Secretly I Think You Knew

Please Don't Be Our Guest

Soccer practice was tedious to be honest. Of course, it wasn't bad because everyone hated him, quite the contrary. Everyone seemed to love him, but John was so tied up with his dinner with Sherlock that he could barely keep his head in the game. Greg's words kept bouncing around in his skull and John kept trying to decide if he were to show up or not. Obviously there was a reason for Sherlock's sudden anger, but if he didn't want John to come then why didn't he just say so? If John was in danger he was sure Sherlock would've said something, Mycroft didn't scare him that much.
"So, are you going?" Greg asked as they were packing their things up to leave.
"Ya, I'm going." John agreed, stuffing his soccer ball into his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.
"Be safe, you hear me? I can't spend another day on that bus or I'll spontaneously combust." Greg insisted, clapping John reassuringly on the shoulder.
"Do you even know what those words mean?" John asked with a laugh.
"To be honest, no, but it sounds appropriate." Greg shrugged. John just shook his head in amusement.
"It is very dramatic." John agreed with a shrug.
"Alright then, John, be careful, and leave if anything gets too shady. Don't go in any basements, don't let them leave or show you their knife collection and Sherlock shows any signs of coming on to you, run like you've never run before." Greg insisted.
"Sherlock doesn't have a knife collection." John assured.
"Did you even hear me?" Greg asked.
"Yes, I did, and I'll run. Sure. You'll see me again, and if you don't, call the bloody police." John suggested.
"Will do Johnny, I'll be the one responsible for bringing the Holmes murderers down, that would be some story. I'll be famous." Greg decided.
"Shut up." John snapped. "They're not murderers, they're just a little bit odd."
"You'll be the last victim, they can write a book about you, tell your story. Greg Lestrade, the brave, strong, and handsome best friend of the late John Watson quotes, 'John was so trusting of that little creep, and I warned him not to go. But he was like, no Greg, I'm always right, and went anyway. That was the last I saw of that poor child.'"
"Greg, you're being so overdramatic, now let me leave, I need to shower." John insisted, turning off to walk away.
"Everyone say one last goodbye to John!" Greg yelled to the team, who all started screaming farewells and fake crying. Obviously Greg had filled them in about where John was planning on going. So he just waved over his shoulder, not really caring, he'll see them all tomorrow anyway, and headed home. When he got back home there was some sort of casserole in the oven, but John knew he wasn't eating it so he didn't bother checking.
"You better hurry John; they're expecting you at five!" Mrs. Watson yelled from the kitchen.
"Ya, I know!" John agreed, hurrying up the stairs. He took a quick yet thorough shower, not knowing why but he felt the need to look and smell excellent, in case something happens where he and Sherlock were in close quarters, at least close enough that Sherlock might be able to smell the musky scent of his body wash. When he was done he quickly towel dried his hair, dressed in a nice button down shirt and a pair of slacks, squirted on some equally pleasing cologne and went rushing down the stairs, making his hair looked alright in the reflection of the front window.
"Alright, I'm off!" he called.
"Be careful John, when should we expect you home?" Mrs. Watson asked.
"Oh, I don't know, it depends how much they want to talk." John shrugged.
"No later than ten, you have school tomorrow!" Mrs. Watson called.
"Ya, I know, I'll be fine, I've got my phone although I don't know how much signal is up there. I can always use the landline if need be." John shrugged.
"Alright John, be safe!" Mrs. Watson insisted.
"It's dinner, I'll be fine unless I choke on a meatball." John decided with a laugh, walking out the door and knowing that he just might be in a lot more danger than a meatball. Honestly John was a little bit apprehensive about going over, not just because of Greg's warnings, but of Sherlock's. He didn't know how he was going to be greeted, if Sherlock was going to ignore him the whole night and leave him to talk awkwardly to Mycroft. But John wouldn't mess this up, he knew what to talk about and what not to mention and he knew to be a polite young gentleman. His future with Sherlock was on the line, and John most certainly did not want to mess that up.