So, this is an idea I had after reading OperaGoose's story 'Shouldn't Be My Idea of Fun, But It Is'. But I will make sure I finish Just One Touch BEFORE I go any further with this. I suppose I'm just putting it out there to see what everyone thinks. Please review and tell me what you think. Thank you :D

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock (or its characters).

You Fascinate Me.

John sank into the booth with a sigh and picked up a menu, though he quickly lowered it to stare at the young man who had slid into the seat across from him. "Er, hi."

"Hello." The man replied, propping himself up with one arm while his hand cradled his head, staring back at John as his eyes roved shamelessly.

"Is there, um, something you… came over for?" John asked, glancing around the practically empty café before his eyes centred back on this strange youth.

"Yes." The man answered.

John waited for a further reply, but the man was silent. "And what was it you came over for?" He prompted.

"You."

"What?" John gawked.

"I came over here for you." The man said in slight irritation at the need to clarify.

"Can I ask why?"

"You fascinate me."

"I… what?" John was lost. He didn't even know who this man was! How could he possibly fascinate him?

"You fascinate me." He repeated slowly, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"Who are you? And why would I fascinate you? I'm quite certain I've never met you, nor do I know you, at all." John huffed, getting annoyed.

"I am Sherlock Holmes. And you fascinate me because I can't quite figure you out. You're not as easy to read as the others, yet you seem so open and good-natured. It's quite perplexing." The man, Sherlock, stated. "I mean, there are obvious things, but they're not what I normally see in others. You're very unusual, John, and you're right. You have never met me, you do not know me, but I know you."

"What? How? How do you know my name?"

"I researched you. I was curious about you and I wanted to know more, so I did a bit of digging."

"You stalked me." John surmised.

"I suppose you could call it that."

"Why? Why stalk me?" John demanded in a whisper. "I'm not special and I'm not interesting."

"I beg to differ. I mean, look at you now. Most people wouldn't react the way you have to the news that they were being stalked. Yet here you are, calm as a meditating monk. For all you know, I could be an axe-wielding psychopath. I could be dangerous." Sherlock all but purred.

"I'm not afraid of you. You don't scare me." John said sternly.

"No, I most certainly do not scare you. I excite you. One mention of the word dangerous and your pupils dilated, your pulse quickened. You find the idea of me attacking you, of me attempting to make you all mine, almost… attractive."

John scowled. "I do not find you attractive." Well, not in that way, at the very least. "I mean, I'm not attracted to the fact that you might be dangerous. I'm not interested."

"Ah, but your body belies your words, John. As I said before, your pulse quickened and your pupils dilated, but your lips also parted, you straightened your cuffs, quite showily, I might add, and your eyes dropped as low as the table would allow." Sherlock smiled, victorious.

"I- I'm not interested. Go away!" John hissed.

"No."

"I'll call the police!" John threatened.

"No." Sherlock repeated.

John growled. "You can't tell me I'm not going to call the police."

"Yes I can." Sherlock replied. "Because you're not going to call them, you don't want to. You're bored, John. You're bored with ordinary life, just like me. And I'm offering you excitement, the excitement you crave so desperately."

John's jaw tightened.

"Hello there, my name's Kim. I'll be your waitress today. What can I get you?" The bouncy blonde asked.

"I-"

"He'll have a flat white, no sugar, and a scone with strawberry jam." Sherlock said. "I'll have a milkshake. Chocolate."

"But it's still breakf-"

"A milkshake. Chocolate." Sherlock said again, holding up a fifty-pound note.

"Of- of course… I'll see what I can do." The girl said, taking the note and slipping it into her apron. "It should be ready in a moment." With a smile at John, the girl headed back towards the kitchen.

"How did you know what I was going to order?" John asked.

"I've been observing your daily routines for a while now. And I know that at ten am, you have a flat white and scone with strawberry jam while you wait for your class." Sherlock told him, sounding just a touch bored. "Tell me, why exactly have you gone back to University?"

"Wait, how long have you been stalking me, exactly?"

"A month and a week, tomorrow." Sherlock answered. "Now, back to your attending University-"

"Hold on, hold on. A month?" John asked in surprise.

"And a week. Tomorrow."

"So it's you then." John guessed, glaring at Sherlock. "You're the reason I haven't been able to get a date for so long."

Sherlock smiled cheekily. "Why, of course. I do intend on keeping you to myself, John. I won't let anyone else have you, especially not those harlots you attempted to associate with."

"Perhaps you should have asked me before you did that." John said through gritted teeth.

"I think you're missing the point about this whole stalking thing."

John sat, fuming silently. What is with this guy? Is he insane? Scratch that; he's a stalker, of course he's insane.

"Now, answer my question: why have you gone back to university? You've already completed your Medical degree, what else could possibly interest you?"

"I- I needed something to do."

Sherlock nodded. "So you're not really interested in English Literature?"

"I am, but…"

"You want something that requires thought, to try and occupy your mind while you sort out where you're going to go and what you're going to do?"

"Yeah." Why am I discussing my future with a man I've only just met who confessed, well, announced he was stalking me?

"Do you have any idea what you're going to do?"

"Well… I was thinking about joining the army. Be an army doctor." John said uncertainly.

"Interesting." Sherlock breathed. "Why?"

"Um, well, my- my mother-"

"Ah, of course. Your mother was a doctor, wasn't she?"

"Yeah, and my dad was a-"

"A major? Or was he a colonel?"

"A major."

Sherlock nodded, leaning forward. "They're dead, aren't they? That's why you're trying to emulate the both of them. Make them proud, though I don't see why. Unless you're religious and believe in heaven or whatever."

"I take it you're not religious, then."

"And believe in some man who can see you when you're sleeping and knows when you're awake? Hardly."

"That's Santa Claus."

"Who?"

"You don't know who Santa Claus is?" John asked in disbelief.

"I may have at one point or another, but I've probably deleted it."

"Deleted it? Why?"

"My head is like a hard drive, John. It only makes sense to put things in there that are useful."

"And what sort of things would you classify as useful?"

"Anything that can help me with a case."

"A case?"

"I sometimes do consultant work."

"For?"

"The police. Or I would, if they weren't so horribly thickheaded and insistent upon the whole 'no-civilians-allowed-in-the-crime-scenes'. But other than that, I do private work."

"So, you're a private detective?"

"Consulting detective. I'm the only one in the world, which makes sense, seeing as I invented the job." Sherlock grinned quite suddenly.

"Something funny?"

"Mmm, yes. I find it quite interesting that you've managed to turn this whole conversation back on me."

John shrugged. "I'm a private person. I prefer not to talk too much about myself."

"Most people would simply say that aloud. You, however, answered my inquiries before deflecting the questions by asking some of your own." Sherlock smiled.

"Here we are. One flat white with a scone and one milkshake." Kim smiled, placing their orders in front of them.

"Thank you." John smiled at her.

"You're welcome." Kim grinned, fluttering her eyelashes. "Anything else?"

"He's not interested." Sherlock said.

"S-sorry?" Kim stammered.

"I said, 'he's not interested'. I mean, why would he be? You're just a washed up actress who's already cheating on her current boyfriend."

"What? How- I'm not- I-I-"

"Go away." Sherlock told her. "If I wanted to listen to bumbling idiots, I'd watch the news."

Kim's mouth fell open, as did John's. After a pause, Kim scowled at Sherlock, then at John, before turning on her heel and marching back towards the kitchen.

John raised an eyebrow. "Was that really necessary?"

"Like I said, I'm going to make you all mine."

"Did you ever consider the fact I'm not gay?"

"It would only be a fact if it were true." Sherlock replied, taking a sip of his milkshake.

John's eyes narrowed. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm only stating what I observe."

"Is that what you did to the waitress. Make assumptions about her and then throw them in her face."

"I don't make assumptions!" Sherlock snapped. "I make observations. I look, I listen, I smell, I taste, I feel and I think. I look at the details, even minute ones, and put them all together. It's a science, John. The science of deduction."

"Oh really? Then go on, tell me what you can deduct about me." John said, leaning back with his arms crossed, glaring at Sherlock.

Sherlock sighed. "I've already told you, when I look at you, things don't seem to make sense. You're a bit of a mystery to me, John. That's why I researched you, studied you."

"Give it a go. Let's see what you can come up with." John challenged.

Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek. "Fine." He sat back, both arms on the table, his eyes resuming their scanning of his upper body. "You used a different razor this morning. A… Gillette Mach3 Turbo. You've somehow managed to get a date, probably with one of your classmates. You must consider her a little… loose, even though you don't normally go for her type, so you must be rather desperate. Actually, you are desperate, for sexual contact, at the very least. You've had another fight with your brother, probably because he's rushed into a relationship without telling his new girlfriend about his drinking problem." He paused, looking under the table.

John blushed and crossed his legs. "What are you doing?"

Sherlock's head reappeared, resting his head on his interlinked hands. "Your cat has passed away from old age and your alarm clock is broken."

"How do I know you didn't find all that out from, you know, stalking me?"

"I don't stalk you when you're at home."

"Why not?"

Sherlock smirked. "Contrary to what you may think, I do have a life outside of you."

"Aren't stalkers completely obsessed with their… er…"

"Victims?" Sherlock offered.

"Do you think of me as a victim?"

"I think of you as a curiosity."

"Oh. Well, aren't stalkers obsessed with their victims?"

"Some. But I prefer to… go against the grain, shall we say? Not that I won't stalk you at home. I'm just too busy at the moment."

"Why do you want to stalk me at home? You seem to be able to know everything about me just by looking."

"I have a few theories about you, but I need more evidence to be sure."

"Why don't you just ask me?"

"Boring. I prefer to investigate for myself."

"Is that why you've become a… consulting detective?"

"Perhaps."

"Do you see a lot of blood?"

"Sometimes. It can be quite gory at times. Other times it's so boring and ordinary. It takes a lot of waiting until an interesting killer comes along. I once had to wait three months for one, all the ones in between were obvious. Husband cheated, wife killed him. Or wife cheated, husband killed her. Though every now and then you get the occasional lover thrown into the equation. But most of them were domestic murders. Boring."

"You really don't like being bored, do you?" John enquired, sipping his coffee.

"No, but you don't either. In fact, you hate it. You want action, adventure. You want a thrill. The adrenaline rush that comes with being in danger." Sherlock said. "Are you free this Sunday?"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you free this Sunday?"

"So you're asking me out now?"

"Maybe. But I may just have the solution to your boredom. Come with me this Sunday. I'm going to be doing a little spot of burglary. There are a few things I need to confirm before I can be sure I have the right suspect."

"You want me to commit a crime with you?"

"Yes. Will you come?"

"I don't-"

"It could be dangerous."

John paused, frowning at Sherlock. "Is that your version of please?"

Sherlock sat back in his seat. "Well?"

"I'll think about it."

"I'll text you the address."

"You have my number?" John asked in surprise.

Sherlock grinned wickedly. "I'm stalking you, John. Of course I know your number." And with that, he got to his feet and left.

John sat for a long while, sorting through everything and found that, yes, he did want to go housebreaking with Sherlock Holmes, the man who was stalking him, because, dammit, he was so very bored. He started as his phone buzzed.

NUMBER UNKNOWN: 22 Northumberland Street. Nine o'clock, tonight. Ditch your sleazy date and come have some fun with me.

And John couldn't help himself, he smiled. Finally, something exciting.