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Hacked	By : SoftPurpleSherlockian Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 4354 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters and am making no money off of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
John stared down at his watch, just two more hours until he could go home. The day had been a welcome distraction, and John was feeling more relaxed about returning to the flat, having convinced himself that he was simply imagining the events that had transpired over the last day. It's wasn't denial, the doctor thought of it more as self-preservation, he didn't have anywhere else to go, and he was not going to throw away a two year friendship based on some fleeting emotion that he may or may not have had towards his flatmate. Sherlock was a fragile man - for all of his brilliant skills and deductions, he was very much an adolescent about most things, and John couldn't risk breaking him, not that he didn't want to, because if there was one thing John Watson wanted to do, it was break Sherlock, but only his body. John wanted to knock him over and build him back up, but Sherlock's soul was something that the doctor couldn't risk damaging. It was far too precious to him.
So John pushed all thoughts of the detective out of his mind and forced himself to concentrate on the set of tonsils he was currently removing from the 4 year old boy before him. He had cauterized the wound and gave a final check of the patients' vitals. He quickly typed up his report, signed the boys chart, and handed him over to the nurse who would wheel him to recovery. The day had been a pleasant change from the chaos of the previous work day, for which John was grateful. He made his way to the corner of the room and shed his surgical scrubs and opened his locker to gather his belongings. John noticed the blinking green light on the side of his phone and knew the awaiting message could only be from one person. He ignored it and started down the hall to his office, only once he was tucked away inside the familiar room did he allow himself to read the waiting text.
Made dinner plans at Angelo's –SH
John stared at his screen, and tried to decide the proper response. He had made plans to go to the pub with Greg that night, but if Sherlock took the initiative to make dinner reservations, John wasn't going to argue. He had been fighting with the detective about how little he ate since the first day he met him, and if Sherlock eating meant that plans got pushed back another day, well, he wasn't going to say anything negative about it. John quickly opened his messages and typed an apology to Greg.
Something has come up tonight.

Rain check tomorrow?
Sure mate, hope it's nothing

serious.
No no. It's just Sherlock
Ah.
John chuckled as he read Greg's response, if anyone knew what a pain in the arse Sherlock was, it was Detective Inspector Lestrade. The doctor liked the fact that he didn't need to give any further explanation than Sherlock's name, and made a mental note to treat Greg to the first round tomorrow night, as he started another message to his flat mate.
YOU made reservations?

Someone call the press!

This is going in my blog!
John smiled as he teased the detective.
Hilarious, John. I told Angelo

to expect us at 7pm. If that is

inconvenient, please let me

know and I will make other

arrangements. –SH
7pm is fine. That will give

me time to come home

and change before we head

out.
Don't forget the milk. –SH
John sighed as he returned his phone to his pocket and made his way outside to hail a taxi.
'God forbid he to go to the shops' John thought with disdain as he opened the door of the cab that had pulled up to the kerb in front of him.
"Two Two One B Baker Street" he told the cabbie, and they sped off, leaving the hospital behind them.
John focused on the buildings they drove by, passing in a blur of colours and shapes that could only be made out if you focused your attention on the details. The drive was a quick one, they were only a five minute drive from the flat on a good day, and here they were pulling up to the kerb a mere eight minutes after John stepped into the cab. He paid the driver and walked across the road to the Teso Express to grab the milk that the fridge in their flat was lacking. John had thought about getting it after dinner, but knew he would never hear the end of it from Sherlock if he walked inside without the milk in tow, and John didn't feel like rocking the boat.
The flat was quiet as he made his way inside, and quiet worried John. Quiet usually meant one of two things:
1. Sherlock was in a foul mood and John would be subjected to one of his tantrums, complete with a pity party and lots of sulking.
2. Sherlock had blown something up and had retreated to his room in hopes of avoiding John upon his inevitable discovery of said item that was now no more.
John mentally prepared himself for both cases as he made his way to the kitchen to put the milk away.
"You're home" a voice called out from the sitting room, and a startled John spun around to meet the gaze of a one Mr. Sherlock Holmes sitting on the sofa.
"Brilliant deduction." John sarcastically responded as he gave the detective a once over. Damn but Sherlock looked good. John didn't think he would ever get used to the classiness that Sherlock Holmes possessed when he really wanted to. The man had exactly two looks: There was the usual pyjama bottoms, baggy t-shirt, worn out dressing gown look that John was accustomed to seeing on a daily basis, and then there was the dressed up look, and when Sherlock dressed up, God help the rest of humanity.
John gaped at his flat mate, who was lounging on the sofa with the ever bored expression on his face. Wearing a deep blue button down shirt, that was open just at the collar, and a pair of black tailored trousers to match the Savil Row jacket Sherlock had absent mindedly thrown across the back of the chair, John could only swallow as his exploration of the detective was interrupted.
"You'd best go get ready, John. We wouldn't want Angelo to give our table away."
John laughed "Angelo would hold that table for you for the next six months if you asked him to!"
He was rewarded with a genuine smile from the detective, "I know."
John made his way upstairs, and was just about to enter his room when he heard Sherlock calling from his place on the sofa, "Wear the light grey jumper, John. It goes well with your hair."
Now, John Watson was not the type of man who liked to be given orders (not that Sherlock knew that), but in this case, John did as the detective asked because honestly, Sherlock was much better at that sort of thing he was.
He quickly jumped in the shower, trying hard not to think about the events that transpired while he was in there the night before, and washed away the sterile smell of the hospital. Looking at the tiny clock on the shelf, John hurried to dry himself off and get dressed. He was a man of his word, he had told Sherlock that 7pm was fine to leave, and damn it, they were leaving at 7pm, even if that did mean the ends of his hair remained a little damp.
"Ah, John. I trust you're ready to go?" Sherlock asked as John watched him button his jacket and grab his coat off of the hook by the door.
"Yeah, just let me grab my keys."
"I have mine, John."
"Right. Good. Sherlock?" John started "What the bloody hell are you doing with your coat? It's nearly 80 degrees outside."
"Just in case." was the only answer the detective provided, and the two of them made their way out of the flat and down to the street.
John was at ease with how normal everything was back to feeling. He made conversation about the events of his work day, or something he saw on the telly, and Sherlock wouldn't respond or give any indication that he had even heard the doctor.
"Yes" John thought contentedly. "Good. Everything is back to normal. Knew it was all in my head. Imagination working overtime, that's all."
The doctor relaxed more and more as they reached their destination, and by the time they had arrived at the restaurant, he was more confident than ever that he had once again made the right decision in keeping his thoughts to himself and masking any hint of emotions that would risk Sherlock finding him out.
"He couldn't handle it" was Johns' final thought on the matter before entering Angelo's and finding his seat.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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