Secrets [Johnlock]

4: Agreements

7:45 pm.

John had been standing in front of the mirror for half an hour, changing one tie after another.

Blue? Not right. Purple? Not with this shirt. Black? Too formal. Harry's floral-print tie from his twentieth birthday? Sherlock would hate that.

Fine. No tie. But just a shirt wouldn't look right either. After flicking rapidly through his wardrobe, he decided on the beige jumper Sherlock had said was nice, and the same one he had worn when they went for dinner after their first case. Yes, that'll do.

He ran a hand through his military-style hair, smoothing it down and checking it looked smart. He then grabbed his coat in case it was cold and left his bedroom, leaving his phone on the bed. He ran downstairs, gift for Sherlock in hand.

At exactly eight o'clock, his date walked eloquently downstairs, a smile plastered across his face. John's eyes admired Sherlock, from his dark locks, to his tight-fitting purple shirt, to his smart trousers and shiny shoes. He was stunning.

"You look amazing," he smiled, raising the bouquet. "These are for you."

"Thank you, John." Sherlock replied, eyes wide with surprise.

He ran upstairs, leaving the flowers in the sink until they returned and rejoined John just seconds later. For once, the door was held open for the detective, a cab was booked and parked outside and he was helped into his coat. The pair settled into the back seats, not talking much in an attempt to keep their date a secret from the driver. They arrived at Angelo's quickly, a table by the window reserved just in case.

"I'll get you a candle for the table, it's more romantic."

As agreed, John did not correct the owner, instead staying silent. When the candle was placed on the table, Sherlock muttered a quiet "thanks" and looked at the menu. In exchange for John's silence, Sherlock had promised to eat on their date. He had researched the stereotypical "date-appropriate" meals and ordered a penne pasta bake. John, clearly, had not and ordered spaghetti and meatballs. Oh well, he had a napkin.

"So, do you mind if I ask you some questions?" John began, putting a whole meatball into his mouth.

"I've been expecting you to." He stated. "Go ahead."

"How many people have you dated before?"

"You're the first one."

"What, really?"

"That surprises you. Did you think I had?"

"Well, maybe at university or something..."

"Dull. They were all out partying or doing work. I prefer murders."

"Did you like anyone at university?"

"No. They all irritated me."

"Okay, back to normal questions. What's your idea of a perfect day?"

"I'd wake up on time, solve a triple homicide, find the murderer and have them arrested, not talk to Mycroft and have you tell me I'm fantastic."

John felt a little touched at this. Sherlock deemed a perfect day one where John was proud of him. He remembered the night he found out that the detective had never been complimented, not even by his parents. He had either been insulted, told to 'piss off' or dismissed as the one who solved the crime.

"That sounds like a good day."

"My turn now. Would you ever go back to the military?"

"No. I'm happy here."