Human (Johnlock)

Be My Guest

It had been a while since John had last gone out to lunch with anyone, mostly because he tended to work straight through his lunch break. However, John made sure to have finished all of his work for the morning and had even gotten ahead in filling out paperwork so he could justify leaving the hospital to go have lunch with Sherlock Holmes.

He still couldn't believe Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, was taking him out to lunch, after they'd had dinner at John's flat the previous night. Things like this just didn't happen to ordinary people like John. When he'd awoken that morning and found his flat as empty as it had been the day he moved in, he was almost convinced that the previous evening had all been a dream, or some sort of delusion created by John's addled mind. 

When John walked into the break room he half expected to find it empty, but alas, Sherlock was there, leaning against a wall with a cup of coffee in his hand. He greeted John with a smile and placed the cup down beside the coffee maker. He crossed the room with two long strides and met John at the door, peering down at him from his towering height.

"Ready?" he asked in that smooth baritone voice John's ears had been longing to hear again for hours. He smiled up at Sherlock and nodded his head.

"Ready." Sherlock was the first to leave the room, and John followed after him, struggling to keep up with Sherlock's fast walking pace. By the time they reached the front entrance of he hospital John had to admit he was rather winded.

"Have you decided where you'd like to go?" John stopped dead in his tracks when he realized that no, he had not decided on where he wanted to eat lunch. In fact, he had actually forgotten that he was meant to be choosing heir destination, but he didn't tell Sherlock that. Instead he just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

"No, actually." The corner of Sherlock's lips pulled up to form a lopsided grin and he hailed a cab for the two of them. He gave the cabbie an address that John didn't recognize, and the car sped away from the curb.

"Where are we going?" John asked, turning away from the window to look at Sherlock's profile.

"A lovely restaurant on the other side of London. I made reservations for us when I realized you'd probably forget about picking a place to eat." John felt his face flush and he turned away, staring out the window once more.

"Smart thinking," he said quietly and mostly to himself. Sherlock heard him, and chuckled equally as quietly.

"I know." John tore his gaze away from the window and stared at Sherlock, who simply stared back with a sort of amused smile on his face. They both laughed, and then Sherlock asked John about how his day had been so far. It felt like less than a minute had passed before the cab came to a stop in front of a very fancy looking restaurant. John climbed out after Sherlock, and stared up at the sign above the door while Sherlock paid the cab fare. It read, 'Chez Belle'.

"French?" John asked, turning towards Sherlock, who had just rejoined him on the pavement. He nodded his head, then went forward and opened the door for John.

When he stepped inside, John's jaw dropped and he stared wide eyed at his surroundings. Everything about this restaurant practically screamed posh, right down to the red velveteen carpet and white silk tablecloths. A bit impractical for a restaurant, John mused, but still very nice.

Sherlock was greeted by a young woman with sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes, wearing the epitome of what was referred to as the 'little black dress'. She wrapped her arms around Sherlock and placed a kiss on his cheek, but even after this great display of affection towards him Sherlock treated her as coolly as he would a stranger. He stepped away from her and cleared his throat, scratching at his forearm and staring at the floor.

"Belle." The woman smiled and sighed.

"Sherlock, always a pleasure to have you in my restaurant." An involuntary gasp escaped from John, causing Sherlock and Belle, as well as a few others, to turn their heads towards him.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "So you're the owner?" Belle nodded her head and extended a hand towards him.

"Belle Moreau, pleased to meet you." It was only then that John noticed the slight French accent she had. He gave her hand a quick shake and smiled.

"John Watson. The pleasure is all mine." Belle pulled her hand away with a coquettish smile on her ruby red lips.

"Well aren't you a charmer," she said playfully. "But of course, you'd have to be quite debonair to capture the attention of Sherlock Holmes here." John ventured a glance at Sherlock, who was staring down at his feet with a frown on his face.

"If you're all done with the introductions now," he said, sounding rather peevish, "We'd like to be seated as soon as possible."

"Of course, of course. Laila here will show you to your seats." Belle pointed to a young looking girl with her brunette hair tied into an elegant ponytail, then turned and began walking away to the kitchen it seemed. "Enjoy your meals boys!"

Once John and Sherlock had sat down and been given menus, the reality of the entire situation began to sink in. John was actually sitting across from Sherlock Holmes in the most elegant restaurant he'd ever set foot in, about to have lunch with him. The mere thought of it brought a silly grin to John's face.

"So," Sherlock said, setting down his menu and taking off his coat, "you see anything you like?" John's eyes continued to scan over the various menu items as he responded.

"Oh, yes." His mouth was nearly watering just from reading the descriptions of some of the meals. He heard Sherlock's deep chuckle from across the table and looked up. Sherlock was smiling at him while he absentmindedly scratched at his forearm. "What are you getting?" Sherlock shrugged.

"Not sure. I'm not very hungry so I might just get an appetizer or something." John nodded his head slowly, wandering if he too should get something light, as to not look like a pig on this outing of sorts. A cough from Sherlock tore him away from his thoughts, and he looked up, eyebrows raised. Sherlock smiled at him, though to John it resembled a smirk more than anything. "Don't you go thinking that you have to get an appetizer too. You go ahead and order everything on the menu if you want." John chuckled and shook his head, folding the menu and placing in it on the table in front of him.

Their waiter arrived soon enough and they placed their orders: Coq au Riesling for John and a small quiche for Sherlock. Their meals arrived faster than John would've expected, and the food was amazing. The complementary champagne that had been given to them was great as well, and John's taste buds were in French heaven. He and Sherlock didn't talk much, due to the fact that both men were stuffing their faces. Well, John was stuffing his face; Sherlock was taking small, delicate bites every other minute. Still, despite the fact that Sherlock ate slowly and took such tiny bites, he finished his meal before John, and sat back in his seat to watch John as he ate.

A bit self conscious, John glanced up every so often at Sherlock, gauging his response to the sight of him eating, and each time he looked up Sherlock's fingernails were scraping against he pale skin of his forearm. With his eyebrows furrowed John dropped his fork, and stared up at Sherlock.

"Are you alright?" he asked. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him, as if he didn't understand, but also pushed his shirt sleeve back down and hid his hands beneath the table.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't act stupid with me," John warned him. Sherlock refused to meet his gaze and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He slid over some and started to stand up, but John reached out and managed to grab his wrist, pulling him down to sit beside him. Sherlock tried to wrench free of his grasp, and John was reminded of the first time they'd met; It didn't give him a good feeling. He hastily pushed up the sleeve of Sherlock's shirt and examined the skin that had been revealed. When he saw the track marks on Sherlock's arm he gasped and looked up. Sherlock was staring up at the ceiling, still refusing to meet his gaze.

"Sherlock-"

"Yeah I know John." Sherlock snatched his arm away and stood up quickly. He grabbed his jacket and began putting it on, his words coming out of his mouth so fast they stared to blend together.

"I know what you're thinking but don't you worry about me. I don't need your pity nor your judgement so I think I'll just go now and luckily for you I have not spent all my money on any recreational..." he stopped to take in a much needed breath, then cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I'll pay the check." With that he turned to leave, but John managed to grab a hold of his coat and pulled him back.

"Sherlock, wait!" He stood as well, still keeping his grip on Sherlock's coat tight. Sherlock turned to face him, looking completely crestfallen and angry. There were so many words racing through John's mind, and it took him a moment before he could steel himself and meet Sherlock's gaze with a look of concern and nothing else in his eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?" Sherlock sucked in a breath, and John prepared himself for the worst. "We don't have to," he quickly amended, "but please, don't go."

They stood there for what felt like forever with their eyes locked, and John's hand firmly grasping Sherlock's trench coat. Eventually Sherlock sighed and nodded his head, then sat back down at the table. John breathed a sigh of relief and slid into his own seat. They sat together in an awkward silence while John tried to come up with the right words to say.

"I'm going through a bit of a...rough time, alright?" Sherlock suddenly said, his voice barely above a whisper. He reached towards his forearm but stopped himself, casting his eyes downward like an ashamed puppy. John instantly felt his heart swell with sympathy for the man.

"What's troubling you?" John asked, placing a hand in the table and staring intently at Sherlock. There was another long pause, and John began to think he would be late getting back to work, but he pushed the thought to the back of his mind. He focused all of his attention on Sherlock, who was shifting uncomfortably in his seat and obviously trying not to scratch his arm.

"I might have lied about my reasoning for wanting to stay away from home last night." John folded his hands together and rested them on top of the table, making sure to give Sherlock his full attention. He saw the hesitance in Sherlock's face, and when their eyes met John silently urged him to go on. Sherlock sighed and nodded his head, silently agreeing to.

"You see," he said despondently, "Despite what my immaculate appearance might suggest I am actually in between homes at the moment." John felt his eyebrows raise, and immediately regretted his response to Sherlock's statement. Sherlock rolled his eyes and leaned back from the table, sighing heavily. "I can assure you though I am not homeless." He groaned and met John's gaze with an exasperated look. "I'm staying with my brother until I can find a proper place to live."

"Oh, that doesn't sound too bad," John offered. Sherlock squinted at him and tilted his head.

"You don't know my brother." John shrugged and nodded his head in agreement.

"You're right," he said. "I don't."

"Be glad for that." Sherlock said, before taking an angry sip of his drink, and folding his arms on the table, resting his head upon them. John dared to reach out and placed a comforting hand on Sherlock's arm.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talking won't solve my problems."

"Neither will sticking a needle in your arm." Sherlock's head snapped up and he glared fiercely at John, who immediately began trying to retract his statement. "I'm so sorry it just slipped out. I-"

"Whatever," Sherlock said, waving a hand in the air. John placed his hands back in his lap, and offered a friendly smile.

"Why don't you stay at my flat for a bit? You know, until you get back on your feet?" When he saw the bewildered look on Sherlock's face he shrugged. "Just an option. I would hope you don't find me as repulsive as your brother."

"You?" Sherlock asked a bit loudly, brow furrowed as he squinted at John. The doctor began tugging at his collar and avoiding eye contact with Sherlock, suddenly ashamed of having made the offer. That was until he noticed the smile playing at Sherlock's bow shaped lips. "You're far from it." He brought his hand up to his chin and began tracing his jawline with his fingertips, and John found himself unable to look away. Then Sherlock dropped his hand and held John's gaze with his piercing eyes. "Is your offer sincere?"

"Of course," John said without giving it a second thought. The smile that had made a brief appearance moments before now returned in full force, and the corners of Sherlock's eyes crinkled slightly as he let out a soft sigh.

"Then I accept."