Chapter Seventeen

Scottie wouldn't let go of his teddy bear. 

He held it when he played, when he slept.  He held it when when he ate, when he ran around, and when he was in the loo.

I couldn't get Scottie to give it up.  One day, I wanted to wash the bear, Scottie threw a fit when I tried to take it from him. 

"Scottie, it's yucky," was what I told him.  "I have to wash the germs out."

"No!" Scottie kicked and screamed, and it eventually called Sherlock in.

"What's wrong with him?" Sherlock asked mildly.

I took Scottie's hand.  "We're having a row, one I'm about to lose," I muttered in Sherlock's direction.  "Alright, Scottie.  I won't wash the bear."

Scottie relaxed himself, hugged the bear tightly, and stormed off.  He gave me a scowl as he left.  It was cute.

Scottie named the teddy bear "Murder" which didn't surprise me.  Babies tend to name their stuffed animals after words they hear.  For example, I got my first stuffed bear when I was being potty trained.  In result, I named it "Underpants".

Scottie and Murder had parties, to my knowledge.  Scottie would tell Sherlock and I, "Me and Mur-da gon' have a par-ty!" Then he'd go in his room.

One day, and had just given Scottie his sipping cup, and he sucked on it while squeezing Murder.  Sherlock walked in the sitting room, looking incredibly shy.

"What?" I asked him.

Sherlock scratched the back of his neck.  "Can I talk to you? Away from him?" He said, pointing to Scottie.

"Um, sure?" I stood up and went to him.

Sherlock took a breathe.  "John, will you go on a date with me?"

I stopped in my tracks.  I considered the thought.  "Yes," I answered.

Sherlock's eyes gleamed with deep pleasure, and we both smiled.  It is a little schoolboy, but that's what happened.

"When?" I asked.

"Tonight.  At seven." Sherlock was so happy, I wondered if he would start bouncing again. 

I then thought about Scottie.  "Babysitter?"

"Lydia."

I don't know why, but something inside me stirred, and I wanted so badly to hug him.  This great impulse was edging me to him, and I needed to hug him.  I hesitated, but I knew Sherlock wouldn't mind.

I stepped closer and threw my arms around his thin body. He stood motionless for half a second, but then returned the favour.  We stood hugging in the hallway for I don't know how long.  It was nice.

We broke away when I said, "I should probably get back to Scottie."

"Can I come?" Sherlock looked so small for a moment.  I nodded my head, and we walked into the room holding hands, because that's what you do when you've got yourself a boyfriend.

Sherlock wanted so badly to go to Speedy's.  I told him that that was not the kind of restaurant you go to for a date.

"But that was where we had our first da- dinner..." Sherlock scratched his neck, again, and I think he was sweating.  I heard in his voice the mistake.  Yes, I suppose it was our first date.

I agreed to Speedy's, and we left at six fifty-nine.  We did have one minute to get there on the time we said, but Speedy's was barely one step away.

"After you," Sherlock the Gentleman said, waving his hand at the door he held open.  I felt myself getting red.  Sherlock told Angelo to give us the candle, and we settled in. 

"Are you going to eat, then?" I asked Sherlock.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.  "Sorry, what?"

"It's just... You don't normally eat when we go out."  I started to feel nervous.  I had forgotten how scary dates were.

Sherlock gave a small smile.  "I'll eat if you want."

"You don't have to because of me... You have free will." I studied his haze for a  few short seconds.  "I was just asking."

Sherlock reached across the table and grabbed my hand.  I looked up at him in confusion.  "What are you doing?" I asked.

"I want to eat tonight.  It'll do me some good, I think.  But if you want me to not choose because of you, I'm still eating.  I'll even treat both meals."

I felt my ears burning.  "You don't have to.  I'll pa-"

"No.  I want to."  Then, Sherlock let go of my hand and leaned back farther in his seat.  My mouth opened, but didn't make a sound.

We gave our orders, got our food, and ate.  Sherlock's eyes were always on me.  I could glance up, and he would be staring at me fully.   I couple times, his eyes darted around a little, but they would always find their way back to me.

"You're quiet," Sherlock after cleaning his plate rather fast.

"Not unlike yourself," I replied.

"I was waiting for you." Sherlock pulled his hands into their usual position under his chin.  "You know, John, you are pretty cute."

I coughed, and I knew I was sweating far too much.  My eyes didn't seem to want to looked up at his, and my thoughts criticized my every move.  I finally looked up at him and hoped I didn't look too sheepish.  "Thank you," I answered.  "You, too." 

I found myself looked at the black locks he had.  The curly, wavy hair.  Some of the nervousness and shyness went away as I knew that whatever I did, Sherlock and I had this weird love that I still couldn't understand.

"I like your hair," I said suddenly, without thinking.

Sherlock blinked.  He had a soft grin on his face when I looked back at him.  "Thank you.  Yours, too."

We left Speedy's got in our front door, but Sherlock stopped me from going up stairs.  "Listen, John.  I need to do something."  He said this in a quiet voice, below his normal, but above a whisper.

"What?" I asked.

He pulled me close, and his face was centimeters away.  "This." He thrust forward, and our lips locked.  I was in a moment of shock, but the warmness of everything caused me to feel calm and relaxed, and I didn't mind.  I liked it.

He walked me to the wall, and we leaned against it, mouths connected, having literally the time of our lives.

We broke apart and we silently went up the stairs.  "Sorry," I heard him whisper.

Sorry? I thought.  That was wonderful! I angled my head up at him.  We were both being lovey, so I ignored his sorry and grabbed his hand.  Sherlock's lips curled into a relieved and happy look.

Sherlock had told me sorry, and I returned it with "Thank you."