Dating
Chapter 2
"Dating”
note: John and Sherlock talk about dating and both are sharing the same opinion: the other is deluding himself
A few days after their celebration John took the tea kettle off the stove and poured water into two cups standing on the counter. It was still an hour until he scheduled to meet an old university friend along with his friend's wife and her sister, whom he was to be introduced to tonight. He was wearing his favorite shoes, a close fitting dark blue jumper and had his hair combed back nice and casual. A quick look into the mirror in the bathroom confirmed he was looking his best tonight. He felt good, everything was back to normal, him going out on a date and Sherlock staying in, doing whatever it was he did. He’d dated a lot of women, John mused, trying to ignore the certain tone these words had. It had become an integral part of his life in the last two years. He liked dating, it was fun most of the time and he usually didn't give it a second thought when it didn't work out. A casual and distracting way to spend free time and John had never thought about stopping it just because Sherlock had become the center of his every day life again. It seemed ridiculous, John told himself, to stop just because he was feeling weird about Sherlock Holmes lately.
Sherlock was lounging on the couch, for once with his own laptop, three untouched cups of tea gone cold on the coffee table, wearing his silk pajamas and nightgown. He was wiggling his toes on the small table in front of him, narrowly avoiding the teacups and a saucer with three human eyeballs, his full concentration directed at the screen of his laptop.
They had been sharing a lazy afternoon in their living room, John reading a book and Sherlock playing the violin for hours. John had felt perfectly comfortable, Sherlock’s soft music lulling him into serenity. When he had asked Sherlock what he was playing, the other had just hummed at him.
"Sherlock, I am going out," John announced when he put a fourth cup of tea next to Sherlock on the table.
"You put enough sugar into my tea?"
"Yes. Sherlock, did you listen?" John was rolling his eyes. It had become a certain routine between them these past few weeks, John telling him he'd go out on a date and Sherlock intentionally ignoring it.
"How many scoops? -- I can't believe I overlooked how human eyeballs react to high temperature on close -- John, hand me that book over there."
He extended his arm in John's general direction, making a hurrying gesture. John shook his head.
"Sherlock, are you listening to me?" he repeated, but Sherlock obviously wasn't.
"John, the book."
Sherlock became impatient, beckoning him with his hand without looking at him.
John huffed, then reached for a book lying on the kitchen table and put it in Sherlock's hand with force.
"Two scoops of sugar, three stirs, spoon is in the cup, now will you put your feet off the coffee table, the eyeballs alone are indecent enough."
“Since when has living with me ever been decent?” he heard Sherlock mutter but after a second he lifted up his feet and put them grudgingly onto the carpet.
John just hummed, feeling very pleased with himself, took his own cup from the counter. He sat down in his favorite chair, taking this morning's papers and burying himself behind them.
Sherlock kept on muttering about eyeballs, tapping manically on the keyboard of his laptop, while John tried to ignore him. When his cup was empty, he put on his jacket and left the flat. He didn’t notice how Sherlock’s eyes followed him to the door.
____________________________________
Three hours later he opened the front door of 221B Baker Street and crept into the hallway. He took off his jacket and stepped into his flat. Sherlock was still sitting on the couch, his feet back on the coffee table, toes wiggling alongside eyeballs and muttering under his breath. John took off his shoes and then collected the four teacups gone cold from the coffee table to rinse them in the kitchen sink.
"Have you eaten anything today, Sherlock?" he asked and Sherlock snapped out of his frenzy.
"Why are you taking my cups away?" he inquired indignantly, shutting down his laptop.
"Because it's all gone cold hours ago."
John fixed two new cups and when the water was boiling he added a healthy swig of rum into his own.
When he turned around, Sherlock was blocking his way.
"You were saying earlier?"
John pursed his lips.
"That was hours ago as well, I've been out on a date."
"Yes, you were and it was bad," Sherlock stated.
John huffed again.
"How do you know this time?"
"Okay now, let me deduce for you," Sherlock exclaimed, taking his own teacup and returning to the couch from where he gave John a mocking look-over that made John’s heart pound annoyingly. His brows furrowed.
Sherlock lifted his right index finger and pointed at him.
"You're wearing your favorite shoes, your hair looks good, you left with an aura of anticipation and now you're back after only a few hours with hunched shoulders and an air of gruffness, ready to spend your night with booze at home. But that’s probably too obvious.“
Sherlock sounded annoyingly self-satisfied.
“There is a small smutch of colour on your upper lip, could be mistaken for lipstick, considering the fact, that you have just been on a date. But I am sure it is nothing of that sort whatsoever. I presume it is sauce from the dessert you had. You said you were going to this ridiculously expensive Italian restaurant on Oxford Street and they serve their Panna Cotta with wildberry custard. You are a sloppy eater, John. You didn’t kiss her good-bye or the smutch would have been more of a smear, so that means her company wasn’t delightful enough. Therefor it went bad.”
Sherlock was steepling his fingers under his chin, talking very fast.
“Doesn’t seem to go well these days, you always get home before midnight.”
John could just stare at him and shake his head slightly.
Sherlock’s next words practically dripped of sarcasm.
„There really wasn't the slightest chance of you spending your night somewhere else? I still have an experiment going on."
That hurts, thank you.
John bit the insides of his mouth, averting his gaze. It still occasionally took him by surprise how Sherlock’s right-on-the-spot deduction made him feel ridiculous, cutting through him like a sharp knife through delicate tissue, instantly grasping what was wrong but offering no reconciliation. Not that John would have expected him to in the first place. Still, it stung and he was touchy these days.
John felt himself getting angry.
"When was the last time you had a good chance of spending your night someplace else in delightful company?" he muttered and flopped down into his chair, fuming.
"Why, your company is most delightful, John," Sherlock said matter-of-factly and picked up his phone. John was flabbergasted. That man was really clueless sometimes.
"Mmh, Lestrade really hasn't got anything new for me. God, I am so bored. How do you cope with that every day?"
"Sherlock, you're acting the high-functioning sociopath again," John said, getting up to retrieve the bottle of rum from the kitchen drawer.
"I am not acting, I am just trying to figure out how life with an ordinary little mind would be. Ah, got it, absurdly boring", he muttered, his voice rough and dark. John rolled his eyes and chuckled under his breath, feeling only mildly annoyed now.
"You are always at war with the world, I know. But I am not playing your game today, Sherlock, so shut up."
"No, I won’t because I just don't understand why you bother with that sister of your friend's wife's. She looks so dull."
Is that why he’s so annoyed?
The potential meaning behind Sherlock’s words sank in a moment later and John’s eyebrows shot upwards.
"How do you know?"
"Googled her."
“You-- What?”
Sherlock growled.
"You told me this morning you were meeting her, it doesn’t take a genius. I don't know why you still care for dating, though. It sounds tedious. If you would have just asked me before, I could have saved you a trip into the city center and the money you spend on her for dinner. Actually, I am shocked you haven't made sure she was worth your while. Or…” Sherlock sat straight up on the couch and shook his hand dismissively, a sardonic smile on his lips.
“Or are you setting so much store into this stupid clinking of glasses, looking into each other's eyes and how bad sex cannot happen to you with that? Did you clink your glass with that woman tonight? Lots of good it did you."
Sherlock looked smug now. John couldn't believe it. He felt a faint warmth creep into his cheeks and his fingers turned sweaty. Why on earth would this impossible man go and google his date? He licked his lips.
"Sherlock, you know this is just a saying. And since when do you care how I go about dating and other … things? I thought you were above such trivialities like girlfriends, boyfriends," he shot back.
“Trivialities are not my area.”
John let out a puff of breath.
“I can imagine.”
They fell silent for a few minutes, while Sherlock busied himself with a pleat of his gown. He didn’t seem to be done yet. John was watching him out of the corners of his eyes.
“Jealous?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I said trivialities are not my area.”
John nearly laughed.
“Very subtle, Sherlock.”
Sherlock had sounded a little too defensive but then seemed to gather himself and rolled his eyes dramatically.
“You know it is totally beyond me how people regard it as desirable to engage into certain activities in order to gain physical well-being just because societal conventions dictate it’s convenient, even prestigious? And yes, listen closely, because I may under certain circumstance be inclined to think that it could be worthwhile if one is and I shudder to even say this out loud: in love with the other party involved. But then again, our culture is full of stories about questionable things people do when they are in love.”
Sherlock looked like he was giving a speech, his eyes were flashing as they always were when he was completely convinced by what he was saying.
“But engaging with anyone only mildly attractive into said activities without the excuse of love positively is a chemical defect and here we are at the beginning again. These chemical dysfunctions and defects are trivial and therefor really not my area. And I say that as a chemist. How can you properly judge situation and circumstances when impulses and hormones are chasing each other in your body and you end up losing control?”
Sherlock seemed to realize he had gotten carried away and gave John a melodramatic hand gesture that clearly emphasized his lack of sympathy for how John could actually rank these kind of carnal experiences over those of brain and intellect. John was perplexed how Sherlock could have gotten so worked up about the potentialities of dating, for god’s sake. It wasn’t like they were debating these topics on a regular basis. He didn’t even know Sherlock was interested in these kind of things. Or that he had ever though about them in the first place. It was highly unusual and John wondered exactly why they were having this conversation.
“Sherlock, calm down, I was only out dating. Having fun, not getting myself-- engaged.”
He shook his head in slight disbelieve.
“But you know, some people treat these experiences and their possibilities with casual interest?” he asked a moment later and couldn’t quite keep the mockery out of his voice. Sherlock gave him a mock-pained look.
“John, I assure you that I have indeed heard about something like that. But have you ever known me to do casual when anything important is concerned? Casual is a concept unacquainted to me. I either do something properly or I refrain from doing it at all.”
Sherlock pursed his lips, his features momentarily blank. But then he smiled mockingly and a soft glimmer appeared in his eyes.
"That naturally doesn't mean I want you to be unhappy, though. You may think I don’t know what I am talking about anyway, so if you must, go ahead and get casually involved."
He gracefully lifted a long-fingered hand to make a throwaway gesture, his eyes focused on John, who was quite flabbergasted. For a moment he wondered whether Sherlock was making fun of him while wishing deep inside him that they had had this conversation years ago.
“Okay, if you really want to play this game, first things first, Sherlock: Your definition could also apply to doing drugs. But you could say I am basically producing this argument because doing drugs touches your style of life. And second: Seriously-“
John chuckled, trying to mask his sudden interest with friendly concern, leaned towards Sherlock and put his elbows on his own knees.
“Is that Sherlock-speak for ‘I have never engaged in an intimate relationship because I have never been in love?’ You sound like you’ve rehearsed that definition of yours. Sounds a bit defensive to me, though. And rather old-fashioned.”
Sherlock didn’t have the grace to blush or look sheepish.
"If that’s what I strike you to be I won’t correct you. Still, it sounds like a tedious waste of time, chasing people to… get involved with.”
“How did you confirm that without having ever been… involved yourself?”
“By deducing you and your night’s ordeal, John.”
John licked his lips.
“Well, since we are being frank about it anyway, you didn’t rule out love as a leading factor, Sherlock. It sounds like you by any chance haven’t ruled out the possibility of getting involved yourself… at some point in your life.”
They had migrated towards each other on their respective chairs during their verbal exchange and John found himself transfixed by Sherlock’s pool of wide grey-green eyes. The other man was looking quite intently at him and John saw the corners of his mouth crook into a lopsided smile.
But then Sherlock's phone beeped and his attention instantly snapped elsewhere, leaving John at a loss, feeling feverish and in need of a good swig of his rum tea.
Picking up his phone Sherlock’s face became all business, their conversation seemingly already marked off.
"Just the thing to distract me from my night's ordeal. That was a message from my homeless' network.”
He sounded delighted.
“The two drug dealers Scotland Yard let escape were just seen driving to a storehouse in London Harbor. I'll get dressed."
And off he swept into his room only to return a minute later, shrugging into his coat.
"Come on, John! Let's go out and have the real fun!"
With these words he practically bounced out the door and John had to hurry to gulp down his tea for he felt he needed the extra amount of rum now more than ever.
