Title: More romantic
Author: godsdaisiechain
Fandom: Sherlock
Type: Fic
Characters/Pairing: Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Irene Adler, Mary Watson, Mrs. Hudson

Word Count: about 700
Rating: PG13
Summary: Well… it will be more romantic.  Or would have been.  If only…
John and Sherlock ruminate and muse (respectively) on their first ‘date.’  Other voices consider romance as well. Not terribly spoiler-y, but it will make more sense if you’ve seen Series 3.


Sherlock

Of course, he had to say that he was flattered by John’s interest, but not, himself, interested, as it were.  Although he possibly was.  It was hard to tell, really.  Once you got off the track of getting involved, like ordinary people and left your private room at the club.

The candle was a nice touch, he had to admit. And it would have been more romantic.  If it had been romantic at all.

Which it was not.  Clearly not. Even if that blasted Moriarty hadn’t made himself known that very night, it would not have been even slightly romantic.

And this made the naked dreams all the more worrisome somehow.

He would have asked the woman, but she was liable to flirt even from beyond the grave.

How droll.

John

He lay awake in the lamplight, watching Mary sleep a sleep that would have been like a baby if she had woken up hungry every three hours.  Where had he read that?  Who knows?  Not terribly romantic.

Rather like that first night.  The night someone had shot that murdering taxicab driver.  The night the restaurant owner had put a candle on the table because he was so happy that Sherlock had finally brought a date.  To make things more romantic.

It had been even more mortifying than Mrs. Hudson asking if they needed two bedrooms.  Then insisting that it was perfectly fine to be gay.  That they could even be married.

He felt a silly sappy smile spread across his face.  Married.  To the woman of his dreams.  Which turned out to be full of espionage and war and other horrid things.

Like Sherlock naked at Buckinham Palace without his sheet and a beckoning grin on his puckish face.  Which should not have affected him at all.  Let alone the way it had.

Mary rolled over to cuddle.  “Oh John,” she nearly purred in her sleepy way. “You naughty husband.”

John prayed that she never knew how naughty.


Moriarty

He’d run out of knives to toss at the wall.  How unutterably dull.  Boring.  Life was boring.  People were boring.  Even money was becoming boring now that he had been out of that place, that horrible place, for so long.

So many things were boring.  In fact, everything was boring.  Except him.  Sherlock.

Sherlock had never been boring.  He had even figured out the sneakers.  Clever Sherlock.

Out for a candlelit dinner with his new honey.  Yes, it was a candle.  Boring. Candles were boring.  Restaurants were boring.  Except for those little rolls with the garlic.  And spaghetti.  And, of course, those little chocolate cakes.

Boring honey. John Watson.  Boring doctor.  What could Sherlock see in him, limping around with his make believe pain.

Interesting Sherlock.  So handsome.

Maybe the woman could help him.  She was much less dull than almost everyone else.

But a nice piece of cake first wouldn't hurt anyone.


Irene

The battle armor hadn’t worked on him after all.  Not really.  She could see that he made nothing of her.  Nothing at all.

Which was rather depressing since he had clearly seen and taken her measurements.  And saved her from being decapitated.  Rather dramatically.  If it had been any other man (or woman) it would have meant something.  Especially after the way she had betrayed him.

Surely he wasn’t pining over that squashy little doctor.  The one with a hankering for Anthea.  Before he met that interesting spy.

Now there was a toothsome morsel if ever she had seen one.

Maybe the battle armour would work there.


Greg

Molly Hooper had a crush on Sherlock Holmes.  That much was obvious.  Even Sherlock noticed it.  Eventually. After thinking she must have been meeting someone else.  In that fabulous dress.  Who would have thought she was hiding such a desirable body under those stodgy lab clothes.

And Sherlock had been kind to her about it.  The crush.  Which was odd.

Not like him at all.  Probably John’s influence.

Maybe John could have a word with Molly and see how serious her feelings were for the latest dimwit she was seeing.

Or maybe he would just ask her for dinner some time.

It would be more romantic.