Fic: Blind Date
Title: Blind Date (1/?)
Author: ununpentium
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Pairing/Characters: Sherlock/John
Rating: PG-13
Worcount: 1797 (this chapter)
Spoilers: none
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: I don’t own Sherlock
Summary: John takes Sherlock to a restaurant with a difference.
(alternatively read on A03)
A/N I'm afraid that all of my knowledge of this restaurant and its location comes from google maps and the restaurant's own website. If I have made any mistakes, please let me know.
This is also a WIP, I have not finished the second (and most likely final) chapter.
My heart was hammering in my chest as I ascended the last few stairs and opened the door of 221b Baker Street. I held my breath as I scanned the flat for Sherlock and let it out in one big sigh as I took in the evidence of, well, Sherlock. He’d been here in the past hour, that was for certain. And he was bored. There was a pile of books fanned out around the sofa, most were open but looked like they had been haphazardly thrown to the floor. There were fifteen cups of coffee on the coffee table, all with varying amounts of coffee still left in them. I picked one up and slowly raised it to my nose, aware that it might not actually be coffee but something rather unpleasant. Or dangerous. I sniffed the contents, nearly dropped the mug in my haste to get whatever it was away from my face and decided that I would rather not know what it contained to make it smell like rotting fish.
“Don’t drink that. I’ve been experimenting with it.”
I turned to the direction of the voice and jumped slightly as I noticed that Sherlock was peering at me from around the curtain, completely wrapped in it like a child. I could just see a mop of unruly hair poking out, and his eyes which were silver this morning. I noticed they changed colour slightly depending on what mood he was in. I was trying to mentally chart what colours go with what moods, and I knew that silver was bored but bright blue was someone-just-died-this-is-better-than-christmas. He was staring at me like he was trying to take me apart, work me out, and then put me back together. Though, to be fair, he looked at me like that most of the time.
“Sher- Okay. Why? No, I don’t want to know.” I moved into the kitchen, shaking my head, and started hunting for a clean mug to make myself some tea. Sherlock untangled himself from the curtain and stalked after me.
“John. You were gone for precisely two hours and thirty nine minutes. Today is Saturday. A post-case Saturday. You never go out on a post-case Saturday,” Sherlock whined. I turned to face him and couldn’t help but smile at his expression. His eyes were large and questioning and he was trying to attach himself to me like a limpet. I peeled him off of me, held him at arm’s length and talked to him like I would a child.
“Sherlock, I had something important to do this morning. Alone. Stop looking at me like that. I know this breaks the routine of post-case Saturdays but I am back now and we can go back to bed. I see you’re still in your pyjamas.”
Sherlock huffed and stalked back into the lounge where he flung himself on the sofa, dressing gown billowing out behind him. His voice was muffled, face pressed into the back of the sofa.
“No. You’ve ruined it now. I’m already awake.” He waved his hand at me in the way that means you are dismissed leave now and I chuckled to myself as I crossed the lounge and folded myself around Sherlock on the sofa. It wasn’t very comfortable; the sofa was not designed for two people, let alone Sherlock and another person. He did not have the dimensions of a normal person. My heart started hammering in my chest again. I was sure it was loud enough for Mrs Hudson to hear it all the way downstairs.
“I, um, I have something planned for this evening that you’ll really like, Sherlock,” I said in what I hoped was a completely neutral tone of voice. He turned his head slightly and peered at me sideways.
“This is connected with where you went this morning,” he rumbled. His voice got lower when he was sulking and it vibrated in my chest. I shifted slightly.
“Wait and see, Sherlock. It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises, John. They don’t end well for me. Besides, I know you were making dinner reservations in East London.”
I went completely still. Of course, he’d probably deduced that from the splash pattern of mud on my shoes, or something equally obscure, but this was something I hoped for once he would just let be so I could surprise him. This was important.
“Sherlock,” I said in what I hoped was my most authoritative I’ve-been-in-the-army-don’t-mess-with-me voice, “don’t try to deduce this. It is a surprise and you will enjoy it and I forbid you from working it out until I tell you where we are going. And yes, it is for dinner.”
Sherlock twisted around until we were laying face to face, his eyes searching and intent on mine.
“You’re nervous. Doctor John Watson, ex-army doctor, is nervous about dinner. Why? I can feel your heart rate, it has accelerated and you-“ I covered his mouth with my hand.
“Stop it, Sherlock.”
I removed my hand and pressed my lips to his before he could resume speaking. He closed his eyes and hummed happily and I relaxed, snaking my arm around his neck as much was possible within the confines of the sofa. The tea could wait for five minutes.
~~~~
“Sherlock. It’s six o’clock and our reservation is for seven. I told you this earlier, so why are you still in the bathroom? We have to leave in ten minutes.” I was pacing back and forth by the bathroom door. The locked bathroom door, behind which Sherlock had been presumably showering and preening for the past forty eight minutes. I got dressed in my room, thankfully having the sense to shower early before Sherlock invaded the bathroom, and was now anxiously playing with the cuffs of my shirt. I kept patting my jacket pocket to make sure the most important part of tonight’s surprise was still there, and then I mentally scolded myself for checking again. Sherlock would pick up in two seconds flat that there was something of interest in my pocket if I kept touching it.
“I am making sure that my appearance is satisfactory, John, as I am sure you are aware,” came Sherlock’s voice from the bathroom. “My hair requires a lot of attention or else it goes frizzy.”
I wished I had a voice recorder at that moment, because Lestrade would have died laughing at that comment. I dissolved into slightly hysterical giggles. Yes, still nervous.
“Time’s up. Either you come out now, or I’m picking the lock and dragging you out. By your hair.”
At that, the door flew open and Sherlock appeared, his face inches from mine, looking slightly worried.
“You wouldn’t!”
I chuckled as I dragged him by his suit jacket to the door and over to his shoes. I poked at his ankle until he obediently lifted his foot up high enough so I could put his shoe on, and tapped again until he put his foot back down and repeated the same with his other shoe. Sometimes you had to take matters into your own hands with Sherlock, or you’d be waiting for hours for him to decide to put his own shoes on because he’d rather be making last minute checks on the multitude of experiments running in the kitchen or researching bees on the internet.
We finally made it into the cab and I handed the cab driver the address of the restaurant so I didn’t risk Sherlock overhearing the location before I was ready to reveal the surprise. Sherlock was looking out of the windows at the passing lights as we drove through London and I sat back and took him in. He was gorgeous. Can you even use that word to describe a man? Well, he was. I noticed he had that purple shirt on that makes my heart skip a beat every time I look at it, and he was wearing perfectly tailored black trousers and a black suit jacket that looked like it cost more than an entire week’s wages. His legs looked impossibly long; in fact many things about Sherlock looked impossible. Sometimes I wondered why he’d ever chosen me. As if he could read my thoughts, Sherlock glanced at me, smiled, and threaded his fingers through mine before returning his attention to the passing lights.
“Stop trying to work out where we are going, you’ll ruin the surprise.”
“We’ve just gone past Russell Square Gardens.” Sherlock’s mouth flickered with amusement. “They made some adjustments in 2002 in order to deter gay men from using it as a late night cruising area.”
“I don’t even want to know how you know that, Sherlock.”
Sherlock looked at me and his eyes danced playfully.
“It was all in the name of science, of course.” I shook my head again and squeezed his hand. My stomach did a back flip as I noticed we were on Clerkenwell Road. Thankfully, Sherlock didn’t have any trivia for this part of town.
We pulled up outside the restaurant and Sherlock climbed out of the taxi gracefully. I nearly fell out and tried to make it look like it was on purpose as much as possible. Sherlock huffed slightly in amusement before turning around to survey the area. He spotted the restaurant and made a move towards it. It looked quite unassuming from the outside; window frames painted in blue with blacked out windows, and was situated right next to a pub. I hoped Sherlock didn’t feel too disappointed, for I knew once I told him what made this restaurant so special he’d probably jump for joy in the same way he does when he spots a police car outside Baker Street.
“Dans Le Noir?” Sherlock read the sign on the restaurant. “I think Mycroft mentioned this before, it’s-”
“The restaurant where you dine completely in the dark.” I finished for him. Sherlock whirled around to face me with an honest to god genuine smile on his face. I knew the differences between his various smiles and facial expressions, having seen him assume different identities and emotions many times on cases.
“John, this is wonderful!” He exclaimed, grabbing me by my shoulders. “Finally, a social situation that might actually prove to be interesting. Oh, the experiments that are screaming to be done, John!”
“Sherlock. Tonight we are just eating, okay? Any experiments you think of during our meal you shall keep to yourself and if you’re lucky I’ll buy a blindfold on the way home and you can experiment to your heart’s content later.”
He waved his hand in my general direction as he practically skipped towards the door of the restaurant and disappeared inside. I took a deep breath, checked my jacket pocket, and followed him in.
Author: ununpentium
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Pairing/Characters: Sherlock/John
Rating: PG-13
Worcount: 1797 (this chapter)
Spoilers: none
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: I don’t own Sherlock
Summary: John takes Sherlock to a restaurant with a difference.
(alternatively read on A03)
A/N I'm afraid that all of my knowledge of this restaurant and its location comes from google maps and the restaurant's own website. If I have made any mistakes, please let me know.
This is also a WIP, I have not finished the second (and most likely final) chapter.
My heart was hammering in my chest as I ascended the last few stairs and opened the door of 221b Baker Street. I held my breath as I scanned the flat for Sherlock and let it out in one big sigh as I took in the evidence of, well, Sherlock. He’d been here in the past hour, that was for certain. And he was bored. There was a pile of books fanned out around the sofa, most were open but looked like they had been haphazardly thrown to the floor. There were fifteen cups of coffee on the coffee table, all with varying amounts of coffee still left in them. I picked one up and slowly raised it to my nose, aware that it might not actually be coffee but something rather unpleasant. Or dangerous. I sniffed the contents, nearly dropped the mug in my haste to get whatever it was away from my face and decided that I would rather not know what it contained to make it smell like rotting fish.
“Don’t drink that. I’ve been experimenting with it.”
I turned to the direction of the voice and jumped slightly as I noticed that Sherlock was peering at me from around the curtain, completely wrapped in it like a child. I could just see a mop of unruly hair poking out, and his eyes which were silver this morning. I noticed they changed colour slightly depending on what mood he was in. I was trying to mentally chart what colours go with what moods, and I knew that silver was bored but bright blue was someone-just-died-this-is-better-than-christmas. He was staring at me like he was trying to take me apart, work me out, and then put me back together. Though, to be fair, he looked at me like that most of the time.
“Sher- Okay. Why? No, I don’t want to know.” I moved into the kitchen, shaking my head, and started hunting for a clean mug to make myself some tea. Sherlock untangled himself from the curtain and stalked after me.
“John. You were gone for precisely two hours and thirty nine minutes. Today is Saturday. A post-case Saturday. You never go out on a post-case Saturday,” Sherlock whined. I turned to face him and couldn’t help but smile at his expression. His eyes were large and questioning and he was trying to attach himself to me like a limpet. I peeled him off of me, held him at arm’s length and talked to him like I would a child.
“Sherlock, I had something important to do this morning. Alone. Stop looking at me like that. I know this breaks the routine of post-case Saturdays but I am back now and we can go back to bed. I see you’re still in your pyjamas.”
Sherlock huffed and stalked back into the lounge where he flung himself on the sofa, dressing gown billowing out behind him. His voice was muffled, face pressed into the back of the sofa.
“No. You’ve ruined it now. I’m already awake.” He waved his hand at me in the way that means you are dismissed leave now and I chuckled to myself as I crossed the lounge and folded myself around Sherlock on the sofa. It wasn’t very comfortable; the sofa was not designed for two people, let alone Sherlock and another person. He did not have the dimensions of a normal person. My heart started hammering in my chest again. I was sure it was loud enough for Mrs Hudson to hear it all the way downstairs.
“I, um, I have something planned for this evening that you’ll really like, Sherlock,” I said in what I hoped was a completely neutral tone of voice. He turned his head slightly and peered at me sideways.
“This is connected with where you went this morning,” he rumbled. His voice got lower when he was sulking and it vibrated in my chest. I shifted slightly.
“Wait and see, Sherlock. It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises, John. They don’t end well for me. Besides, I know you were making dinner reservations in East London.”
I went completely still. Of course, he’d probably deduced that from the splash pattern of mud on my shoes, or something equally obscure, but this was something I hoped for once he would just let be so I could surprise him. This was important.
“Sherlock,” I said in what I hoped was my most authoritative I’ve-been-in-the-army-don’t-mess-with-me voice, “don’t try to deduce this. It is a surprise and you will enjoy it and I forbid you from working it out until I tell you where we are going. And yes, it is for dinner.”
Sherlock twisted around until we were laying face to face, his eyes searching and intent on mine.
“You’re nervous. Doctor John Watson, ex-army doctor, is nervous about dinner. Why? I can feel your heart rate, it has accelerated and you-“ I covered his mouth with my hand.
“Stop it, Sherlock.”
I removed my hand and pressed my lips to his before he could resume speaking. He closed his eyes and hummed happily and I relaxed, snaking my arm around his neck as much was possible within the confines of the sofa. The tea could wait for five minutes.
~~~~
“Sherlock. It’s six o’clock and our reservation is for seven. I told you this earlier, so why are you still in the bathroom? We have to leave in ten minutes.” I was pacing back and forth by the bathroom door. The locked bathroom door, behind which Sherlock had been presumably showering and preening for the past forty eight minutes. I got dressed in my room, thankfully having the sense to shower early before Sherlock invaded the bathroom, and was now anxiously playing with the cuffs of my shirt. I kept patting my jacket pocket to make sure the most important part of tonight’s surprise was still there, and then I mentally scolded myself for checking again. Sherlock would pick up in two seconds flat that there was something of interest in my pocket if I kept touching it.
“I am making sure that my appearance is satisfactory, John, as I am sure you are aware,” came Sherlock’s voice from the bathroom. “My hair requires a lot of attention or else it goes frizzy.”
I wished I had a voice recorder at that moment, because Lestrade would have died laughing at that comment. I dissolved into slightly hysterical giggles. Yes, still nervous.
“Time’s up. Either you come out now, or I’m picking the lock and dragging you out. By your hair.”
At that, the door flew open and Sherlock appeared, his face inches from mine, looking slightly worried.
“You wouldn’t!”
I chuckled as I dragged him by his suit jacket to the door and over to his shoes. I poked at his ankle until he obediently lifted his foot up high enough so I could put his shoe on, and tapped again until he put his foot back down and repeated the same with his other shoe. Sometimes you had to take matters into your own hands with Sherlock, or you’d be waiting for hours for him to decide to put his own shoes on because he’d rather be making last minute checks on the multitude of experiments running in the kitchen or researching bees on the internet.
We finally made it into the cab and I handed the cab driver the address of the restaurant so I didn’t risk Sherlock overhearing the location before I was ready to reveal the surprise. Sherlock was looking out of the windows at the passing lights as we drove through London and I sat back and took him in. He was gorgeous. Can you even use that word to describe a man? Well, he was. I noticed he had that purple shirt on that makes my heart skip a beat every time I look at it, and he was wearing perfectly tailored black trousers and a black suit jacket that looked like it cost more than an entire week’s wages. His legs looked impossibly long; in fact many things about Sherlock looked impossible. Sometimes I wondered why he’d ever chosen me. As if he could read my thoughts, Sherlock glanced at me, smiled, and threaded his fingers through mine before returning his attention to the passing lights.
“Stop trying to work out where we are going, you’ll ruin the surprise.”
“We’ve just gone past Russell Square Gardens.” Sherlock’s mouth flickered with amusement. “They made some adjustments in 2002 in order to deter gay men from using it as a late night cruising area.”
“I don’t even want to know how you know that, Sherlock.”
Sherlock looked at me and his eyes danced playfully.
“It was all in the name of science, of course.” I shook my head again and squeezed his hand. My stomach did a back flip as I noticed we were on Clerkenwell Road. Thankfully, Sherlock didn’t have any trivia for this part of town.
We pulled up outside the restaurant and Sherlock climbed out of the taxi gracefully. I nearly fell out and tried to make it look like it was on purpose as much as possible. Sherlock huffed slightly in amusement before turning around to survey the area. He spotted the restaurant and made a move towards it. It looked quite unassuming from the outside; window frames painted in blue with blacked out windows, and was situated right next to a pub. I hoped Sherlock didn’t feel too disappointed, for I knew once I told him what made this restaurant so special he’d probably jump for joy in the same way he does when he spots a police car outside Baker Street.
“Dans Le Noir?” Sherlock read the sign on the restaurant. “I think Mycroft mentioned this before, it’s-”
“The restaurant where you dine completely in the dark.” I finished for him. Sherlock whirled around to face me with an honest to god genuine smile on his face. I knew the differences between his various smiles and facial expressions, having seen him assume different identities and emotions many times on cases.
“John, this is wonderful!” He exclaimed, grabbing me by my shoulders. “Finally, a social situation that might actually prove to be interesting. Oh, the experiments that are screaming to be done, John!”
“Sherlock. Tonight we are just eating, okay? Any experiments you think of during our meal you shall keep to yourself and if you’re lucky I’ll buy a blindfold on the way home and you can experiment to your heart’s content later.”
He waved his hand in my general direction as he practically skipped towards the door of the restaurant and disappeared inside. I took a deep breath, checked my jacket pocket, and followed him in.