John's heart fluttered nervously. What if Sherlock was taking him out to dinner to soften the harsh blow of rejection? What if he wanted him to move out? NO...he couldn't be without Sherlock. He just couldn't.
Are we taking a cab? -JW
No. I'll meet you there. -SH
This was bad. Sherlock and John always caught a cab together. What if he didn't want to be near him before rejecting him? John started to shake, and he closed his eyes, taking deep breaths.
It was almost the end of his shift, so he packed up his things, donned his coat and left five minutes early.
-----------------
Sherlock left the flat to catch a cab to the restaurant. It was only 5:15 but it would take about an hour to get there. He'd organised one of Mycroft's cars to take John. He shivered in anticipation as he made his way to the street, hailed a cab easily (it's like they always stop for him) and got in.
He thought about tonight.
He was extremely nervous. What would John think of him? He /had/ to tell him- both of them knew there was some thing going on.
"Bloody sentiment." He muttered to himself. When had he given in to the human emotions he'd always so fervently dismissed and insulted?
He tried to think about when it was he'd fallen for John. He racked his brain, then it hit him.
The very first day.
He'd deduced John easily. That he was in Afghanistan was no challenge to work out, but it wasn't that. It was his reaction.
The doctor had called him "brilliant". Sherlock hadn't thought much of it until he'd gone to bed that night. He couldn't sleep. All he could think about was that first day, that first case, and their first "date".
John, of course, had been embarrassed that Angelo had suggested they were a couple. He was heterosexual, after all. Sherlock wasn't. Girls nowadays were ignorant and stupid. He'd thought he didn't consider anyone attractive, but there had been something about John. Something about the way he'd reacted when Sherlock told him "Girlfriends aren't really my area." John had tried to hide it, but it was obvious to the consulting detective that John was pleased, and that made Sherlock happy.
Sherlock ran his sweaty hands through his hair. They shook slightly when he rested them back in his lap, so he sat on them. What was happening?
"I'm becoming a nervous wreck..."
He tried not to think about John or their upcoming conversation as he stared out the window and watched the city pass by.