Happy For the Stranger (Johnlock)

6

 "Hi John! I came to visit you on your date!" Sherlock crawls from under the table, still wearing the robe he was earlier, except, gladly it's tied this time.

"Sherlock!" I stand up from the table. "You need to go home!"

"But you said you didn't want to go on this date anyway. Aren't you happy for some distraction? It looks dreadful." He looks over my head easily at the woman at the table, her expression growing angry.

"Sherlock, you need to go home. Now." I say, trying to give him a secret signal, but he's obviously not getting it.

"But, John, I'm helping! Don't you want me here?"

"I said tomorrow." I say, my voice growing quiet. "This isn't helping. Go home."

"John, you look miserable! She looks angry. Oh. John, she's angry." he says, continuing to look at her and talk as if she's not there.

Turning away from him and looking at the woman, she's gathering up her coat. "No, please don't leave. We can finish dinner!"

She gathers her coat and glares at me before exiting the restaurant hastily without a word.

"Oh my god, Sherlock." I put my head in my hands before pulling it up to look at him. He has a proud, smug look on his face. "Sherlock, that was not ok. She left!"

"Isn't that what you wanted?" He looks confused.

"No, Sherlock! Well, yes, but you hurt her feelings! She'll never talk to me again!"

He purses his lips and opens his mouth to say something, but I don't want to hear it so I walk away. He follows closely and insists on taking the same cab. How do I argue?

"Sherlock, I can't believe you did that." I chuckle a bit at the thought of him crouched under the table. "How long were you under the table?"

"Too long." He says in a serious tone and I laugh harder. Soon his, low rumble of a laugh joins mine and we are laughing, clutching our stomachs in the back of the cab. My hand is on his shoulder for stability, and I feel his touch my thigh briefly and it sends more tingles. Once the laughter dies down we both remove our hands, and gaze at each other, laughter still in our eyes and big smiles on our faces.

His smile is beautiful.

"It is?"

"What?"

"You said my smile is beautiful." His smile fades a bit, but it's obvious that he's still very happy.

"Oh, I said that?"

"Outloud, yes you did." He smiles again and I smile back.

"Well, it's true." We step out of the cab and enter the flat, walking up the stairs side by side instead of behind the other, our hands brushing.

We smile at each other before I continue up the stairs to my room. As I get undressed and lay in bed, smiling at the ceiling, I realize, not because of the woman, but because of Sherlock.

Ok. Maybe I'm a little bit gay.