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Two Simple Sentences	By : IDontKnowWhatImDoing Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 3980 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any associated characters, and do not profit from this work.

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To say that dinner didn't go as expected would be an understatement. Not that John had expected anything close to a normal night out with Sherlock but what he had been expecting wasn't anywhere close to what happened.
John picked at his risotto primavera with his fork while Sherlock continued to ply him with pointless small talk. "So how's your sister liking her new job?"
The question barely registered as John wondered for the tenth time if he should have just heated up the contents of whatever was in that box labeled bio-hazard in their fridge and had that for dinner. At least then his nerves wouldn't be so rattled. Waiting for the inevitable, waiting for Sherlock to embarrassing the hell out of him, was bad enough. Having all that he had come to expect from Sherlock be tossed aside, that was driving him nuts.
"John?"
"Huh?"
"Your sister?"
"What about her?"
Okay, maybe not everything had changed. Sitting there with his chin resting on his hands, grinning that same gloating grin since they sat down, Sherlock was flaunting his enjoyment of John trying to figure him out and wasn't making any attempt to disguise his amusement.
"I was asking about her new job."
"Oh hell Sherlock, you don't care one bit about her new job."
That pleased with himself grin stayed perfectly in place. "Of course I don't, but there's no need to be rude about it."
There was also no need in trying to act annoyed at Sherlock's complete admission that he didn't give one damn about his sister's new job. Being able to read him like a book, he was clearly able to see John was enjoying this every bit as much as he was. Being the center of Sherlock's attention was one of the things he loved most and more often than not it led to some intensely steamy outcomes. No matter how nervous or embarrassed he became, it was always worth it.
Shaking his head, John cracked a mocking grin back at him. "You're such a bastard."
"Clearly."
"Hell, just get on with it already."
"Mmm?"
"We both know why we're here, there's no need to keep dragging this out."
"Mmm."
"Stop that."
That bloody grin never faltered. "Hmm."
"Seriously, grow up."
"Your dinner's getting cold."
It was pointless to keep pushing so John stabbed at his risotto, taking another bite and making a grand show of going along with his game. Every attempt he had made previously to push this along resulted in the same, Sherlock wasn't going to budge.
After he had finished another bite of his meal, Sherlock repeated the question about his sister. Throwing him a dirty look first, John continued playing his part in Sherlock's ruse, all the while still trying to determine what he was up to. Sherlock rarely ever made it so obvious when he was toying with him. All this pointless small talk was just one more unexpected change in his behavior.
The first sign that something was off was their cab ride to the restaurant. There had been a complete lack of the usual distractions. No playful hands caressing and working him into a state while the cab driver watched in the rear view mirror. No excessive groping, no teeth nipping at his neck, and not once did Sherlock lean in close to whisper suggestive filthy words into his ear as he had become rather fond of doing lately when he wanted to work John into a befuddled mess.
When they had arrived at the restaurant and waited for the maître d' to check their reservation, there was no body pressing inappropriately up against him; no rubbing or grinding or long, skillful fingers working their way into his jeans. Nothing to cause him to blush in embarrassment as he tried to hide an obvious arousal. The reservation, made the day before, was yet another blaring sign of Sherlock acting out of the ordinary. When John questioned him as they waited, Sherlock practically glowed with self-admiration at knowing just when they would arrive not disguising in the least that he had planned all this ahead of time.
Their idle chatter had somehow worked its way to John's schooling at Bart's. Sherlock was prodding him now about what classes he had found most enjoyable while he stirred at his uneaten dinner with a spoon. That he had even ordered a meal was perplexing, he had pretty much ignored the plate of pasta as soon as it was placed in front of him.
John did another sweep of the room to determine if anyone there might be part of Sherlock's upcoming bet; though he was starting to doubt any involvement of someone else being that Sherlock had his back to the room and had not looked behind him once. But then again, Sherlock had specifically selected this table and that particular seat for himself, oh bloody hell he was driving himself crazy trying to figure this out.
He vaguely heard Sherlock asking him something about why he had chosen to go to Bart's but John wasn't really listening. Like a cat stalking prey, his attention snapped back from surveying the room to movement from Sherlock. The movement was just simply him unbuttoning his suit jacket and shifting in his chair but it had the added effect of drawing John's eye once again to the lovely sight in front of him. The sight made him nearly fall into his seat when they first got to their table and Sherlock had removed his coat.
Christ he shouldn't have not spoken up at the flat and instead let Sherlock walk out in his pajamas. The bastard had gotten back at him by changing into a specific outfit that he damn well knew made his legs go weak.
The outfit. Dear god that combination of clothes, so shamelessly accentuating every tempting inch of that limber body. He was wearing his best slim black trousers that highlighted his magnificent arse perfectly. Adding in an almost translucently thin white dress shirt that was tailored to fit expertly snug against his sculpted chest. And topping it off with a suit jacket he rarely wore, saved for special occasions so John could never get too accustomed to it. Soft velvet, deep coal black that caused his thick curls to shine darker, his fair skin to appear ghostly unblemished; flawlessly tight, hugging all those sharp angular bones and emphasizing just the right curves. The combined outfit made him look stunningly handsome, add in the low light of the room making his alabaster skin remarkably radiant and he looked absolutely sublime.
Letting himself ignore Sherlock's endless questions he started wishing Sherlock had excessively groped him in the cab, and had felt Sherlock's warm breath against his ear as he told him all the naughty things he wanted to do to him, and felt that sensuous body pressing up close to him no matter how much it made him blush.
No longer hearing anything Sherlock said, he started to imagine sliding a hand up Sherlock's back, caught between the soft velvet and thin material of his shirt. Then gripping his other hand into those snug trousers and roughly pulling him close, pressing tight against Sherlock's body. His own jeans were getting a bit tight as he continued imaging undoing each button of his shirt while working his jacket off. John had to shift a little in his own seat as he started fantasizing about gliding his hands over that splendid arse.
Getting so lost in how he wanted to ravage him right then and there, he hadn't noticed Sherlock had stopped talking. It was only when he saw Sherlock's smug grin finally disappearing, replaced by a deliberately slow lick of his lips that John realized what he had done. All of his unexpected behavior combined with the perfect clothes, all of it planned out to get him worked up, to get him so wanting that without a single suggestive word, without one touch, without anything but simply unbuttoning his jacket, John fell apart.
All this time he had been trying to keep one step ahead of what he expected from Sherlock, trying to figure out what was coming and instead had worked himself right into getting hard.
But he wasn't done just yet, there was one more change to their game. Before John could regain any focus and before the tightness in his jeans had any time to calm down, Sherlock did the most unexpected move imaginable. He made it plainly clear that this was no longer about winning a bet but about the enjoyment of the game itself by making a bet that was terribly easy for himself to lose.
Leaning back into his chair, causing that already snug shirt to stretch tight against his skin, the buttons threatening to pop, Sherlock withdrew a hand from the table and moved it to his waist. With the table between them blocking the view Sherlock made sure, oh god damn him, he made sure John couldn't miss the unmistakable sound of him unzipping his trousers.
And as his hand moved down just a bit further, Sherlock let out a gratifying sigh and gave him the most wicked look John had even seen. "I bet you won't tell me to stop."

My apologizes for ending this on a tease, I decided to add even more smut to the next part so it's going to take a little longer to complete. And once again my many, many thanks to you for reading this. There is still so much more I want to add to this story, I just hope I can keep it entertaining.
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Two Simple Sentences