Characters: John / Sherlock
Disclaimer: Sadly the characters and the show have nothing to do with me.
Summary: We're supposed to be sitting in some swanky restaurant, all expenses paid by your brother, ordering a salad right now, not stuck inside a hospital's bloody mortuary. Their first proper date doesn't go quite as planned.
Once again thank you to the marvellous flecalicious for beta-ing this for me.
Not Your Usual Date
“Can’t you just pick the lock?”
“Swipe card system,” Sherlock explained, “We’re just going to have to wait until someone finds us or notices we’ve gone missing.”
John fell back against the autopsy table. Why today, of all days, did they have to get locked in the morgue? Tonight they were supposed to be going out to some fancy Michelin star restaurant for a proper date—their first proper date in fact.
They’d been together for about a month now; well, more together than they'd been before—sex was a normal part of the agenda now—but this was the first time they’d made plans to go out for a nice meal at a posh restaurant like any ‘normal’ couple. Trust Sherlock to ruin it all.
Okay, so that wasn’t entirely fair. It wasn’t Sherlock’s fault they were stuck in the St Bart’s morgue, even if it was his fault they were in the morgue to start with. Sherlock had wanted to go over something to do with the body from the last case, some minor detail he needed to clarify for Lestrade.
‘It won’t take long,’ he’d said, ‘plenty of time to make dinner,’ which had been perfectly true at the time. What neither of them had counted on was an over-zealous cleaner locking the door and trapping them inside.
“Great, just great. We’re supposed to be sitting in some swanky restaurant, all expenses paid by your brother, ordering a salad right now, not stuck inside a hospital’s bloody mortuary!”
“Actually it’s rather clean in here, considering their usual business.”
“Not the point I was making Sherlock, but thank you.” The sarcasm was heavy in John’s voice.
“Look, it’s not my fault we’re locked in here, or that the hospital apparently employs blind and deaf cleaning staff. How was I supposed to know that that fool would lock us in here?”
“We wouldn’t even be here, if it wasn’t for one of your bloody cases.”
“You love my cases!”
“Not right now I don’t.” John took a steadying breath; he didn’t want to get into a fight with Sherlock on top of everything else. “Look, I’m sorry, can we just—I don’t know—talk about something else?”
“Of course. What would you like to talk about?”
“I don’t know. Anything,” he paused, trying to think of another topic, “has Mrs Hudson given your skull back yet?”
“Unfortunately not. I may have to procure a new one soon.”
“You’re not nicking one whilst we’re in here.”
“I wasn’t suggesting anything of the sort. You’re the one who brought up human remains, not me.”
They fell into silence. Despite his earlier statement that the door could not be unlocked without the proper key card Sherlock had gone back to trying to jimmy the lock somehow. John just leant against the autopsy table, watching him work.
He let out a resigned sigh; there was no way the restaurant would keep the table for them this long. After all that effort to make sure no-one gave Sherlock any cases, letting Mycroft book the table for them (John had no intention of asking how he’d managed to get a table with only a couple of days notice when he knew celebrities were on waiting lists for months), he’d even managed to get a promise from Sherlock that he’d eat something.
What a waste.
John wondered why he’d ever thought tonight would go smoothly; since when were things with Sherlock simple? One night, that’s all he was asking for, just one night where they could be a ‘normal’ couple on a ‘normal’ date; apparently even that was too much to ask for.
He rubbed at his eyes with one hand, his frustration and disappointment plain to see. He’d been so caught up in his brooding that he hadn’t noticed Sherlock had finally given up with the door and had turned round to face him.
“I’m...I’m sorry John. I know you said no cases and yet I dragged you down here anyway. I’m sorry.” Something about Sherlock’s expression reminded John of a naughty school boy who’d just been sent to the headmaster’s office; he couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.
“Only with you would a date that was supposed to be at an expensive restaurant end up being in a hospital morgue.” He was laughing hard now, his frustration and the ridiculousness of the entire situation crashing in on him. Sherlock looked stunned by the reaction to his apology, but it wasn’t long before he was joining in, both men were giggling freely.
“Well at least it’s not a crime scene.” That sent them off into another round of hysterics.
Slowly they came back down from their momentary high, catching their breath.
“I really am sorry. I know how much tonight meant to you. I should have just come here on my own, at least then you’d have been able to enjoy the meal.”
That sobered John up. “What?”
“Well, you were looking forward to it so much and then I drag you down here—admittedly I didn’t think we’d get locked in, but if you hadn’t come with me you could have still enjoyed your meal.”
“I wasn’t looking forward to the food—well, okay, I was a little—I was looking forward to spending a nice, romantic evening with you. If you’d have come here on your own I’d be sat at some table in some fancy restaurant wondering where you were and what had happened to you. You wouldn’t be answering your phone, what with there being no signal down here, and I’d be going out of my mind thinking you’d been kidnapped or something. All I wanted was a normal evening, a normal date, with you.”
“Oh...I thought...well it doesn’t matter what I thought, since apparently I was mistaken, but why did you want a normal date with me? Normal’s...”
“Boring, I know, I know,” John jumped in. Sherlock had been steadily moving towards John as John moved away from the autopsy table, closing the distance between them. “Sometimes boring can be nice though; comforting. I knew it was too much to ask; all I wanted was just one evening where we could be together; no interruptions about a murder victim, no dashing around the city chasing after bad guys; just us, alone, together.”
Sherlock closed the final distance between them, surprising John with a passionate kiss. John was stunned for an instant by Sherlock’s sudden fervour but was soon joining in, tongues exploring each others familiar mouths, the faintest use of teeth teasing at the other's lips. When they eventually broke apart for air, John wanted to ask what had brought all that on; not that he was complaining—he wasn’t a total idiot, no matter what Sherlock sometimes said.
Apparently he didn’t need to though. “Take a look around. There’s no-one else here, there’ll be no interruptions from Lestrade or my brother, no chases across London; just you, me, alone, together.”
It wasn’t until early the next morning when Molly came into work that they were finally let out. Thankfully she was rather distracted by finding them locked inside a morgue and didn’t notice their rather dishevelled appearance, or the fact that neither man seemed too upset at having spent an entire night trapped inside a mortuary.
John never tried to make plans for a ‘normal’ date again. Their dates were far more interesting.