The Sound of Settling [BBC Sherlock, Johnlock, first kiss]

1. Dinner at Angelo's. [A Study in Pink]

"People don't have arch-enemies," John informs him.

Sherlock is only half paying attention. He's replaying John's earlier comments in his mind—Amazing! Extraordinary! Brilliant! Fantastic!—and puzzling over them as he watches for the murderer. What makes John so different from everyone else? (Better.) Why does he respond in such a fashion to Sherlock's work? "I'm sorry?"

"In real life," John continues. "There are no arch-enemies in real life. Doesn't happen."

Sherlock realizes that he should answer John. It's only polite. (Doesn't normally care about polite. Why now?) (Only cares a little.) (Still. Odd.) He feels a baffling desire to keep engaging with John, and possibly, to please him. Is this just an urge to elicit further compliments? (Possible. 78% likely to be a reason, 3% likely to be sole reason.) Why should he care what this man thinks? (He pretends not to watch him, but observes from the corner of his eye. Tries to understand.) "Doesn't it? Sounds a bit dull."

"So, who did I meet?"

Sherlock evaluates his choices. He could answer honestly—no, he doesn't want to tell John about Mycroft. Doesn't like Mycroft. Doesn't think John likes Mycroft. (Who would?) Doesn't want that reflecting poorly on him in John's eyes. (Why is that important?) Must admit that he also enjoys the air of mystery that it adds to his character if he lets John go on believing that he has an arch-enemy. He could simply not respond—no, John won't like that. He could deflect—83% chance of success. "What do real people have, then, in their 'real lives?'"

"Friends, people they know, people they like, people they don't like. Girlfriends, boyfriends..."

Deflection accomplished. "Yes, well, as I was saying—dull."

"You don't have a girlfriend, then?"

Funny that John assumed he might. Nobody else assumes that. (Oddly flattering.) (If unperceptive.) "Girlfriend? No, not really my area."

He watches John thinking about that. For a long time. So many milliseconds. Other people's minds take such a long time to reach their destinations. Do they make interesting detours along the way? He doubts it. Still, there's something unusually interesting about watching John think. (Why?)

"Oh, right." John reaches the point Sherlock knew he'd arrive at eventually. "D'you have a boyfriend?"

Slightly more his area, in theory, but he has never felt the need to put it into practice. Every mysterious, fascinating, seductive man changes once Sherlock has opened his mouth. After they hear him speak, they all become the same—freakinsanepsychopathfreakbeastnutterfreak—become ugly. (Become predictable.) Nobody can keep up with him, and nobody even wants to try. They all sneer, turn away, are boring.

All except one. He turns and looks at John.

"Which is fine, by the way." John has misinterpreted his look.

"I know it's fine." He can hear his own voice, always so defensive and sharp. No need to be defensive against John, it seems, but it's a habit that's hard to break after so many years of the Sherlock vs. The World.

John smiles. He smiles, even after Sherlock's sharpness. "So, you've got a boyfriend, then?"

"No." Sherlock tries to see inside of John's head, to understand what makes him continue to be interesting—and interested in Sherlock—even after having spent hours with him.

"Right. Okay, you're unattached. Like me. Fine." He's looking down, clearing his throat. Almost an afterthought, "Good."

Good. Good? Good... Sherlock turns the word over and over in his head as he looks out the window once more. He runs through all possible meanings of the word. In all interpretations, John seems pleased that he is unattached. (Lemma —Except: sarcasm? Possible. Didn't sound sarcastic. But: low prior probability that someone would be genuinely happy Sherlock is unattached. Unless: the postulated someone is happy that Sherlock is not freakishly wrecking some poor person's life. But: John genuinely doesn't seem to think that way, and he isn't demonstrating any of the telltale characteristics exhibited when people say the opposite of what they mean. Conclusion of lemma: not sarcasm.) Conclusion: ...oh.

John wants... involvement? Sherlock doesn't do involvement. Because people are boring, and people think Sherlock is a freak. But... John doesn't? (He doesn't. No signs. (Fantastic, he said.)) And he isn't, somehow—boring. Not just because he compliments Sherlock, either. (Probably.)

What would it be like to date someone? (Unknown.) Would it be interesting? (Not with most people.) (John is not most people.) Would he learn anything? (Science?) It might be worth it to see what he can learn. (It might be worth it for more reasons, maybe? John is appealing in some way that is hard to pin down. (Appealing because his appeal can't be pinned down? Circular.))

He needs to respond to John. He should try something new. He should see what he can learn. He should give into this inexplicable, burgeoning desire to be closer to John. He teeters on the edge of saying something. (What? How does one begin?) (Is one supposed to ask the other to dinner? Already at dinner.) His pulse is racing, mouth is dry—he realizes he is scared, confused, anxious. (New. Unpleasant.) This doesn't feel safe. (Chasing after a murderer is safer.)

No. (Too many unknowns.) Delay. He opens his mouth, and words spill out, "John, um ... I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any—"

John is interrupting. "No." He clears his throat. "No, I'm not asking. No." The thought is apparently absurd.

Oh. Oh. (He was wrong?) (What is that odd sensation in his gut?) Oh. Good. (What did good mean, then?)

Sherlock settles for having gained a new admirer. (Admirers are good. Good.) That's unusual enough. It'll do for now.