Sherlock looked very casually over his shoulder, seeing that Molly was now handing the Watsons their bill, however Sherlock's glance was met as he had expected by John's eyes. He was looking back. Sherlock was hit with a sudden feeling of shame, almost as if he didn't think he was allowed to be watching the man despite his obvious interest, and instead of smiling or making any moves like he would've with any other man, Sherlock sat back in his chair and stared instead at the steaming cup of coffee that sat full in front of him. Too timid, or perhaps too nervous, to approach John as he wanted to. Oh what a crippling thing love proved to be! It drained him of his flirtatious confidence, or whatever skills he had built up over the years, the skills he used to drag the prospective men in by an invisible line hooked around their hearts! It was like fishing, all while using himself as the bait! And with John...well with John it would seem as though Sherlock had forgotten all together how to cast his line. This morning, however, it would seem as though his fish would instead swim to him, for almost as soon as he heard the scuffing of chairs on the sidewalk behind him he immediately felt a soft hand on his shoulder, a hand with a grip he did not yet recognize.
"Mr. Holmes?" asked John's voice carefully, letting his fingers trail from Sherlock's shoulder despite their mutual need for it to stay. Sherlock turned rather abruptly, disregarding all elegance that he might have used in any other situation than this. He hated to be caught off guard; however he did try to maintain at least some of the composure that he usually wouldn't be caught dead without.
"Mr. Watson, good morning." Sherlock said with a smile, gesturing to the seat that had been once occupied by Molly and now sat empty.
"Oh no, no sir I really can't stay. I just wanted to talk to you, perhaps later, about matters that have surfaced about the disappearance of Victor Trevor. I'm sorry to say that you're caught up in it once more, and as much as it pains me to bother you..."
"Oh no it really is not a bother! I will be happy to accommodate you the best I can." Sherlock agreed, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair so that, despite John's not towering over him, he could still appear to be a little bit confident.
"Thank you Mr. Holmes. Would you like to meet tonight, maybe over a few drinks?" John suggested, his voice faltering a bit almost as if he had realized how suggestive that sounded. That little stumble was just enough to get Sherlock the upper hand, oh how he loved to hear such inconsistencies, he could tell now that he wasn't the only one nervous...he wasn't the only one suffering.
"Drinks? Mr. Watson dare I say we're getting a little bit friendly over this investigation? I wouldn't want your fellow police officers to suspect a connection that was more than professional." Sherlock insisted, despite his longing to spend an evening with the man he knew that a bar would be too public. He wouldn't want anyone knowing that they were together, not for police reasons of course, but for future accommodations. Sherlock knew that the more witnesses there was to their acquaintanceship the more likely it was for someone to point it out. The brothel then, was the only public place they could go without being detected, for the men there tried to ignore each other just for the luxury of being ignored in return. They would be safe there, for most men weren't able to see much over the brim of their glasses or the shoulder of the woman they were kissing.
"No I do suppose I would not like that idea coming about...might I suggest here then? Or possibly at the hotel?" John suggested, having trouble finding places to spend their evening together without inviting himself back over to Sherlock's manor. And yet however lovely it would be to host John at his house once more, Sherlock would prefer a much more romantic atmosphere, where bad mistakes were simply floating in the air and disloyalty was just another additive in the drinks that were being served. Sherlock would rather have John at an establishment that not only sold romance, but encouraged it as well. And so he rose to his feet, clutching as his walking stick and leaning in ever closer to John's ear, so that Mary had no chance of overhearing the suggestion he made.
"You wife would not be offended, I do suppose, if you were to meet me at Lady Irene's?" Sherlock presumed in the smallest of voices. He felt John tense next to him, he could hear his breaths become something of a struggle, and he could sense his heart beating at an irregular pace. It was almost as if John knew exactly what Sherlock was suggesting, despite his merely innocent suggestion.
"You mean the brothel?" John presumed in a small voice. Sherlock nodded, and for a moment John tilted his head up so that he could look him in the eyes, their faces coming so close to one another's that it would be only too easy to merely lean forward as if on accident and brush their lips together! And yet it was not the time, and so Sherlock stepped away, removing the temptation before he submitted to it.
"You'd be surprised just how private it could be. Men who are ashamed of themselves would surely never shame other people for doing the exact same thing. Meet me there, Mr. Watson, at eight o'clock tonight. Make your excuses, and I shall make mine." Sherlock suggested, donning his top hat and clicking his walking stick against the sidewalk with an almost teasing sort of smile. He didn't wait for an answer, purely because he knew if he let John talk there might be some sort of change of plan. If John couldn't protest then he couldn't do anything about it, and that was exactly the sort of state Sherlock wanted from him. And so with a mere farewell Sherlock was off, leaving his money and untouched cup of coffee as he slipped from the café and into a hansom that would take him home. 

 John POV: John wasn't the best liar, that was for sure, however when he knew that something more than just his reputation was on the line, he could certainly make do. Greg didn't ask many questions simply because he didn't care, and he didn't find it odd when John said he had an interview with a witness this evening. He also didn't protest when John made a house call to visit Mrs. Trevor, inquiring about whether or not Victor had been in much contact with Sherlock Holmes in the last couple of weeks. She denied that Victor had ever even mentioned such a name, and when John paid a visit to Victor's newspaper they as well denied any claims that the man had been writing up on the Holmes family disappearance. Now this might all be lies, told simply with the intention of protecting some secrets that were meant to be kept from the police. Maybe the newspaper company had strayed a bit past the law in their investigation, whatever it was John really didn't care. Most people failed to realize that arresting someone for something was a lot of effort, and while John would love to bring all evil doers to justice he also had an obligation to stay on track of the investigation he was settled on. Some newspaper meddling really didn't bother him, and yet he was shown the door a bit too quickly than he might have preferred. In the end however, John learned that there seemed to be no poking around the long closed case of the Holmes family disappearance. Even Janine denied anyone asking for that dusty old file since it had been put away, and so while John hated to inconvenience her by making her go dig it out it was also essential to what he was uncovering now. He wasn't entirely sure of the path he had found himself on, and even more so was he confused by his own incentives. Was he out to arrest Sherlock, deep down did he have suspicions? Was he out to find Sherlock guilty, or to prove him innocent once and for all? John knew that deep in his heart he longed for that man to be clean, he didn't want the poor thing getting caught up in arrests or hangings, he would like to keep Sherlock Holmes alive and free as long as he possibly could. Of course Greg disagreed, purely because he seemed to have some sort of preexisting bias about the man. He claimed that he was guilty not only for the disappearances but for the vanishing of his parents as well, and when John challenged him to find proof Greg only scoffed and turned away, as if he thought John should know the proof by now. Yet John didn't see anything that might lead him to incriminate Sherlock Holmes, if anything the man had been nothing but hospitable and welcoming, to think that he was caught up in any crimes of any sort would just be obscene. Yes, so maybe the man was a bit odd, but that really didn't prove anything, did it? It only proved that humans were not all the same, and while John and Greg were easy going, sociable and rather relaxed individuals Sherlock Holmes was anything but. He was mysterious, high strung, and quite the recluse, yet he was human all the same! There was no logical reason to suspect him other than prejudice, and when John suggested that to Greg all the man did was scowl. While John read over the casefile, however, there seemed to be nothing new to learn, at least nothing that the newspapers didn't emphasize. It read that there had been some disputes between the family and Sherlock, and how that was probably the driving factor behind their leaving. Although it was confirmed that the disappearance was suspicious, the police department had nothing to go on and nothing to arrest anyone for, as they couldn't find anything that would even suggest to foul play. From what everyone just observed, the vanishing of the Holmes family was pegged as 'odd' and that was the end of it. John felt as though there was something off about that, and he was still contemplating what else might have happened when he rode back to the hotel that evening. Tonight he told Mary half of the truth, that he was going to meet with Sherlock Holmes once more on police business, yet he left out the part of where they were meeting. While John had every intention not to so much as look at the women that were passing through the place he knew that Mary would protest, she would tell him to meet Sherlock somewhere where it wasn't so tempting to be unfaithful. And so he kept his mouth shut, not because he wanted to go to the brothel, more so because he didn't want to inconvenience Sherlock. That man went there frequently, and so by now he must have grown fairly accustomed to the place. Surely john would be out of his place of power if he tried to convince Sherlock to go somewhere else, such as a loud pub where they couldn't get a single word into each other. Besides, John had only ever been to Lady Irene's on official business, it might be nice to just relax and enjoy the décor for a moment, drink some drinks, and talk with Sherlock Holmes long after his questioning had concluded. 

 John told the hansom driver to only drop him off on the corner, a few blocks from the brothel so that the man didn't have any suspicions of what John was up to. As a married man, or even as a human being in general, John was almost ashamed to be going to such a place once the sun had sunk. He knew that it was a perfectly normal thing for men to do, but frankly it made him question the morality of such creatures. Was everyone so desperate for a woman that they would, instead of simply winning one over with love and affection, pay their way into their heart? And only for a night, only for a mere hour before they went away forever? It was ghastly to think about the priorities of some, and that was why John felt ashamed to be walking among such scum. He really didn't think Sherlock Holmes the type to go to one of these places, and yet his mind was strained as he tried to think of that man with a woman, tried to imagine what he would be liked a lover. Surely some of those women must have had such a pleasure, and yet how curious it was, to think of that reclusive man hiring a woman if only for a night, rather than seducing one on his own. How quick minded and flirtatious Mr. Holmes was, and yet how wrong it seemed, for him to have a significant other. In fact the very idea of a woman being employed by Sherlock was enough to make John's stomach twist, and as much as he would want that image out of his mind for good it really was having difficulty getting replaced by something more prevalent and easier to comprehend. It seemed as though the fascination with Sherlock was slowly taking over whatever was left of John's brain, and so instead of focusing on the secrecy that was almost necessary for him to adopt at a time like this he was instead dreaming of that silver robe that did such a poor job of covering Sherlock's pale legs and chest. He was just envisioning over and over what might have happened if the cord had come loose, the fabric falling open as the man leaned against the mantle of the fireplace, watching John with such intense eyes... Reality set back in when John stumbled into a man who let out a stream of drunken profanities, reminding him that the real world was turning once more. It was also a reminder that he had reached his destination, and while John was ever so hesitant to step into the brothel he knew that lingering on the sidewalk in the public eye might just be worse. And so he walked on, taking a deep breath before passing through the doors and finding himself in the dimly lit, loud cesspool of sin and immorality that was Lady Irene's. There was soft music being played by a live orchestra in the back, and yet that wasn't the first thing that caught John's attention. It was the men of course, the men who were sitting at their tables with their eyes on the women as they lingered about, men with women on their laps, men with women on their lips. It was a horrible sight, aristocratic men going completely crazy after a glass of brandy as a beautiful woman walked by, and it made John's stomach turn just watching them make such fools of themselves. Brothels were another universe entirely, and so John had to admit he was very relieved when he at last heard Sherlock's deep baritone voice, calling to him from the other end of the establishment. John turned almost embarrassingly fast, for that man's voice was little less than a magnet for him, and saw that Sherlock was sitting alone at a table in the back of the room. John's heart skipped a beat and yet he rushed onwards, towards the man where he sat alone with two tall glasses of wine. 

"Mr. Watson, glad you could make it." Sherlock said kindly, rising to his feet only to great John with that smile that was practically immobilizing.
"Not necessarily the most pleasant place to meet, Mr. Holmes, however if it is a good place to talk then I shall not complain." John replied, shaking Sherlock's hand firmly before sitting down in the chair opposite to him while Sherlock sat back down with a bit of a huff. The first thing he did was let his long limbs stray, one of his arms propping his chin up while the other dangled carelessly from the chair, his legs sprawled before him and crossed at the ankles, all while his knees bent at the most impressive and almost painful angle.
"It's a terrible place Mr. Watson, I do agree with you on that. And yet a good person, surrounded by terrible people, only looks better in comparison, am I correct?" Sherlock presumed, raising an eyebrow to which John only nodded, smiling a bit reluctantly all the same.
"That's an interesting way to look at it, and yet I am in no position to prove you wrong." John agreed, leaning forward and taking up glass or what appeared to be port.
"It's excellent, which is surprising from this sort of establishment." Sherlock admitted, waving his hand so as to encourage John to take a sip. While John had learned over the years not to drink something before he knew where it had been, he ever so cautiously took a sip and found that Sherlock was right, it was good wine.
"It's very good." John said confidently, setting the glass back down and observing his host for just a moment. Sherlock looked quite like he had before, beautiful as ever in his button down shirt and black jacket. He always seemed to be dressed up; even when they had caught him off guard at his house he was still looking stunning, if not a bit revealing. He was the sort of man that almost had to dress to impress, not because he was ugly without such attire, but because his very persona was so elegant that to see him without such clothing would seem almost wrong. Not much has changed from this morning, however tonight Sherlock seemed almost nervous, sitting and watching the clientele as if he was trying to think of something to say to his new accomplice.
"You called me here on police business then? Officially?" Sherlock presumed finally, regaining his good posture before producing two cigarettes from his pocket. Oh he did know John's weakness, did he not? John wasn't a regular smoker; however the promise of smoking with such a man as Sherlock Holmes was enough for him to accept the thing from Sherlock's long, white fingers. There was a candle on the table however John was quick to light a match, holding the flame to his cigarette while Sherlock held his own in his teeth, leaning forward almost elegantly across the table and holding it out for John to light it. John tried to concentrate on the match; he really did, for he knew that flames when gone unobserved could be particularly dangerous. However his eyes met Sherlock's, and while he was well aware of the white smoke that was puffing triumphantly from the other man's cigarette he simply couldn't tear his eyes away! It was like some sort of trance, staring into those blue and green eyes until finally he was ripped back into the world by the flame having eaten down the entirety of his match, burning his fingers before he could finally drop the ashen thing into the candle where it now belonged. Sherlock chuckled rather knowingly, lingering at that obsessively close distance before finally retreating back into his chair and leaving John blinking in confusion, for he was still thoroughly unaware of what had just happened. Why on Earth did this man have such a paralyzing influence over him? What was the power that radiated through those eyes, that smile? Oh it was simply infuriating!
"Official how?" John wondered, finally remembering back to the conversation they had been having before the cigarettes had been introduced. Sherlock merely grinned, pausing to exhale his smoke through his curled lips, as if he knew that the promise of his speaking would have drawn John's eyes to him well enough. It was just now a matter of time before the words left his lips, for Sherlock knew as well as John that simply watching him smoke was entertainment enough.
"Official as in...does anyone else know that you are here?" Sherlock wondered carefully.
"No." John said immediately, almost as if the promise of secrecy might open doors that might have remained closed otherwise.
"No. Not Greg Lestrade? He hadn't sent you here himself?" Sherlock presumed cautiously.
"Not Greg, I called you here myself, as part of my own investigation." John admitted automatically.
"Hm, and what investigation might that be?" Sherlock wondered with a slight raise of his eyebrow, as if he wasn't sure how much he believed him.
"The same one I've been working on, this time with more connections, some closed cases that had been left unsolved for ages now. Some that seem to have connections with the matters we're dealing with now." John admitted finally. Sherlock nodded, exhaling in a rather inconvenienced way, as if he had come here only with the presumption that there wasn't actual police work to be done.
"Ah, so it is official then?" Sherlock presumed.
"In a way, and only for a moment. I have some questions for you, Mr. Holmes, yet the night is still young." John assured, trying his best to assure the poor man that their meeting was not at all centered around the investigation. To be honest half the reason John had decided to dig into this case even more was the promise of spending time with the key witness, and to be honest it was sad that he needed excuses such as that to visit his new friend. However Sherlock seemed to be the type of man that required some sort of reasoning behind his company, and when John finally unearthed the real reason he enjoyed being with Sherlock than maybe he could use that as reasoning enough. Yet now, while he was still lost in his own head, the investigation would have to do.
"I do agree with that, Mr. Watson. The night is young." Sherlock agreed in a breath.