I Don't Want To Believe

Dinner In Another Dimension

    John sighed, looking around his new room and sincerely wishing he had his own room back. What he wouldn't give to be participating in that gruesome workout, what he wouldn't do to be stuck in the locker room talking to Mike about aliens. Which John had insisted didn't exist. And now he was stuck with a race car bed and a claw footed bathtub with an alien who claims to be a superior human who was fascinated by staring at John. Well, maybe John and Mike were both wrong about some things. John was very happy that Sherlock had included a soccer ball, because John spent the next hour or so seeing how many juggles he could get in, kicking the ball around the room, bouncing it off of the white metal walls without fear of breaking anything since there seemed to be nothing to break. He turned over the large mahogany dining room table (which Sherlock had probably thought was a common bedroom accessory) and used that as a goal, shooting from all angles of the room just to give himself something to do. At least his close encounter will make him a better soccer player. Finally, after what felt like ages, the door opened and a little brunette woman, looking perfectly human, walked into the room, closing the door, holding what looked like he same leather armor Sherlock had been wearing. John was currently standing on the bed, positioning the soccer ball on the headboard for an aerial shot.
"I'm sorry to intrude." She muttered, looking rather embarrassed as she laid the clothes out on the floor. John hopped down, throwing the soccer ball into the goal and walking over to investigate the outfit.
"You're not intruding; it's good to see another person wandering around here." John assured.
"I'm not...well, you're a human right?" she asked doubtfully, looking him over just like Sherlock had, but a little bit more innocently.
"As far as I know." John shrugged.
"You don't look very different from us." She decided.
"How do you guys look so similar to us?" John asked, trying to make friendly conversation. Honestly, she looked more scared than he did.
"Oh, it's a long story, I'm sure they'll fill you in." she muttered, wringing her hands nervously and sneaking another look at his face, as if she weren't allowed to stare.
"I'm Molly, Molly Hooper." She said quickly, holding out a hand. John shook it rather nervously, smiling all the same.
"John Watson." He said. She looked away once more, as if scared to talk to him.
"Yes, I know, we've heard a lot about you, the whole...well, Sherlock had been talking, bragging even." She shrugged.
"Sherlock, that psycho boy that stalked me for the past day?" John asked with a laugh. Molly forced a smile, but wiped it off her face as soon as possible, as if afraid Sherlock was listening.
"Yes well, he's a...character I suppose. Seemed really excited to get a human." she shrugged.
"You make it sound as if I'm his pet." John decided.
"Well, an inferior life form, you were caught for him, I mean, you two are supposed to...I'm sure they'll fill you in." Molly muttered.
"I'm not inferior." John insisted, wrinkling his eyebrows in confusion.
"No, that's not what I was saying, I was...I'm sure they'll tell you all about it, I wasn't trying to be...I'll just go now." She decided, stumbling her way to the door.
"Wait, Molly, what do you mean I was caught for him, what are they going to do to me?" John asked nervously, trying to follow her for more answers.
"I'm not supposed to talk about it, I'm just supposed to give you clothes, Sherlock thought, well, he thought that gold would be a nice color..." Molly opened the door nervously, starting to go out.
"Hello Molly." said a deep, familiar voice outside in the hall. John groaned, and heard Molly squeal in fear.
"Sherlock!" she exclaimed, edging her way around the boy as she tried to make her way into the hallway.
"What are you doing with Mr. Watson?" he asked. John poked his head out the door, but Sherlock turned his eyes on him and he scrambled back inside.
"I was just...dropping off his clothes, sir, Mycroft had told me...he said you picked gold, it's a good color." She said frightfully.
"You sound scared." Sherlock decided.
"I'm not scared." Molly insisted, her voice no more than a squeak, so she wasn't very convincing.
"Have you told him anything you shouldn't?" Sherlock asked, talking a step closer and forcing Molly to take a defensive step back. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing but air came out, and John just sighed.
"Sherlock, she didn't tell me anything, can't you see you're scaring her to death?" John asked, stepping forward to defend this poor girl. Molly looked at him thankfully, as if all her prayers were answered. Sherlock turned on John again, but this time he didn't let himself take a step back, not to be intimidated by his offensive stature.
"Go on Molly, you're not needed." Sherlock decided, waving her away without taking his eyes off of John.
"Thank you." She muttered, whether to Sherlock or to John, they never found out. She scampered away through the white hallway, her footsteps fading around the corner.
"Poor thing." Sherlock muttered.
"Poor thing? You're the one terrifying her!" John insisted.
"She fancies me." Sherlock pointed out, walking in and shutting the door behind him. The doorway faded into the wall, locking the two of them inside the room. John just laughed, thinking of the terror in Molly's eyes and seriously doubting that.
"Well, that's too bad." John decided.
"Why is that too bad?" Sherlock asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Well, you don't really look like the cuddle type." John decided.
"I can be...cuddly." Sherlock muttered, taking a step forward as if he would like to experiment. John took a step back, nearly tripping over the overturned table and smiling apologetically.
"So, you're here to take me to dinner?" John asked.
"Yes, but I see you're not dressed." He pointed out, eyeing the leather clothes on the ground.
"You scared off my delivery girl." John agreed, grabbing the outfit from off of the ground and eyeing it suspiciously. Just like Sherlock's, it was lined at the seams with golden trim; it was almost like a jump suit with a bit more fashion design.
"Stunning." John muttered.
"Do you like it?" Sherlock asked hopefully, rocking back and forth awkwardly on his heels.
"I'd prefer the clothes I got here in." John decided.
"No, you must look normal, we can't have people figuring out that you're the human." Sherlock insisted.
"From what I've heard, you've been bragging." John laughed. "I'd think you'd want to show me off more than hide me."
"Who told you that?" Sherlock asked, looking at the door accusingly as if he knew Molly had been yapping.
"Mycroft, of course." John shrugged, knowing that he didn't want to accuse Molly of anything.
"Mycroft, when did you come in contact with that oaf?" Sherlock asked in disgust.
"He came to check on me." John lied. Sherlock looked at him in doubt, but nodded, hovering over to where John had turned over the table.
"What have you done to my room?" Sherlock asked, running his fingers over the wood for a moment and turning to John accusingly.
"Your room? Last I checked it was my prison cell." John pointed out. Sherlock looked around sadly, as if feeling a bit guilty for putting his pet in a cage.
"Well, of course, I designed it all for you, and I wanted you to feel at home, the dungeons back on our home planet are much less comfortable than what I have provided you with." Sherlock assured.
"Dungeons?" John asked, not quite sure that would go over well on Earth.
"Well, yes." Sherlock admitted, as if this were somehow embarrassing.
"I'll settle for the racecar bed." John decided. Sherlock forced a laugh, an expression which seemed rather odd on his face.
"Well, go on then, get dressed." He decided. John looked at the outfit reluctantly, but walked into the bathroom, closing the door and doing his best to change into this very tight, very sweaty and uncomfortable leather outfit. When he thought he had successfully changed, John tugged a bit on the color and walked out. Sherlock was sitting on the bed, looking uncomfortable and tapping his toes together. When he heard the door open, he stood up very quickly and turned to see John walk out.
"How do I look?" John asked, expecting Sherlock to start swooning. Instead, the boy started to laugh, as if John was amusing in some way.
"Good thing I'm here to help you." He decided, walking over to where John stood. Immediately John ducked away from his touch, not overly fond of letting this boy be his personal hand maiden after Molly's fear of him.
"What's wrong with it?" John asked.
"Oh, well, you got the zipper all twisted up, your collar is folded, and that's not a belt, it's a sash." Sherlock pointed out, fingering the long golden strip of fabric John had tied around his waist.
"Oh, a sash, how very manly." John muttered.
"It's formal attire, no one really likes it, but it's necessary." Sherlock sighed, not sounding very sympathetic.
"Whatever you say, alien boy." John muttered. Sherlock just chuckled, coming around behind John and carefully unzipping the jumpsuit. John felt extremely uncomfortable because the boy seemed to pause, staring at his back before finally starting to untwist the zipper, letting his fingers trail against John's skin at whatever chance he got.
"Careful." John insisted, a shiver running up his spine as Sherlock's fingertip brushed him once more.
"Sorry Mr. Watson." Sherlock murmured, but the small breath he took told John that he was in fact not sorry at all. When finally Sherlock zipped the zipper back up and helped John unfold his color, which made John feel a bit like Dracula, he stepped back and let John arrange the golden sash around his shoulders. Sherlock took a deep breath, as if admiring John like a proud parent, and smiled.
"You look truly stunning." He decided. John didn't smile; he was very uncomfortable with Sherlock's constant gaze and was wondering when he could change into his normal clothes and go home.
"So, dinner." John muttered. Sherlock nodded, looking towards the door without actually moving forward.
"Yes, dinner." Sherlock agreed. John nodded, biting the inside of his lip and rocking awkwardly on his heels as he felt Sherlock watching him once more.
"I don't know how to get out of here." John admitted with an apologetic laugh.
"That's quite alright; you're not supposed to know." Sherlock shrugged. He walked over to the door and if by some sort of magical technology, the handle popped out of the metal, letting Sherlock pull it open and let John out.
"So, where are we going? I doubt there's a McDonalds around here." John decided. Sherlock looked at him with a rather blank expression, and John pulled uncomfortably at his leather color, which was rubbing up against his neck.
"What is that?" Sherlock asked.
"Greasy heaven. You know what, how about we both change into human clothes and go check it out?" John suggested.
"So you can run away? I think not." Sherlock decided.
"Why couldn't you have just taken another human, there's tons out there, plenty would love to have this experience, why did it have to be me? I have a life you know." John pointed out. Sherlock just chuckled, starting their way down the turns of the white hallway, which now was branching off into different directions. John didn't know how, but Sherlock could navigate flawlessly, even without arrows or distinguishing landmarks.
"You fit the profile." Sherlock shrugged.
"Who's profile?" John asked. Sherlock just paused, looking back on John with a small smile.
"Mine." He said simply, walking off and leaving John rather stationary in the middle of the hallway. What was he possibly supposed to say to that? Was this alien hitting on him?
"What, so you kidnap me, take me away from my family and my life because I'm your type?" John asked.
"You'll see why that's important soon enough." Sherlock sighed.
"Why am I even here? Why kidnap me in the first place?" John demanded.
"I said, you'll see. Now if you would please keep your voice down, we don't want to scare Ms. Hooper any more than necessary." Sherlock decided. They had reached another room; the door handle popping out of the wall and letting Sherlock pull it open. John was expecting a restaurant or something, filled with aliens all eating and chatting, or at least Mycroft sitting there waiting for them. But no, it was completely empty of any sort lifeform, all that was there was a long white table that seemed to be hovering, without any legs or stabilization, and two very curvy, very sci-fi looking chairs hover next to it. Sherlock walked up to the closest chair and pulled it out, like the gentleman he wanted to appear to be.
"You may sit, Mr. Watson." He said with a smile, his eyes twinkling.
"So, when is everyone else coming?" John asked, taking his seat very cautiously as if the chair was going to fall back to the ground with his weight. Sherlock just laughed, walking around the table and sitting in the chair across from John.
"There is no one else coming." He shrugged, as if this was obvious. John looked around at the table, which had no chairs or food or plates or anything.
"What, so this is like...actually dinner?" John asked.
"No, it's metaphorically dinner." Sherlock snapped, not looking amused.
"Like, dinner dinner, like a date?" John asked, rather disgusted to think that way.
"If you would like it to be, yes." Sherlock agreed. John managed to keep his mouth from falling open, but there was nothing he could do to stop the blood from rushing to his face, making him glow red.
"No, I don't...I don't want it to be." John decided. Sherlock just looked up with a small smile, as if John's embarrassment was hilarious to him.
"Then it's not a date." He decided. "Just dinner."
"When can I go home?" John asked, wanting to quickly change the topic. Sherlock sighed, tapping his long, elegant fingers on the table as if this were a difficult question to answer.
"Well, I think that might depend on your cooperation, and Mycroft's mood." Sherlock decided.
"You said that would determine if I live or not." John pointed out.
"Well, going home is living, is it not?" Sherlock asked. John just smiled in annoyance, nodding.
"Yes, I suppose it is." He agreed. Thankfully their conversation was ended when a couple of people scrambled into the room, wearing leather jumpsuits lined with white, obviously servants since they were carrying platters of food. John noticed that it was all human food, no green goo, no oddly colored beef and weird vegetables, no, it was surprisingly normal. Molly, he noticed, was among the servants, carrying a platter of roasted chicken and skirting around the table to John's side, where she placed the plate down next to John, as if she didn't want to go anywhere near Sherlock.
"Thank you Molly." John said with a smile, and she gave a weak little smile before scampering off with the rest of the servants. A plate and silverware had been presented before John, made of some odd, reddish metal that looked almost like copper.
"Why is she always so scared?" John asked.
"I have no idea, she reminds me of a...well, you wouldn't know." Sherlock sighed.
"What, some alien creature?" John asked hopefully, hoping to find out more of this boy's odd planet.
"I was thinking more along the lines of an earthly guinea pig." Sherlock admitted. John let out a genuine laugh, which made a smile spread across Sherlock's usually expressionless face.
"Yes well, speaking of earthly..." John muttered, looking down at the spread of food in confusion.
"Do you like it? I had the chiefs pick it out special, they did their best, went down to earth and everything." Sherlock said proudly. John examined the platters, seeing everything from roast beef to pizza rolls spread out in a very decorative manner. He couldn't help but admire Sherlock's determination to make John feel at home.
"Well, thank you, it looks good." John decided. Sherlock looked up hopefully, as if not able to believe that John appreciated him.
"Well tomorrow we are to dine with Mycroft and the three leaders, so you must be prepared on table educate." Sherlock insisted.
"Why are we dining with the, three leaders?" John asked, not sure who those people were and why they were so important.
"We didn't take you to watch you scurry around like a mouse in a maze, no, you have a purpose John Watson, you are very important." Sherlock decided. John frowned, not seeing how he could be very important at all.
"Yes well, I know all about manners, I took a home economics class in seventh grade, ya, I know what a salad fork is, and a soup spoon, and where to put your napkin while dining." John said proudly.
"Good, that's good. I have no idea what you just said, but that's good." Sherlock decided, starting to serve himself some mashed potatoes and pasta with tomato sauce. He seemed to have no idea what in fact he was eating, because he looked at it very suspiciously, as if it were poisoned or something. John, however, went right for the pizza rolls. Forget grades and soccer, his greatest accomplishment was eating two whole bags of these beauties in one sitting, and it made him feel a lot better to burn his mouth on processed cheese. Just like home.