Disclaimer: I don't own John, or Sherlock. Sad, I know. It depresses me deeply.

A/N: Look what I did! I wrote a Sherlock fanfic! I actually wrote this a while ago, but I decided to finish the little tiny bit I had to do while I was procastinating from doing my Two Students and A Teacher Starship story...I'M SORRY! I HAVE DONE SOME! WILL GET IT BY SUNDAY/MONDAY! YOU WILL!

K guys, hope you enjoy this. No idea what the whole point of this was. It was just for fun, because I want to write a longer Sherlock story and I was just messing about with their characters and stuff:)

Imma do a song: Wake Me Up, Ed Sheeran-
"And I should run you a hot bath, fill it up with bubbles.
'Cause maybe you're loveable, maybe you're my snowflake
And your eyes turn from green to gray, and in the winter I'll hold you in a cold place."

"John, get your coat. We're going on a date."

John looked up from his yet to be finished blog post, pausing his typing mid-word and staring at his flatmate. The man was stood half a metre away from the sofa where John was sat, holding John's coat in his outstretched hand, a very impatient expression on his face.

"We're going on a what?"

"Oh, I forgot you had a problem with that word. Would you prefer 'an outing between two people who like each other and have fun together'?"

"Yes- well, no- uh," John sighed, exasperated. "Where are we going?"

"For a walk," Sherlock replied. "That's a suitable to thing for two friends to do, yes?"

"Well, yes, but why? Are we searching for murderers?"


"Are we stalking your brother?"

"John, since when have I stalked my brother?" Sherlock demanded, dropping his arm for a second, before raising it up again once he'd finished talking.

"Well, he stalks you all the time, I thought maybe you'd decided to give him back his due," John replied.

"No," Sherlock responded.

"Okay, well why are we going then?" John asked. "And where are we going on this walk?"

"Somewhere," Sherlock replied, shaking John's coat impatiently.

John sighed and stood up, walking over and snatching his coat off his flatmate aggressively. He shrugged it on, giving his flatmate an annoyed look as he did so. Sherlock gave him a smug little smirk in return.

"Sherlock," John warned, as he watched his friend cross the room, picking up his coat and his scarf as he walked. "Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," Sherlock replied.

"I hate surprises."

"No you don't," Sherlock argued. "You just like to pretend you do because you know that people will accept the challenge of making you like surprises. Come along."

"Sherlock, really, where are we going?" John demanded, hurrying slightly to keep up with his flatmates long strides.

"Really, John, I would have thought you of all people would understand that the whole point behind a surprise is not to know where we're going."

"I told you I didn't like surprises. Now tell me where we're going!"

Sherlock stopped dead and turned to look at John. "You really don't like surprises?"


"Your nose turned red, you're lying." He turned and promptly began walking again, even faster than before.

"What?" John exclaimed, stomping after him while flinging his arms up in the air.

"Your nose turns red when you lie," Sherlock explained.

"No, it doesn't."

"Yes it does." Sherlock abruptly turned round a corner and vanished out of sight, causing John- who was unable to slow his walking fast enough- to crash into an unsuspecting little old woman, who let out a yelp of shock and smacked John round the head with her handbag.

"Argh! Sherlock!" John yelled, trying to control the old woman, who panicked even more as John tried to grab her arms and hit him again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," John cried, holding his hands up in surrender. "I was just trying to- argh, Sherlock!"

John left the old woman yelling profanities after him, and jogged down the road after Sherlock, who turned yet another corner halfway down the road. John's phone buzzed.

Escaped yet? Come to Church Street. –SH

John shoved his phone back into his pocket, a frown quickly developing on his features as he walked down the road. He turned onto Church Street and found Sherlock leaning against the fence beside the park. He was watching two kids playing on the otherwise abandoned playground.

His expression was sad as he watched them; presumably siblings by the similar eye colour and face shape. The younger sibling was chubby and blonde, clearly out of breath and he ran as fast as his little legs could carry him after his sister, who was running ahead and laughing at his poor attempts to catch her.

"My nose does not turn red when I lie," John said, too annoyed to care much for Sherlock's sentimentality, which he probably should have cared about since it wasn't exactly a common occurrence.

All traces of Sherlock's sadness left his face as soon as he turned to look at John, and he smirked. "It does," he argued.

"It does not!"

"Well, why does your nose turn red then?" Sherlock questioned. "Is it a blush?"

John blinked, stepping away from Sherlock slightly and not saying anything. He opened his mouth and waited for some sarcastic comment to enter his mind, but none came. "Uh- um- so, are we setting off again?"


John stared at his flatmate. "But I thought we were going on a da- an outing?"

"We are on a date, John," Sherlock responded. John rubbed his left temple, closing his eyes. "Do you not like the park?"

"You brought me to the park as a surprise?" John asked, opening his eyes and staring at Sherlock ludicrously.

"The park's a good place to talk, John," Sherlock replied, standing up and striding over to the gate a little further down the road. "We're going to have a picnic!"

"You do like picnics don't you?" Sherlock asked, looking at John as they walked. John glanced back at him without saying anything. "Of course you like picnics," Sherlock decided. "Everyone likes picnics."

He sped up, leaving John behind as he walked purposefully across the field towards a small patch of grass where a blanket had already been set out, presumably by Sherlock. It was the only part of the park- bar the small wooded area to the very left- that had any trees at all. There were four in a row, so close together that their branches tangled together above Sherlock's head as he sat down between the two middle trees.

John watched him lie back, keeping himself steady by his elbows and forearms, his head tilted so far back that John could only see his neck. He continued to stare upwards, completely oblivious of John's presence as he sat down beside him.

When he finally glanced at John, who had been staring at him for a countable amount of seconds, he smiled. "I like this place," he stated simply.

"I figured you did," John replied, looking up. He had to admit, it was rather pretty, and he could understand why Sherlock would want to stare at it for so long. It really was rather-

"John." John's head snapped forwards and he looked at Sherlock, blinking quickly at the sudden change of light intensity. "I didn't bring you here to stare at the sky."

"Right, so you can't stare at the sky but I can't?" John questioned.

"I was waiting for you, now you're just wasting time," Sherlock explained. He stood up immediately, and John followed him with his eyes as he vanished behind a tree and appeared a few seconds later holding a basket filled with food and a bottle of wine.

"This must have taken a lot of planning," John commented, taking an apple from the midst of the basket as Sherlock sat back down.

"Is that a problem?" Sherlock asked, watching intensely for John's response.

"No, no problem," John replied, turning and giving his friend a little smile. "But, why? Why here?"

"Must there be a reason?" Sherlock asked, leaning over a plucking 3 grapes from the bundle and lying back, popping one in his mouth with a smirk.

"Yes, there must be. You have a reason for everything," John replied, watching as Sherlock chewed very slowly and deliberately on the grape. "So what's the reason? Why are we here, Sherlock?"

Sherlock said nothing for a second, chewing on his grape and staring straight ahead of him. Then quite abruptly he shot upright, the momentum nearly sending him flying forwards. After half a second of precariously wobbling between falling forwards and backwards he turned to John with such speed that his friend couldn't help but jerk away from him slightly.

"Because, John, I have some questions for you," Sherlock answered, giving John a one sided grin.

"Okay…?" John said slowly. "What sort of questions?"

"John, what is that?" Sherlock lifted his arm without even looking, his index finger stretched out. John followed his arm and his gaze landed on a couple that the pair had walked past less than three minutes ago. They were lay on the grass kissing rather intimately.

"Well, they're kissing," John replied, glancing at Sherlock in slight confusion and slight amusement.

"Yes, I do know what they're doing, John," Sherlock replied, voice tinged with annoyance. He sat back and waved his arm, gesturing to the couple very openly. "But, why? Why would want to do that?"

"Sherlock, stop pointing at them," John said.

"Why?" Sherlock asked, not letting his hand drop and instead making it his precise aim to make sure that his finger was pointing as close to them as it could.

"Sherlock, stop it!" John said again, leaning over and lowering Sherlock's hand for him. "People are looking over and you're going to make them feel uncomfortable."


"Sherlock, if you were kissing someone you wouldn't want them staring and pointing at you, now stop it!"

"I wouldn't?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head in interest. "Why?"

"Because that kind of thing is private!" John cried.

"Well they seem perfectly happy to be doing it in a public place. If they didn't want people staring and pointing they'd do it in private," Sherlock said in protest.

John sighed. "But most people have enough sense and manners not to stare at people while they're kissing!"

Sherlock frowned at this comment, and he turned away and stared at the couple again in possible confusion. John decided this was an improvement, at least he wasn't pointing anymore.

"John, explain kissing to me," Sherlock said. It was a statement, not a question, meaning that John had no choice in the matter. He was going to explain.

"How do you mean?" John asked. "You lean in, and kiss them, and then you keep kissing them-"

"Yes, I can see that, John," Sherlock said impatiently. "I mean explain what it's like. How you feel."

He stared at John, waiting for this amazing explanation that for seem reason he expected John to be able to produce, like kissing someone was just that simple that the feeling could be explained in scientific terms.

"Uh," John said, looking down and feeling a hint of a blush creep onto his cheeks. He didn't know to explain this without embarrassing himself. "It's nice…um…everything just sort of feels fuzzy, and you can't really think of anything but the person who you're kissing. Everything else sort…drowns out…uh…"

"John, you're mumbling," Sherlock said. "You're not making any sense."

"It's hard to explain," John replied, shrugging slightly. "I don't know how, it's…um…it really depends on who you're kissing."


"Well, you're not going to enjoy kissing someone that you don't like as much and…people that you're in love with…it's hard to explain!"

Sherlock frowned, clearly not comprehending how something so simple could be so hard to explain.

"Just trust me, Sherlock. It's so hard to explain. You'd understand if you tried it but you-"

"What are we sat here waiting for, then? Let me try it on you."

John stopped talking, his mouth still open, the rest of the sentence hovering on his tongue. "What?"

"You said it's hard to explain, and that I'd get it if I tried it, so let me try it on you," Sherlock explained, a smirk growing on his lips at the prospect. "You seem horrified, John. You'd think you'd never done it before."

"Not to a man," John said.

"What's the difference?" Sherlock asked. "I still have lips don't I? That's all you need."

"And maybe a tongue," John replied before he could stop himself. He blushed furiously, looking at the grass.

Sherlock's smirk grew into a grin. He stuck his tongue of for a second. "Got one of those too."

"Yes, I can see that," John replied, his cheeks still bright red and his gaze still fixed on the grass. After a few seconds he forced himself to look upwards. "Sherlock, you can't be serious about this."

"Why not?" Sherlock asked, his expression mildly hurt.

"People already think we're dating, this would just- in their minds- confirm their suspicion."


"So you don't care about people thinking we're dating?" John asked.

"John, I thought you understood this. I don't care about anything." He paused for a second. "Except you."

"Except me," John repeated, shaking his head with exasperation. "Oh why do I get myself into these situations?" he questioned, under his breath. He sighed loudly. "Okay, fine." Sherlock's face broke into a big grin. "But only for learning purposes."

"What else would this be for?" Sherlock questioned, his head tilting slightly.

"Nothing," John replied quickly. "Let's just get this over and done with."

John prepared himself, kneeling up on the blanket and watching as Sherlock did the same thing. Neither man moved any further. They both just stared at each other, waiting for someone to do something. John looked away awkwardly, biting his lips together.

"Are you going to do something or…?"

"No, you are," Sherlock replied.

"But you're the one that-"

"John, I would kiss you, but I have no clue what I am doing. You on the other hand, have a fairly substantial amount of experience in this matter, and therefore you should be the one to kiss me," Sherlock explained.

John stared at him for a second, unable to think of an argument to do against that explanation. He blinked and let out the breath he had been storing in his lungs, realising suddenly that he hadn't breathed out for a few seconds, for fear of breaking this silence that had again fallen upon them.

"Ugh, fine!" he said angrily.

There was nothing else to it. John didn't even think about it. It had to be done, for Sherlock. No matter how irritating the man, he wasn't the kind to ask you something for no reason, and neither was he the kind to give up on something he wanted. And John, well he was without a doubt too giving to keep saying no.

So he kissed him. He leaned in fast, wanting to get there before the blush once again exploded over his cheekbones. His lips pressed against Sherlock's hard, and Sherlock jerked back in shock, making John lose balance and fall forwards. They landed on the ground with a loud thud. John would have pulled away, embarrassed by the situation he had put them in, but Sherlock's hand stopped him, coming to rest of the back of his neck and restricting his movement so John had no other choice but to keep kissing him.

Sherlock was in a daze. He could feel John's lips moving against his, and knew somewhere in his mind that he was responding to them with his own. He also knew that John's hands were starting to tangle in his hair and that his hands were on John's back and neck, pulling him closer every second that their lips were pressed together. But other than that he was almost totally unaware what was going on.

Everything was John. John's smell, he smelled like grass and earth and everything nice in nature. John's taste, apples. Sherlock decided he must eat more apples, or eat less, if apples kept the doctor away. He wasn't sure where that thought had come from. It was like John had unleashed a whole new area of his mind that Sherlock had never even known existed. He wanted more of it.

He rolled over, wanting control of the situation. John smiled against his lips and Sherlock took that opportunity to press his tongue against John's teeth, not forcing entrance, but asking very impolitely. John obliged, opening his mouth and changing the position of his hands so they where pulling Sherlock's head down further into him. He wasn't going to deny that Sherlock was good at this. Their tongues lashed out at each other, and each time they entwined new thoughts and ideas appeared in Sherlock's mind that he never knew he could have. Each one involving John and each one more interesting.

Sherlock was the one that finally pulled away, putting his forearms on either side of John's head to steady himself. John opened his eyes slowly, his breathing deep and slow, a content smile on his lips.

"Was that a good explanation?" he asked, one hand dropping from Sherlock's hair and the other absent mindedly twirling around one of the strands at the back.

Sherlock smiled. "Very good," he agreed.

John grinned. "You get why it's hard to explain?"

"In a way," Sherlock replied. John frowned in confusion. "John, I've had an idea."

"What is it?" John asked immediately, pulling his other hand out of Sherlock's hair, a nervous expression crossing his face.

"I've decided I want to learn more about this," Sherlock said.

"And what makes you think I'll agree to that?" John questioned, an eyebrow raised. Sherlock blinked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion and hurt. John smiled slightly, moving a strand of hair from Sherlock's eyes with his finger. "How many times a week do you want lessons to be?"



Sherlock gave him another one sided grin. "You're eager."

"Problem?" John asked.

"Yes. One problem," Sherlock answered. John gave him a questioning look. "How do you feel about seven being upped to fourteen?"

John smiled, and after a second of deliberation Sherlock decided that was his cue to lean down and kiss John for the second lesson of the day.

A/N: The end sucked. I'm sorry, I ran out of ideas! Anyway, hope you enjoyed it!