A Romantic Education

Just a bit of fluffy fun, which may or may not have a couple more chapters depending on demand. If you fancy Sherlock by candle light, let me know. Snogging may or may not ensue, but that'll be as steamy as it will get. Apologies to the sensitive souls who might object to the gratuitous use of the word 'screw'. Constructive reviews gratefully received.

Part One: Cultural Clues

It was only when Sherlock began to notice that his feelings for John had changed that he realised what a disadvantage he was at. High functioning sociopaths with no cultural awareness are somewhat challenged when it comes to the sociology and practise of romance. His solution, as always, was self-education. While this is usually a thorough and effective mode in which to operate, social interactions usually require more practical experiments than the theoretical sciences. First Sherlock had to research common behaviours, so he set out on a diligent data-gathering exercise. It proved a somewhat hit and miss process. Which is why John came home on the first evening from work to find Sherlock sitting on the sofa, hugging a cushion and sobbing over the end credits of David Lean's landmark romance, 'Brief Encounter'. Rachmaninov's second piano concerto swirled through the flat at full volume.

'He left her!' He whimpered and dabbed at his eyes with a tissue. 'I can't believe he left her! And she let him!'

'Well, they were both being unfaithful to their spouses, Sherlock,' John pointed out, putting the kettle on.

'But…. But….' And then he burst into more floods.

The next night, it was Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in 'Casablanca'.

'John, I am confused.'

'Why?'

'She leaves him at the end, but this does not make me feel remotely distressed, unlike with Trevor Howard and Celia – what is her name?'

'Johnson. That's because it's different. Sherlock, why this sudden interest in old movies?'

'A research project. Why is it different?'

'Because it's for the war, so it's an acceptable sacrifice, where as with Brief Encounter, the sacrifice is for social reasons, which makes it noble and futile.'

Sherlock didn't look convinced.

The next evening, it was 'Love Actually'.

'I really don't understand this part, John,' Sherlock grumbled, rewinding the DVD to show him. 'Why are those people naked and simulating sex in public?'

'They're body doubles, Sherlock. For a film. It helps the director get the lights and camera angles right, so the actors don't have to stand around all the time, waiting. Besides, this scene is supposed to be funny.'

'Why?'

'Did you know that explaining a joke kills it stone dead?'

'Yes, but why?'

'It's irony. The romance comes out of the awkwardness of forced intimacy in public with a stranger. Usually, people get to know each other first, and are intimate in private. Here, it's the other way around.'

Sherlock thought about this. 'I don't know why such a pretty girl would be attracted to a pudding-faced individual like that,' he pronounced.

John looked a bit put out. 'She likes him because he's nice. And funny.'

'And funny is good?

'Funny is the best aphrodisiac.'

'I thought that was-'

'Don't go there, Sherlock, I really don't want to know.' John thought about it, though. 'You think she's pretty?'

'Yes. Don't you?'

'Yes. It's just I didn't think you went in for blondes.'

'I can change my mind, can't I?'

The next evening, it was 'Jane Eyre.'

'I thought it was movies?' John asked.

'Television can be quite useful too,' Sherlock pointed out. 'I'm surprised by the quality of this production. It must be recent.'

'No idea. Isn't that Maggie Smith's son?'

'I didn't know the Victorians wrote about sex,' Sherlock observed, ignoring the reference because he thought John was referring to a friend of his mother's.

'As I understand it, they wrote about little else.'

The next evening, it was 'Pride and Prejudice'.

'Now this I like,' Sherlock said, putting his feet up on the coffee table. He was sitting through all seven episodes, back to back. 'He seems an eminently sensible man.'

'You just wait,' John predicted and went upstairs to listen to the football on the radio. When he came downstairs again after the match, Sherlock was looking a little green around the gills.

'Something wrong?'

'Am I a pompous prig?'

'Yes.'

'Oh.'

'I'm sorry, did you want me to say something else? I can lie if you like.' He thought about it. 'You're a loveable pompous prig, if that helps?'

'Hardly.'

The next night, it was 'When Harry Met Sally.'

'You really are dragging them up, aren't you?' said John. 'When am I going to get the telly back?'

'Men and women can't be friends because sex always gets in the way,' Sherlock quoted, ignoring him. 'This seems to me to be a very generalised hypothesis. Does it have any basis in truth?'

'I don't know really. I do have female friends that I don't necessarily want to sleep with. But on the other hand, I suppose I'm a man, and I'd pretty much screw anything with a pulse if the opportunity presented itself.'

Sherlock frowned. 'Anything with a pulse? We are friends, and I have a pulse. Do you not wish to have sex with me?'

'It's not the same.'

'Why?'

'Because you are a man, Sherlock. I should think that would be obvious to someone as observant as you!'

'I had noticed, funnily enough.' The great detective scowled. 'So you are suggesting that my gender means that I should pretty much want to screw any woman regardless of her relationship to me, simply by virtue of her gender?'

'Sherlock, it's a romantic comedy! For God's sake! Get a sense of humour!'

'Even my mother?' Sherlock persisted.

'Oh, Jesus, read Freud!'

'Freud was a fantasist. So you wouldn't sleep with me?'

'No.'

'Oh.'

John stopped drinking his tea and stared at Sherlock. 'Oh, God, you're serious, aren't you? God, I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I didn't realise.'

Sherlock sighed. 'Neither did I until about a week ago,' he said.