Four Continents Watson (Johnlock)

Chapter 1

The server came by with a large silver basin and kettle, which he set in the centre of the table. Picking up the kettle, he waved encouragingly to John and Sherlock.

John placed his hands over the basin. "This is to wash our hands before the meal." Sherlock copied him, and the server poured warm rose water over their hands, as they rubbed them together. John dried his hands with the towel provided, and passed it to Sherlock afterwards.

"Have you ever eaten Moroccan food before?" John asked, shifting on the low upholstered seat to be a little closer to Sherlock.

It didn't feel like they were in central London. The restaurant was dimly lit, with ornate metal lanterns overhead and candles on the tables. Intricate wood screens divided the space into more intimate pockets. The walls were painted a soft orange that contrasted beautifully with the dark woodwork.

Sherlock shook his head. "Is it like Lebanese cuisine?"

Taking his hand, John played with Sherlock's long fingers. It was still an adjustment when he did things like that, a zing of awareness and desire tingling through Sherlock.

"Not really. I'd recommend trying the tagine here. It has chicken and sweet potatoes, cooked slowly with cinnamon and other spices." John seemed relaxed and happy, sipping some white wine.

Their server came back, and they placed their order.

John shifted even closer to Sherlock. "I couldn't stop thinking about you today." His breath was warm on Sherlock's ear.

"Oh really?" Daringly, Sherlock shifted his hand to rest it on John's thigh, feeling it's warmth through the dark denim. It was still a thrill to be allowed to touch casually like this. "And what were you thinking?"

Leaning closer, John kissed Sherlock near his ear. "How much I wanted to spend an hour or two just worshipping your neck." He nuzzled in, dragging his cheek over Sherlock's skin before planting a small kiss down a few inches.

A shudder ran through Sherlock, and his hand slipped to John's inner thigh, playing along the inner seam. It was tempting to slide his hand up further, but they were in a public place. "You should do that when we get home."

Their meal came shortly, and when the server theatrically removed the cone shaped ceramic lid, the wonderful aroma of the sweet and savoury stew made them both sit up in interest.

John chuckled as he showed Sherlock how to eat cous cous using his right hand only. "Just pick up a smaller amount, and kind of toss it on your cupped fingers until it's a little ball." He demonstrated, and tossed the loose clump into his mouth.

Sherlock tried to copy him, but ended up with the small spheres all over his hand. "Hmmm. Maybe I should stick to the potato and meat."

"Don't worry about it. They bring the water around afterwards to wash our hands again." John scooped up some date and chicken with a small piece of bread, looking like a natural.

Something about that just made Sherlock's mood drop a little, and he ate quietly, letting John dominate the conversation, encouraging him to talk about the clinic.

When they got home later, John pulled Sherlock down onto the sofa. "Something was off for you tonight. You seemed happy at first, but you got quieter in the last half of the meal. Did you not like the food? The company?"

Things had been a lot more open between them since doing the questions together. They were more willing to discuss things like this now, and Sherlock gave John a quick hug.

"It was a beautiful restaurant, and good food..." Sherlock started, not sure how to put his feelings into words.

John nodded encouragingly. "But..."