Misdialed - Sherlock/John fic - Chapter 16
Title: Misdialed
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Current Word Count: 44,773
Current Chapter Count: 16/22
Beta: satsuki_tears
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I don't even totally own the idea. :P
Warnings: Character Death
Summary:
AU John needs a new phone, one that doesn’t bend time and have an amazing man on the other end who claims to be the world’s greatest detective, except that he can’t figure out how he called Dr. Watson instead of his brother. However, with a criminal mastermind on the loose, John's phone connection may be the only thing that can save him.
-- -- -- --
A/N: I'll save my long apology, since this will be like.. the third chapter update in a row that I've had to put one on. Just - sorry for the delay.
-- -- -- --
Chapter 16
Damn it all. John couldn't deny Sherlock anything, could he? He'd like to think he'd fought hard with this one, given Sherlock something to really try with. But the ending truth was simple. John did everything for Sherlock, just as Irene claimed Sherlock did everything for John.
Two weeks ago, Sherlock had sent no less than four texts throughout the day reminding John to take off work for his birthday. One came at breakfast, one just before John left for his shift, one just after lunch, and one before supper. While each one after the first was met by John with minor annoyance, he didn't actually request the day off until after he took his supper break, so they all had a point anyway. Sherlock didn't send anymore even though John never told him he'd finally done as asked.
Then there was the week before, where Sherlock told him to dress nice on his birthday. There was no need for a tux, but if he could just wear some nice slacks and a business casual shirt at least then everything would be great. John visited Harriet to get some nicer clothes. After the fire, he'd been given a nice amount of money to rebuild what he'd lost, but he hadn't bought much. Two weeks' worth of clothing. Maybe a little less. He wore all of it to work, but he suspected Sherlock wanted something else.
Harriet pulled out a box of John's things that hadn't been transported to London during the move. He found an outfit that was nicer than what he wore around the hospital, which wasn't entirely hard. He liked to wear plain, short-sleeved shirts under sweaters at work. So, dodging the fifty questions by Harriet and the five by Clara and guarding the box of clothing carefully, John made his way home with Sherlock's second request.
The third order was for John to sleep in on his birthday and do whatever he wanted to do for the entire day. John had to admit that it was a bit of a letdown. What was the outfit for if he was meant to laze about all day? Still, he did as told and tried not to do anything serious. He wanted to go work on the Moriarty case with Molly, though he knew he was making slow, slow progress on that front. He wasn't Sherlock. He didn't know what to do. Moriarty was killing people Sherlock knew, assumingly to get at Sherlock, but Sherlock was dead by Moriarty's own hand and yet he was still picking fights with Sherlock, and why was he doing that? Who was this guy?
No.
No, not today. Sherlock said not today. So John sat down to watch crap telly, but he rioted when he couldn't find anything on but reality shows and cop dramas. That's when he turned to Miss Hudson. He helped her replace some lights and fixed a loose door before she stopped him to make him some tea and biscuits. After that, they played a few games of cards while they discussed John's previous birthdays and Miss Hudson swore to get him a gift.
"Oh you! You should have told me it was coming! I would have had something prepared!" she scolded.
"It's really alright, Miss Hudson. I don't need anything," John tried.
"If that isn't the biggest lie I've heard all year, I don't know what is. Listen here, John Watson. You lost your entire life in a burnt flat. This should be the best birthday of your life, people giving you things and all. Now don't argue. I'm going to get you something by the end of the week," she'd said, and he couldn't talk her out of it.
She made comments about clothes and furniture and home decorations and so many things that John had no idea what to expect as a birthday gift. He just hoped she didn't spend too much money on it.
It was around eight pm when Sherlock called. John felt his chest burn in a way that told him he was too deep, and Mycroft's disapproving glances flashed in his mind, but he ignore it all and picked up the call.
"Good evening," Sherlock said before John could speak.
"Good evening," John mimicked. "So am I going somewhere tonight? Because I got all dressed up just now. I realized that if you wanted me lazy during the day, the outfit must be for tonight. Where am I going?"
"Mmm. Not as dumb as the rest," Sherlock complimented. "You're much smarter than Mycroft gives you credit for. I bet you already know..." He trailed off in thought, as he did just a bit too often.
"Know?" John prodded. Sherlock made a negative noise.
"No, John, you'll just have to wait and see," he said in that oddly monotonous manner of his that seemed to say too much. "Since you're dressed, that speeds things up. Time to head out, John. You have a dinner date."
"With you?" John asked, heading down the stairs and out the door. Miss Hudson was nowhere in sight. Good, no questions.
"In a sense," Sherlock said, and there was a smile in his voice.
"Is that right? Sherlock Holmes just asked me out on a date?" John teased.
"Don't be silly, John," Sherlock scolded gently. "I asked you two weeks ago."
John laughed to himself, and Sherlock let him finish before directing which direction he walked. The restaurant was close, he said, a very short walk. As he gave his first turn, John heard him say goodbye to Miss Hudson and pursed his lips.
"Are you heading out as well?" he asked.
"Naturally. You think I'll be sitting at home during our dinner?" Sherlock retorted.
"Depends. Do you actually plan on eating with me?" John asked.
"... It's your birthday," Sherlock said. "You decide whether I eat or not."
"Wow." John let out a slow breath. Sherlock was giving up control for the night... sort of - control of his diet, anyway. "In that case, yes. Yes, you're definitely eating."
Sherlock was kind enough not to point out that he undoubtedly already knew that was what John was going to decide. Instead, he told John to look up at the sky.
"One year can't change the sky, right?" he asked.
"Unfortunately, we had a nuclear war last Christmas so...," John broke his seriousness and laughed. "I'm just kidding. Yeah. It's still just stars."
"I suspect they're just as beautiful as they are for me," Sherlock responded, almost sounding defensive for the stars.
"Yes. Very beautiful. I just didn't think you'd care about something as ordinary and forgettable as-," John began, but Sherlock interrupted.
"There is nothing ordinary about stars, John. And even if the general populace forgets about them, it doesn't mean I can't appreciate them," Sherlock replied calmly. "They are one of the remaining mysteries in the universe."
"Sherlock Holmes believes in life in the universe?" John asked.
"Hardly. But everything about the universe as a whole is mostly speculative," Sherlock said. "There isn't much in the universe that can't be explained with a little time. The universe is just taking them an annoying amount of time."
"Not everything can be explained... and that's not necessarily a bad thing," John said, lowering his gaze from the distant lights.
"What can't be explained?" Sherlock asked.
"Us. This." John held his breath after he said them, said them with such force, as though they were undeniable proofs. "You can't explain it, but it's still a good thing, isn't it?" And if he sounded hopeful, he wouldn't deny it.
Sherlock didn't speak. John heard cars passing, but he didn't know if that was over the phone or around him.
"Stop here," Sherlock finally said and cut the moment with an axe. "Welcome to Angelo's. He'll know who you are when you walk in. Just in case, tell him I sent you. I'm sure he'll tell you all about what I did for him. Just understand that he's harmless now. Feel free to text me while you eat, but I'll let you off the call so you can eat with both hands."
"Sherlock-," John tried, sighing.
"Happy Birthday, John," Sherlock said and then call ended.
John frowned. Why did Sherlock avoid statements and questions like that? John thought he was afraid of something, not of sex or anything like that, but definitely of deep emotion. Why couldn't he just admit he wasn't a robot like his brother?
Clearing his face of anxiety, John stepped up to the brilliant, green-tinted storefront. It was a small restaurant, but it looked tasty. When he stepped inside, a bell jingled and a host with the name tag 'Benny' greeted him. He was almost instantly overpowered by a larger man with a long graying ponytail who swooped in like a vulture.
"Would you be Dr. Watson?" the man asked.
"You must be Angelo," John greeted and held out his hand. Angelo smiled and nodded, shaking it.
"I have your table prepared, just as Sherlock requested," Angelo explained, leading John to the nearby window seat. "There's a candle, nice and romantic. Sherlock said I didn't have to, but it's not often Sherlock has a date."
"Yeah, even when that date is a year behind," John said, smile faltering. Angelo noticed and nodded with a frown.
"Yes. But at least the date goes well," the large man said. "He seemed pleased when he left, so I assume you will be too."
"Excuse me?" John asked. Did Angelo know about the time difference?
"It's not your fault, Dr. Watson. None of it is. Time is a funny thing. Sherlock explained it to me during his side of the date." Angelo paused while Benny gave John a menu. "Made me feel honored, honestly. Sherlock said I was one of only two people he told."
John debated if Sherlock had told Angelo so the man wouldn't be super confused about the two halves of a dinner taken a year apart. Angelo was also the first person Sherlock had known to not look at John with pity in their eyes upon their first meeting. Angelo had greeted him with a smile, and even now he seemed happy. John knew they couldn't hope to explain the situation to everyone Sherlock knew, but having a happy conversation about Sherlock with someone who understood was nice.
And Angelo had no problem sitting down after John ordered and talking about Sherlock and how the detective had caught him breaking into cars but had cleared his name from murder and how a month in prison was infinitely better than life. Then Angelo had reformed himself and opened his restaurant, and Sherlock used the place a lot to spy on people. Angelo would do anything for Sherlock. John found himself smiling and laughing with Angelo as he recounted the entire experience with Sherlock. Angelo was very upbeat and happy to share his memories. It was nice seeing Sherlock from someone else's point of view that wasn't entirely work related.
When John's food arrived, Angelo smiled and excused himself to return to work. As was common with Sherlock, he had great timing and sent a text right at that moment.
'What did you order? - SH'
'Spaghetti'
'So basic. It's your birthday. Order something you can't make at home - SH'
'I like spaghetti. What did you get?'
'Chicken Parmesan. Decided on protein if I have to eat. - SH'
'Delicious choice.'
'You should get it too. - SH'
'I'm fine with my spaghetti.'
So they argued about food and Sherlock's fine taste despite not eating most days. They debated the differences in being a food-y and being rich. Sherlock mentioned his childhood; the way his mother used to take him and Mycroft to restaurants around whatever estate they were staying at that week while his father worked; the way he used to experiment on condiments and figure out which ones were made of what and which ones tasted best. His mother used to say it was his first true experiment.
'How did you mother die?' John asked.
His plate had been taken away, but it had been replaced with another one - one carrying a slice of cake. It was vanilla with a single candle in the center. John tried to say he didn't want it, but Benny smiled at him.
"Mr. Holmes insisted," he said and lit the candle.
"Thank you," John said, and Benny shrugged along with his smile as he left. John resisted texting Sherlock with a thank you as well, not wanting to give the detective a way out of answering the question about his mother.
'She was hit by a car when I was 13 - SH'
John frowned down at his phone and started typing his condolences, but he stopped. Sherlock probably wouldn't care either way. In fact, he'd probably tell John that condolences twenty years later didn't mean much. Darn it. John was going to send some anyway. - but then Sherlock sent another text, beating him to it.
'No sorrys needed. Her heart was weak. She would have died soon regardless. Besides, I've come to terms with it. Unfortunately, I've been told my heart died with her. - SH'
'Oh, but that's not entirely true,' John wrote back. He cut off the tip of his cake and tasted it. Ooh.
Sherlock took a bit longer than John expected, but eventually he sent back 'How would you know? - SH'
'No one without a heart would order me this cake,' John said. It was delicious. It was just like Sherlock to know John preferred vanilla and yellow cake to chocolate. How he knew, John had given up trying to figure out.
'Cakes are traditional on birthdays, so I'm told. - SH'
'Shut up. Don't even act like you didn't get cakes.' John took another bite and worried for a moment that perhaps Sherlock hadn't gotten cakes on his birthdays. He didn't seem like he would be a normal child with normal birthday parties.
'Okay. I admit it. I had lots of cake as a child. - SH' John smiled when he relaxed. Oh thank God.
'It's probably the only thing you ate as a child. Good too. You need the calories to keep up your brain function.' John nodded to himself, eating more. He'd had a cousin once who couldn't eat properly because of a sickness. They'd fed her nothing but empty calories just so she could function normally.
'No lecture on health issues involved with too much cake? -SH'
John smiled. 'That would make this a very guilt ridden cake I'm eating. I refuse to stoop to that level.' Looking down, he almost laughed. There wasn't much cake left to be guilty over.
'Well we wouldn't want guilty cake, now would we? - SH'
'No, thank you.'
'You're welcome. - SH'
'I didn't really thank you for that, you know'
'I know. That was for the thank you coming soon for ordering the cake and dinner at all. - SH'
Typical Sherlock. Cutting off normalcy at any chance. 'So I assume I don't need to say it anymore.'
'Not unless you want to - SH'
'But that would be so normal and predictable.'
'That's fine. I like it when you're normal. - SH'
'I'm always normal,' John answered, slipping the last bit of cake into his mouth and enjoying just how soft, warm, and delicious it was. He didn't eat a lot of sweets and junk food, but this was definitely a birthday present.
'Hardly - SH' was Sherlock response. John smiled around his cake and swallowed before he tried to type a response.
'Thank you,' John said. Thank Sherlock for being interesting, being brilliant, being unusual, being a jerk, and being one of the most human human beings that John had ever known. 'Really. This was a great birthday.'
'Anytime. - SH'
Angelo swung over to pick up the cake plate, and John made sure to tell him how delicious it was. At this point, John wouldn't have been shocked to hear that Sherlock had invented the recipe or made it himself last year and had invented a way for cakes to never go bad or, hell, that Sherlock had invented cake. It just seemed like one of those nights. But Angelo said it was his own personal recipe and thanked John for coming. Before he stepped away from the table, Angelo handed John an envelope with his name on it. It took John by surprise. He'd been expecting it a bit throughout the day, but he'd totally forgotten about the possibility during dinner.
"Tell him I said hello," Angelo said as John gathered his things and stood.
"I will. Thank you, Angelo. I'll come again sometime," John promised.
Benny waved to him as he left, manning the front again. The cool night air was so different than the pervading warmth of the restaurant, but John didn't mind it. He was full to the brim with warm food and emotion. Though all the conversation had been over text messages, he felt like he truly just had dinner with Sherlock.
When John got back to his flat, he set the new recording on the table and pulled out the photos he had of Sherlock, smiling down at them. For all his pomp and circumstance, all his airs and graces, Sherlock was very much the same as anyone else. He noticed more things, retained more information, but under it all, he was still human. John smiled at the unsure poses of the photos.
"Oh God... I love it when you're human," he muttered, flipping through them. He paused on the last one, thinking back on what he'd just said. Sliding the photos back into their envelope, he groaned. "Shit," he cursed. He rubbed a hand over his face and through his hair, but it didn't change what he'd said or how he felt. God damn it.
He really was in love with Sherlock Holmes.
And wasn't that just sad.
-- -- -- --
Preview, Chapter 17:
"Well-" was all the man said, looking John over as though he saw nothing of particular interest. It was weird, being sized up by this skinny, greasy looking man. He had a big nose and combed back hair, and his face appeared to have forgotten how to smile.
Instead of speaking, he slipped his hand into his inside jacket pocket. John's heart thudded in his chest as he debated if he should make a run from the room.
"What really made it apparent to me that I shouldn't care what others told me to do, was that no one ever asked me what I wanted to do. And isn't that what people want... in their normal little lives? For others to be happy?" Sherlock asked.
Wow. John should start seeing a therapist. He may be going insane. He may be having a break down.
Chapter 17!
Click HERE for the Masterpost!
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Current Word Count: 44,773
Current Chapter Count: 16/22
Beta: satsuki_tears
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I don't even totally own the idea. :P
Warnings: Character Death
Summary:
AU John needs a new phone, one that doesn’t bend time and have an amazing man on the other end who claims to be the world’s greatest detective, except that he can’t figure out how he called Dr. Watson instead of his brother. However, with a criminal mastermind on the loose, John's phone connection may be the only thing that can save him.
-- -- -- --
A/N: I'll save my long apology, since this will be like.. the third chapter update in a row that I've had to put one on. Just - sorry for the delay.
-- -- -- --
Chapter 16
Damn it all. John couldn't deny Sherlock anything, could he? He'd like to think he'd fought hard with this one, given Sherlock something to really try with. But the ending truth was simple. John did everything for Sherlock, just as Irene claimed Sherlock did everything for John.
Two weeks ago, Sherlock had sent no less than four texts throughout the day reminding John to take off work for his birthday. One came at breakfast, one just before John left for his shift, one just after lunch, and one before supper. While each one after the first was met by John with minor annoyance, he didn't actually request the day off until after he took his supper break, so they all had a point anyway. Sherlock didn't send anymore even though John never told him he'd finally done as asked.
Then there was the week before, where Sherlock told him to dress nice on his birthday. There was no need for a tux, but if he could just wear some nice slacks and a business casual shirt at least then everything would be great. John visited Harriet to get some nicer clothes. After the fire, he'd been given a nice amount of money to rebuild what he'd lost, but he hadn't bought much. Two weeks' worth of clothing. Maybe a little less. He wore all of it to work, but he suspected Sherlock wanted something else.
Harriet pulled out a box of John's things that hadn't been transported to London during the move. He found an outfit that was nicer than what he wore around the hospital, which wasn't entirely hard. He liked to wear plain, short-sleeved shirts under sweaters at work. So, dodging the fifty questions by Harriet and the five by Clara and guarding the box of clothing carefully, John made his way home with Sherlock's second request.
The third order was for John to sleep in on his birthday and do whatever he wanted to do for the entire day. John had to admit that it was a bit of a letdown. What was the outfit for if he was meant to laze about all day? Still, he did as told and tried not to do anything serious. He wanted to go work on the Moriarty case with Molly, though he knew he was making slow, slow progress on that front. He wasn't Sherlock. He didn't know what to do. Moriarty was killing people Sherlock knew, assumingly to get at Sherlock, but Sherlock was dead by Moriarty's own hand and yet he was still picking fights with Sherlock, and why was he doing that? Who was this guy?
No.
No, not today. Sherlock said not today. So John sat down to watch crap telly, but he rioted when he couldn't find anything on but reality shows and cop dramas. That's when he turned to Miss Hudson. He helped her replace some lights and fixed a loose door before she stopped him to make him some tea and biscuits. After that, they played a few games of cards while they discussed John's previous birthdays and Miss Hudson swore to get him a gift.
"Oh you! You should have told me it was coming! I would have had something prepared!" she scolded.
"It's really alright, Miss Hudson. I don't need anything," John tried.
"If that isn't the biggest lie I've heard all year, I don't know what is. Listen here, John Watson. You lost your entire life in a burnt flat. This should be the best birthday of your life, people giving you things and all. Now don't argue. I'm going to get you something by the end of the week," she'd said, and he couldn't talk her out of it.
She made comments about clothes and furniture and home decorations and so many things that John had no idea what to expect as a birthday gift. He just hoped she didn't spend too much money on it.
It was around eight pm when Sherlock called. John felt his chest burn in a way that told him he was too deep, and Mycroft's disapproving glances flashed in his mind, but he ignore it all and picked up the call.
"Good evening," Sherlock said before John could speak.
"Good evening," John mimicked. "So am I going somewhere tonight? Because I got all dressed up just now. I realized that if you wanted me lazy during the day, the outfit must be for tonight. Where am I going?"
"Mmm. Not as dumb as the rest," Sherlock complimented. "You're much smarter than Mycroft gives you credit for. I bet you already know..." He trailed off in thought, as he did just a bit too often.
"Know?" John prodded. Sherlock made a negative noise.
"No, John, you'll just have to wait and see," he said in that oddly monotonous manner of his that seemed to say too much. "Since you're dressed, that speeds things up. Time to head out, John. You have a dinner date."
"With you?" John asked, heading down the stairs and out the door. Miss Hudson was nowhere in sight. Good, no questions.
"In a sense," Sherlock said, and there was a smile in his voice.
"Is that right? Sherlock Holmes just asked me out on a date?" John teased.
"Don't be silly, John," Sherlock scolded gently. "I asked you two weeks ago."
John laughed to himself, and Sherlock let him finish before directing which direction he walked. The restaurant was close, he said, a very short walk. As he gave his first turn, John heard him say goodbye to Miss Hudson and pursed his lips.
"Are you heading out as well?" he asked.
"Naturally. You think I'll be sitting at home during our dinner?" Sherlock retorted.
"Depends. Do you actually plan on eating with me?" John asked.
"... It's your birthday," Sherlock said. "You decide whether I eat or not."
"Wow." John let out a slow breath. Sherlock was giving up control for the night... sort of - control of his diet, anyway. "In that case, yes. Yes, you're definitely eating."
Sherlock was kind enough not to point out that he undoubtedly already knew that was what John was going to decide. Instead, he told John to look up at the sky.
"One year can't change the sky, right?" he asked.
"Unfortunately, we had a nuclear war last Christmas so...," John broke his seriousness and laughed. "I'm just kidding. Yeah. It's still just stars."
"I suspect they're just as beautiful as they are for me," Sherlock responded, almost sounding defensive for the stars.
"Yes. Very beautiful. I just didn't think you'd care about something as ordinary and forgettable as-," John began, but Sherlock interrupted.
"There is nothing ordinary about stars, John. And even if the general populace forgets about them, it doesn't mean I can't appreciate them," Sherlock replied calmly. "They are one of the remaining mysteries in the universe."
"Sherlock Holmes believes in life in the universe?" John asked.
"Hardly. But everything about the universe as a whole is mostly speculative," Sherlock said. "There isn't much in the universe that can't be explained with a little time. The universe is just taking them an annoying amount of time."
"Not everything can be explained... and that's not necessarily a bad thing," John said, lowering his gaze from the distant lights.
"What can't be explained?" Sherlock asked.
"Us. This." John held his breath after he said them, said them with such force, as though they were undeniable proofs. "You can't explain it, but it's still a good thing, isn't it?" And if he sounded hopeful, he wouldn't deny it.
Sherlock didn't speak. John heard cars passing, but he didn't know if that was over the phone or around him.
"Stop here," Sherlock finally said and cut the moment with an axe. "Welcome to Angelo's. He'll know who you are when you walk in. Just in case, tell him I sent you. I'm sure he'll tell you all about what I did for him. Just understand that he's harmless now. Feel free to text me while you eat, but I'll let you off the call so you can eat with both hands."
"Sherlock-," John tried, sighing.
"Happy Birthday, John," Sherlock said and then call ended.
John frowned. Why did Sherlock avoid statements and questions like that? John thought he was afraid of something, not of sex or anything like that, but definitely of deep emotion. Why couldn't he just admit he wasn't a robot like his brother?
Clearing his face of anxiety, John stepped up to the brilliant, green-tinted storefront. It was a small restaurant, but it looked tasty. When he stepped inside, a bell jingled and a host with the name tag 'Benny' greeted him. He was almost instantly overpowered by a larger man with a long graying ponytail who swooped in like a vulture.
"Would you be Dr. Watson?" the man asked.
"You must be Angelo," John greeted and held out his hand. Angelo smiled and nodded, shaking it.
"I have your table prepared, just as Sherlock requested," Angelo explained, leading John to the nearby window seat. "There's a candle, nice and romantic. Sherlock said I didn't have to, but it's not often Sherlock has a date."
"Yeah, even when that date is a year behind," John said, smile faltering. Angelo noticed and nodded with a frown.
"Yes. But at least the date goes well," the large man said. "He seemed pleased when he left, so I assume you will be too."
"Excuse me?" John asked. Did Angelo know about the time difference?
"It's not your fault, Dr. Watson. None of it is. Time is a funny thing. Sherlock explained it to me during his side of the date." Angelo paused while Benny gave John a menu. "Made me feel honored, honestly. Sherlock said I was one of only two people he told."
John debated if Sherlock had told Angelo so the man wouldn't be super confused about the two halves of a dinner taken a year apart. Angelo was also the first person Sherlock had known to not look at John with pity in their eyes upon their first meeting. Angelo had greeted him with a smile, and even now he seemed happy. John knew they couldn't hope to explain the situation to everyone Sherlock knew, but having a happy conversation about Sherlock with someone who understood was nice.
And Angelo had no problem sitting down after John ordered and talking about Sherlock and how the detective had caught him breaking into cars but had cleared his name from murder and how a month in prison was infinitely better than life. Then Angelo had reformed himself and opened his restaurant, and Sherlock used the place a lot to spy on people. Angelo would do anything for Sherlock. John found himself smiling and laughing with Angelo as he recounted the entire experience with Sherlock. Angelo was very upbeat and happy to share his memories. It was nice seeing Sherlock from someone else's point of view that wasn't entirely work related.
When John's food arrived, Angelo smiled and excused himself to return to work. As was common with Sherlock, he had great timing and sent a text right at that moment.
'What did you order? - SH'
'Spaghetti'
'So basic. It's your birthday. Order something you can't make at home - SH'
'I like spaghetti. What did you get?'
'Chicken Parmesan. Decided on protein if I have to eat. - SH'
'Delicious choice.'
'You should get it too. - SH'
'I'm fine with my spaghetti.'
So they argued about food and Sherlock's fine taste despite not eating most days. They debated the differences in being a food-y and being rich. Sherlock mentioned his childhood; the way his mother used to take him and Mycroft to restaurants around whatever estate they were staying at that week while his father worked; the way he used to experiment on condiments and figure out which ones were made of what and which ones tasted best. His mother used to say it was his first true experiment.
'How did you mother die?' John asked.
His plate had been taken away, but it had been replaced with another one - one carrying a slice of cake. It was vanilla with a single candle in the center. John tried to say he didn't want it, but Benny smiled at him.
"Mr. Holmes insisted," he said and lit the candle.
"Thank you," John said, and Benny shrugged along with his smile as he left. John resisted texting Sherlock with a thank you as well, not wanting to give the detective a way out of answering the question about his mother.
'She was hit by a car when I was 13 - SH'
John frowned down at his phone and started typing his condolences, but he stopped. Sherlock probably wouldn't care either way. In fact, he'd probably tell John that condolences twenty years later didn't mean much. Darn it. John was going to send some anyway. - but then Sherlock sent another text, beating him to it.
'No sorrys needed. Her heart was weak. She would have died soon regardless. Besides, I've come to terms with it. Unfortunately, I've been told my heart died with her. - SH'
'Oh, but that's not entirely true,' John wrote back. He cut off the tip of his cake and tasted it. Ooh.
Sherlock took a bit longer than John expected, but eventually he sent back 'How would you know? - SH'
'No one without a heart would order me this cake,' John said. It was delicious. It was just like Sherlock to know John preferred vanilla and yellow cake to chocolate. How he knew, John had given up trying to figure out.
'Cakes are traditional on birthdays, so I'm told. - SH'
'Shut up. Don't even act like you didn't get cakes.' John took another bite and worried for a moment that perhaps Sherlock hadn't gotten cakes on his birthdays. He didn't seem like he would be a normal child with normal birthday parties.
'Okay. I admit it. I had lots of cake as a child. - SH' John smiled when he relaxed. Oh thank God.
'It's probably the only thing you ate as a child. Good too. You need the calories to keep up your brain function.' John nodded to himself, eating more. He'd had a cousin once who couldn't eat properly because of a sickness. They'd fed her nothing but empty calories just so she could function normally.
'No lecture on health issues involved with too much cake? -SH'
John smiled. 'That would make this a very guilt ridden cake I'm eating. I refuse to stoop to that level.' Looking down, he almost laughed. There wasn't much cake left to be guilty over.
'Well we wouldn't want guilty cake, now would we? - SH'
'No, thank you.'
'You're welcome. - SH'
'I didn't really thank you for that, you know'
'I know. That was for the thank you coming soon for ordering the cake and dinner at all. - SH'
Typical Sherlock. Cutting off normalcy at any chance. 'So I assume I don't need to say it anymore.'
'Not unless you want to - SH'
'But that would be so normal and predictable.'
'That's fine. I like it when you're normal. - SH'
'I'm always normal,' John answered, slipping the last bit of cake into his mouth and enjoying just how soft, warm, and delicious it was. He didn't eat a lot of sweets and junk food, but this was definitely a birthday present.
'Hardly - SH' was Sherlock response. John smiled around his cake and swallowed before he tried to type a response.
'Thank you,' John said. Thank Sherlock for being interesting, being brilliant, being unusual, being a jerk, and being one of the most human human beings that John had ever known. 'Really. This was a great birthday.'
'Anytime. - SH'
Angelo swung over to pick up the cake plate, and John made sure to tell him how delicious it was. At this point, John wouldn't have been shocked to hear that Sherlock had invented the recipe or made it himself last year and had invented a way for cakes to never go bad or, hell, that Sherlock had invented cake. It just seemed like one of those nights. But Angelo said it was his own personal recipe and thanked John for coming. Before he stepped away from the table, Angelo handed John an envelope with his name on it. It took John by surprise. He'd been expecting it a bit throughout the day, but he'd totally forgotten about the possibility during dinner.
"Tell him I said hello," Angelo said as John gathered his things and stood.
"I will. Thank you, Angelo. I'll come again sometime," John promised.
Benny waved to him as he left, manning the front again. The cool night air was so different than the pervading warmth of the restaurant, but John didn't mind it. He was full to the brim with warm food and emotion. Though all the conversation had been over text messages, he felt like he truly just had dinner with Sherlock.
When John got back to his flat, he set the new recording on the table and pulled out the photos he had of Sherlock, smiling down at them. For all his pomp and circumstance, all his airs and graces, Sherlock was very much the same as anyone else. He noticed more things, retained more information, but under it all, he was still human. John smiled at the unsure poses of the photos.
"Oh God... I love it when you're human," he muttered, flipping through them. He paused on the last one, thinking back on what he'd just said. Sliding the photos back into their envelope, he groaned. "Shit," he cursed. He rubbed a hand over his face and through his hair, but it didn't change what he'd said or how he felt. God damn it.
He really was in love with Sherlock Holmes.
And wasn't that just sad.
-- -- -- --
Preview, Chapter 17:
"Well-" was all the man said, looking John over as though he saw nothing of particular interest. It was weird, being sized up by this skinny, greasy looking man. He had a big nose and combed back hair, and his face appeared to have forgotten how to smile.
Instead of speaking, he slipped his hand into his inside jacket pocket. John's heart thudded in his chest as he debated if he should make a run from the room.
"What really made it apparent to me that I shouldn't care what others told me to do, was that no one ever asked me what I wanted to do. And isn't that what people want... in their normal little lives? For others to be happy?" Sherlock asked.
Wow. John should start seeing a therapist. He may be going insane. He may be having a break down.
Chapter 17!
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