The cab pulled up to your destination and he used your connected hands to pull you from the cab before releasing you as you asked, “What is this theory we’re testing?”
Without answering, he stalked off down the street and you shrugged, jogging as best you could in heels to catch up to him. You stayed relatively close to him so you didn’t lose him in the crowds walking the streets but still did your customary examination of everything you passed, a wide grin plastered across your face as you enjoyed London at night. You didn’t even mind that you were beyond cold or that your feet where beginning to hurt as he lead you to where ever you were going, getting a second wind as your sense of adventure kicked in.
He abruptly came to a halt, turning quickly to catch you against his chest as he anticipated you’d be distracted enough not to notice, as usual. You grinned up at him gratefully and to your surprise he was smiling down at you with a glint of something strange in his eyes, you tilted your head as you tried to identify it but he had already began to usher you through the door to a small Italian restaurant.
A bearded man, who you assumed was the owner, swooped forward to greet you and you ducked behind Sherlock to cautiously observe the interaction as had become a habit when meeting new people.
“Hello Angelo.” Sherlock greeted warmly.
Angelo gave a wide grin, “Sherlock! Table for one tonight? Didn’t work out with your date?”
You let out a lilting laugh, leaning around Sherlock to look up at him, “You brought John here?”
He lifted his arm, shifting so you were next to him before resting his hand on the small of your back, “Yes. I believe this is were his concern with people talking began.”
You giggled, thinking about your brother here with Sherlock on a ‘date’ and Angelo gave you a soft smile, “Seems I was wrong, a table for two it is. Does your date have a name Sherlock?”
You went wide-eyed and began to shake your head just as John had when the man said the word ‘date’ but Sherlock didn’t miss a beat, “Angelo this is (F/n). (F/n), Angelo.”
You shook his hand, giving him a shy but curious grin before he led the two of you to a table next to a window, telling you that whatever you wanted was on the house as always and babbling on about how Sherlock was amazing and had gotten him out of a murder charge.
You listened intently as a grin grew on your face and then slid into a chair across from Sherlock, waiting for the man to leave before quietly asking him, “That theory you wanted to test didn’t have something to do with me being hungry, did it?”
He didn’t look at you, studying the menu with a flat expression, “No, don’t be absurd.”
You sighed, wondering again what exactly this was between you and him, and pressed a hand to your temple as you felt an headache beginning to form. Looking over the menu, you drummed your fingers on the table.
Sherlock eyed your hand for a moment and then looked back to his menu, “Go ahead.”
You looked up from yours, “Hmm?”
“It’s obvious your fingers are practically itching to draw. Go ahead.”
You blushed, looking back to your menu, “That would be rude.”
He gave you a look that said ‘who do you think you're talking to’ and that he didn’t care but you just continued to look at your menu, refusing to give in. It wasn’t long before your fingers began to drum on the table again and he let out an amused hum, to which you pulled your hand into a fist and plopped it into your lap. Next it was your heel, rhythmically tapping against the floor, and he looked over at you with a raised eyebrow.
You groaned, letting the menu slide from your hand, “Fine. I can’t take it any more. You win.”
He smirked and you pulled out your sketchbook and a pencil, leaning it against the table as you appeased the relentless itching in your fingers. Sherlock watched you draw intently, taking in the faces you pulled as you put down lines on the page or carefully smudged at the paper with your finger or the eraser. You were in your element and it was truly fascinating to watch, your face practically glowing.
He ordered for you when someone came around and shortly after you stopped, looking over at him with a small happy smile, “Thank you for being patient with me, Sherly.”
The corner of his mouth tweaked up as his eyes flicked to your still open sketchbook and you shuffled it so he could see, letting his fingers wrap around the edges to take it from you. While he looked over your sketches, you leaned back in your chair, the exhaustion of the day and not getting full nights sleep hitting you full force as the pounding in your head settled in. Sherlock failed to notice this, enthralled with your work- a couple of sketches of him in the dim lighting of the restaurant along with a couple of Angelo- and when he looked up you were gazing out the window, watching the people walk by.
He shut the sketchbook and set it on the edge of the table, following your gaze, “He’s cheating on her- “
“With her brother,” you finished, eyes still following the couple before turning to land on him, “That man on the corner. What do you think?”
He looked out the window, just a glance, before returning his eyes to yours, “Divorced. Three children and none of them live with him, a fact he’s quite happy about. Travels often for his job which is good because he hates London, too rainy and cold in his opinion.”
You grinned and he tilted his head at you, “What?”
You looked back out the window, “Nothing… I just love it when you do that is all.”
He gazed out the window again, a grin playing on his face “Pick another.”
You obliged happily and this went on for a while longer, with him even challenging you to deduce someone every once in a while. Your food came, which you ate while Sherlock chatted away about how boring cases had been lately as he waited for you to finish, and then it fell quiet for a second. You looked at him with a sly smile, “Did you prove your theory?”
He smirked and gave a single nod before standing, “Come on. Let’s get home.”
You followed him out, glad to be on your way home again since your throat was killing you and your head was still pounding, and let out a little sigh as he stalked off down the street again. The temperature had dropped considerably while you were inside and, since you weren’t dressed for the cold, your skin prickled and your lip quivered as the night air enveloped your body. You followed after him as he moved along at a brisk pace, letting the effort of keeping up with him warm you until he stopped and called a cab.
He seemed to be deep in thought when you looked at him so you let him be, closing your eyes to try and sooth your head as the cab made its way to Baker St.
Sherlock was indeed thinking. The little date he’d tricked you into had been fairly successful, he wondered why John had such trouble with them, it had been simple enough. You had enjoyed yourself, he knew that, and surprisingly he had found it enjoyable as well. He had thought it was going to be terribly boring but you’d offered him a challenge and he’d gotten to see a little more of how your mind worked, a valuable fact in his continuing quest to figure you out completely.
He came out of it when the cab stopped in front of the flat, surprising you when he quickly paid before you could even get you wallet out, and then the two of you disappeared inside. He lingered in your doorway again and you turned to find out what he wanted, looking up into his eyes curiously.
There it was again, that hint of something that you couldn’t place, and you unconsciously stepped a little closer to get a better look. He hesitantly brought his hand to your cheek and for the first time you didn’t flinch but immediately leaned into his touch, eyes flickering closed for a moment- a moment he took to lean in and press his lips against yours.
You were shocked to say the least and the feel of it was so unsure, unlike anything you would have ever expected from Sherlock, but you gently pressed your lips back against his, letting them ripple in sync with his movements.
It was like in doing so you’d flipped some switch as his confidence was back like a flash and his large hands fell to your waist, pulling you to him as he deepened the kiss. You responded by trailing your hands up and weaving them into his hair, allowing him entrance to your mouth when his teeth brushed against your lower lip.
You let him explore, enjoying the feel of his tongue in your mouth, until you absolutely needed air, parting from him with a little gasp as his lips found their way across your jaw and down your neck, nipping at your pulse before sucking at it as you let out a soft moan.
Your brain couldn’t even function much less wrap itself around what was happening when he pulled away, a light pink tint to his cheeks, “Not good?”
All you could do was let out a little chuckle, “Unexpected but good. Very good.”
He looked away, the pink growing a bit darker as he admitted, “I got a bit carried away.”
You grinned, he was so unsure and adorable, before pulling him back to you to give him a short gentle kiss, “Good night, Sherlock.”
He watched you go into your flat, tossing him one last glance as you closed the door, and then pressed his thumb to his lips. He’d only intended to kiss you, something short and simple, but his body had gotten in the way again. His heart had felt like it had stopped and he’d even worried for a second before it came back pounding in his chest full force.
As soon as he’d felt the softness of your lips beneath his it was like someone else had taken over and all he could think of was wanting more, finding they were far softer than they looked. All in all, it was interesting development, he noted, and it could be potentially useful to stave off boredom. He’d have to try it and see.