Chapter Text
"John? Jaaawwwwwn! John - where are you? I need you John. John?" The rich, deep tones echoed around the empty living room before insinuating themselves through the closed door and into the bathroom, where the subject of Sherlock's rather loud enquiry was currently finishing his shower.
"I'm in the bloody bathroom, Sherlock!" he yelled back, having just turned off the water. "I'm having a shower.. I did tell you I was going to have a shower. More than once in fact!"
"Tedious, John". Must have deleted it!" Sherlock answered back, coming to a halt in front of the bathroom and yelling approximately 25% louder now that he knew John was located behind a rather thick wooden door. "At least you'll be clean I suppose. Do hurry up in there, I hope you didn't use up all the hot water, I need a shower too."
John resisted the urge to punch something, but he couldn't quite suppress a sigh. Muttering darkly about bloody flatmates and no boundaries and other equally dire things, he exited the bathroom, still glistening from the hasty towelling and - unusually for him, since he was quite modest as a rule - with only a towel knotted about his waist, clothes bundled in his arms.
Sherlock looked him over with that narrow-eyed-cat-look of his that tended to make John extremely nervous - somehow he never quite felt like he was going to pass muster. He squirmed beneath the intensity of the detective's surgically sharp gaze and waited for the verdict. When it came, it wasn't quite what he was expecting. "I need you to be my male homosexual lover tonight. John," Sherlock pronounced, in his most bored, uninterested, matter-of-fact tone of voice.
John's jaw dropped in a very unflattering way.
"It's for a case, John!" Sherlock dead-panned. Well of course it was for a case, thought John. Why else would... never mind.
"Hurry up - we need to hit the club in less than an hour. Though you'll need to wear something nicer than that hideous jumper you had on earlier, that's for sure. You are to be my boyfriend - therefore you will be a reflection of me, and I simply can't be seen going out with a jumper, John!" Sherlock's disdain was so evident even John could deduce it from the curl of his lip.
"Oh - so sorry to risk embarrassing you with my choice of wardrobe, Sherlock! It's not like, oh, I don't know, I'm going to tell your most secret thoughts to a whole room or make your girlfriend cry or anything!"
"Well," Sherlock replied, ignoring the jibe, as was his habit. "I could always come up and select something not-terrible for you, John. Might be best, actually -"
"No! No. God No. I'll thank you to stay out of my wardrobe Sherlock. I can manage quite well on my own, thank you!"
Sherlock raised one eyebrow and shot him a look that begged to disagree, however, in spite of often claiming to be ignorant of such things, he knew enough about social niceties to realise that pushing the issue now would be highly counter-productive to his plan for the evening. He merely waved one hand in that vague 'go ahead' gesture of his and spun on his heels to retreat to his bedroom - ostensibly to pick out his own outfit for the night.
Once safe within the confines of his room, however, Sherlock allowed his face to settle into one of his signature smirks. Oh, this was going to be so good! It's Christmas! he thought to himself. He'd been dying to get John into a proper gay club for years now - ever since the night at the pool, really -the horrifying moment when his own heart was unveiled to him and he realised just how much sentiment it held. For John. Always John. The shock had been immense, he could barely stand it. And once the deduction was made, well, you could not unsee what had been seen, could you? Of course - being Sherlock - he could always delete it. Yet he hadn't. Not yet. Maybe not ever. It was John, ordinary, straight, John. Sherlock did not do 'relationships'. And even if he did - John did not fancy other men. It was bizarre to persist in hoping that something might one day come of it - and yet, and yet - perhaps he was only human after all. He rather liked the warm feelings engendered by his always surprising friend. The fact that he was also undeniably handsome, with the kind of body that - if any body could be claimed do so - would be the type to set a certain consulting detective's pulse racing, well - that didn't hurt either, now did it?
Sherlock Holmes was nothing if not devious and certainly not without a streak of mischief when the situation allowed. He longed to see how John - his so-not-gay-John - would fare in a room full of - well, men loving other men. He wanted to see John's reactions, to deduce him, how comfortable he really was with their surroundings. It might give him a hint if 'all fine' really did mean all fine after all. He also got great pleasure in seeing John flustered, the bloom of embarrassment flushing up from his neck. The thought of making his secret crush squirm tonight, well, it was nothing short of - delicious! His mouth watered at the thought. And, he could admit to himself, there was one final motive at play. He longed to show his surprisingly strong and toned army doctor off, just this once, in public - to pretend just for a moment that this was a possibility, that in some alternate universe, a John Hamish Watson, army medic and surgeon, might have feelings - non-platonic ones at that - for a Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, sociopatic genius with an unfortunate predilection for nicotine, 7 percent solution, and short, pragmatic men in awful jumpers. That's not wrong, not in the slightest, he thought defensively, and it definitely wasn't sad.