and went inside.
"Where were you?" asked a cruel voice. The house was mostly dark, except for a light on in the sitting room, where Mycroft sat, spinning his umbrella in his hand even though there was a zero percent chance of it raining inside.
"Out." Sherlock snapped.
"Where?"
"I went out to eat okay, is that a crime?" Sherlock growled.
"Why would you choose to eat out when you could very easily eat in here?" Mycroft asked.
"I don't have to answer to murderers." Sherlock pointed out.
"You very well must, or I will tell Father that you've been to the bar. He won't like that very much." Mycroft pointed out.
"You wouldn't dare." Sherlock growled.
"Oh, but if worse comes to worse brother dear I just might have to."
"Shut up Mycroft, we all know I wasn't at the bar, now leave me alone." Sherlock growled, storming up the stairs and leaving his brother to be all dramatic with that stupid umbrella alone.