Because I am a lazy bastard who should be updating my Sherlolly fic, I am posting this small story with an apology. I have been having a bit of a writer's block, but I have new ideas for the next chapters of An unexpected life. this said, I hope you enjoy this little Johnlock fic.

John considered the date a success so far. Sherlock, though he never ate much, seemed to have enjoyed the cosy restaurant John had chosen, and the conversation flowed quite naturally between the two of them. The wine was warm and Sherlock's eyes were shinning, dancing with the sparkle of the candle, placed between their plates. After dinner they had walked leisurely by the Thames, seeing the water under the bridge, the conversation never stopping.

Now, as the night seemed to be coming to an end, John wanted to make it last. Sherlock's presence made him happy. He stopped on the stairs, facing Sherlock, his hands on his pockets. He knew Sherlock would recognise it as a sign of anxiety, but he couldn't help it. He cleared his throat.

"You want to come in for a cup of tea? Coffee?"

Sherlock looked at John, who was now the tallest one, standing two steps above Sherlock.

"I don't drink caffeine after midday." Sherlock answered simply.

John tried to find any signs of sarcasm or annoyance, but the words Sherlock had said seemed to mean exactly what they meant. So John decided to try another approach.

"How about a beer?"

This time Sherlock smiled and nodded, without saying a word.

John led the way, getting more and more nervous by the second. What if this was a bad idea? He didn't have a clue about Sherlock's expectations on their first date, and he was afraid any step too forward might be too much. He struggled to get the keys on the lock and opened the door. The flat smelled fresh. John was glad for that. A good first impression is always important, even if he had seen Sherlock's flat already and, to be honest, it was as disorganised as it could get. Not that it mattered to John.

He turned on the lights and invited Sherlock to sit down on the couch, taking his coat and hanging it behind the door, next to his own. The moon light shone through the window, a perfect full moon. John went to the kitchen and grabbed two beers. He then opened them and sat next to Sherlock. The conversation, that had been easy the entire evening, seemed to have stagnated now. John was feeling the weight of the silence upon him, but looking at Sherlock, he was probably the only one. Sherlock seemed comfortable with the fact that none of them was saying a word.

John opened the beer and passed it to Sherlock. The consulting detective looked at the beer in his own hand, back at John and back at the beer again. He smirked and placed the beer on the table, without bothering to use the many coasters John had at hand.

"Is anything wrong?" John asked, concerned.

"I just remembered I don't like beer."

John placed his own beer on the table as well, fazed. How often did people forget what they don't like?

"Hum… Can I get you anything else? What do you like?"

Sherlock smiled this time, a naughty shine on his green eyes.

"You." he answered.

And as the beer got warm and the condensation drops fell over the unprotected table, Sherlock grabbed John's face and brought him closer. He might as well have drank tea. He did not intend to sleep that night.