"Aren't you hungry John?" Mary questioned finally, noticing that John had stopped eating as his brain was still working at one hundred miles an hour, trying to process everything that was still being contemplated in his brain. John blinked, nodding and trying to keep his brain concentrated now on the beans and sausage that still sat on his plate, demanding to be eaten.
"Yes, sorry. Just got lost in thought I suppose." John explained quickly. Mary nodded, not seeming to care too much about John's thought processes to question him anymore. John forced himself to eat the rest of his breakfast; however he was becoming so preoccupied with Sherlock across the café that it was becoming more and more difficult to force it all down. Finally he decided that it simply wasn't healthy to be keeping himself so distant from the one person he wanted to be close to, and so as soon as Molly went off to get some more coffee or whatever John decided that now was his chance.
"Excuse me Mary; I need to go chat with Mr. Holmes for a moment." John said quickly, dropping his silverware and jumping to his feet before Mary could open her mouth to protest. Even if she did think quickly enough to complain it wouldn't have stopped anything, for when John's mind was set there really was nothing anyone could do to hold him back.
"Mr. Holmes." John announced formally, coming around behind Sherlock and brushing his hand as discretely as he could manage against his shoulder before falling into the chair that had once been occupied by Molly Hooper. Sherlock smiled, as was his natural inclination when John appeared, yet with a quick sweet of the sidewalk he noticed that Mary was present, and that he couldn't get nearly as close as he might wish.
"Good morning Mr. Watson." He said calmly. John's heart was racing as he laid eyes once more on the man that was now so rightfully his, a man so beautiful crafted he seemed to be his own source of light on this beautiful morning. So luminescent, so pure, a man made of marble and a face sculpted by the most skilled hands! He really was a masterpiece, and with every moment he was in John's presence the desire to lean in to him was growing more and more, and the pain of their separation was burning like thousands of hot needles upon his skin! With the ever increasing 'just go for it' attitude that John now possessed it was almost impossible for him to stay seated in his chair, not when Sherlock was once more so close and so accessible! All he had to do was lean in; all he had to do was summon the man's lips to his own!
"It has been a while since I last saw you." John said sarcastically. "How as your night?" A smile appeared on Sherlock's face as he just shook his head in something of mock exasperation. He simply leaned over heavily on his hand, smiling at the man across from him as if he still couldn't believe what a fool he had courted.
"My night was wonderful. The best night I've had in; well in as long as I can remember." Sherlock admitted with a grin. John blushed; he really couldn't help it, for that really was quite the compliment.
"For as long as you can remember? Just how far back does your memory stretch, Mr. Holmes?" John wondered curiously.
"Oh for a long while, I do assure you. Since I was a child." Sherlock assured.
"Well then, you must have had some very good company." John said with a grin, to which Sherlock could only shrug his shoulders and lean back once more.
"Adequate, to say the least." He agreed. John raised his eyebrows threateningly, for over the years he had enough feedback from women to know that he was more than just adequate, and of course Sherlock had to realize that! Unless his expectations were set really high, John really did have no doubts about last night being his best ever.
"Rude." John murmured, however Sherlock broke out into something of a fit of giggles, something that John really had no choice but to join in on. Sherlock's smile was enough to bring a smile to his face, and of course when that childish little grin appeared John could only appreciate it by joining it. Sherlock seemed so stark and serious, however deep down John understood that he was simply an easy going, attention seeking child who loved to have a good laugh and mess around as much as he might be allowed to.
"You know I'm lying, John. My night was truly, without a doubt, the most enjoyable night with someone I had ever had." Sherlock admitted carefully, while John nodded his head in agreement.
"I didn't have a half bad night myself." He agreed. Sherlock grinned in appreciation, and of course John returned that grin. Sherlock deserved it, after the wholesome compliments he had been giving out so carelessly. A passerby, if they had overheard the whole conversation, very much might be able to piece together the truth from the sentences they had been exchanging. However there was something rather exhilarating about lingering on the verge of being caught, something exciting about maybe being forced to admit his love after all. How wonderful it might be to be able to admit his love publically, despite the criminal he would be pegged as, despite the treachery he would bring upon his wife and unborn child, oh but it felt like it would be worth it! It felt like it was almost necessary! Nevertheless John stayed quiet. Instead of reaching over the table John thought a more acceptable act would be to check the time on his stopwatch, and it would seem that only disappointed awaited on the hands of the little clock. Evidently that disappointment was evident on his face, for while John sighed heavily he saw out of the corner of his eye Sherlock repositioning himself in his chair, looking equally upset.
"You need to go." Sherlock presumed in his deep voice.
"I need to go." John agreed with a groan, nodding his head ever reluctantly and getting to his feet. He looked off towards his wife, who was thankfully keeping up something of a conversation with Molly while they both waited for their love interests to stop flirting. Well at least they had each other now; they could quite possibly bond over their love that was never returned while Sherlock and John went out around back and made out next to the bins.
"Good morning, Mr. Watson, and do try to keep quiet as you go about your day at the station. Mr. Trevor and his...well let's say preferences, is completely off the record. You know not from me, but from your own casual observations." Sherlock muttered quietly, having risen to his feet so as to give John a proper farewell for the second time this morning.
"Yes of course. I'll keep your name out of it. I do feel it necessary to say that Greg suspects you, so your personal assurance that you have done nothing wrong gives me the moral ground I needed on which to stand and defend you. I believe you are innocent Sherlock, and I will do my best to convince him as well." John promised quietly. Now they were quite close, whispering to each other without any second thoughts about the proximity they were creeping to in this very open, very public place. Any passerby could look into the café and notice the two; well even John's wife could notice them here! And while he now felt something of an invisibility standing with Sherlock, he knew that come five minutes if his wife had even so much as glanced at him he would find himself sitting up on the bed getting yelled at. She was becoming defensive of him, especially when it came to Sherlock, for it was obvious that she knew something out of the ordinary was going on. Now whether or not she suspected an affair was truly beyond John, for to be honest it did sound quite absurd. No one considered homosexuals to exist in their day to day life, and it was even harder for a woman to imagine that her own husband could now have found a liking for men! She wouldn't suspect it unless she had help, a voice whispering in her ear and reminding her of what might become of her relationship at the hands of the beautiful man cloaked in black that now stood with his lips so close to John's ear, whispering their little secrets before John had to depart to the station.
"I thank you for your security, Mr. Watson. I thank you for everything." Sherlock muttered finally, being the stronger of the two of them and taking the liberty of stepping away when John found it entirely out of his power to do so much as step away.
"And I thank you as well. For your hospitality and for your discretion." John agreed with a nod of his head, to which he could swear he noticed a little smile emerging on Sherlock's lips.
"Anytime. And I do hope to see you soon. Write to me, if you will?" Sherlock suggested.
"I will." John promised, smiling ever so daringly up at the man who he had come to love so passionately. Every curve in his bone structure, every gleam in his elaborate eyes, every crease in his white skin, well John loved every bit of it! He wanted every bit of it; once more he wanted the pleasure of having Sherlock's entire face, his entire body, entirely to himself. Where it would be acceptable once more to run his lips over Sherlock's cheek and over his neck, where it would be appreciated if he wrapped his hands around Sherlock's thin waist and maneuvered him as he saw fit against the wallpaper. A café was not the place, nor was eight o'clock in the morning the time, for such actions. Yet they were tempting all the same, and John could swear that he would give his soul for just a single peck on the lips before he departed! Something innocent, almost domestic, a simple kiss that would be looked upon as nothing more than mundane had it not been shared by two men! Something beautiful yet simple...and something he could never have.
"Good morning, Sherlock Holmes." John muttered, and with a small pained smile he stepped away and back towards where his wife was still sitting there chatting away.
"Mary I need to go into the station, have a lovely day." John insisted with a smile, patting her on the shoulder so as to announce his departure. He had attempted to slip out before she could express any sort of intimacy; however she caught his arm in her hand just as it was sliding away. Her goodbye kiss was unavoidable, and it was almost terrifying to think of what might be said through such a thing. Not only was John worried that Mary could taste the infidelity on his lips (for while John wasn't regretful he was nonetheless a little bit afraid), but he was afraid that his tone or his attitude might have changed from last night to this morning. He was afraid he didn't have the same energy to his morning goodbyes, maybe not the same feeling or the same passion that might be expected from a gentle and routine farewell. The other side of the spectrum worried John as well, he didn't want Sherlock to see him with Mary, despite the other man's obvious awareness to the fact that John was married he still probably wasn't happy to see it displayed so publically. It must be hard to see the man you love kiss someone else; even if you understand that he has to. Sherlock had no right to be jealous, at least not in the public eye, and so it was all he was allowed to do but politely look away while John and Mary pecked their final farewells. And just like that, John was off, staring off towards the sidewalk and hailing a hansom to take him to the station, leaving his wife and his love behind on the sidewalk to mourn in his absence. 

 Sherlock POV: Sherlock returned to his seat once John had disappeared, yet to his displeasure he saw that Mary had arranged herself in her husband's seat, and now they both had a very clear view of each other. Sherlock attempted to mind his own business, poking around with his coffee cup and puzzling over the cross word puzzle in the morning paper, however the ever present feeling of being watched was almost about to drive him to insanity. Once or twice he had the audacity to look up, just to be sure that it really was Mary who was watching him from afar, and each time he did he saw that she was indeed staring back. It was a little bit unnerving, yet nonetheless he tried to smile and look pleasant enough. The woman had every reason to hate him of course, however she didn't know that. It would seem as though she was just going off a whim, which despite its authenticity was just a little bit insulting. She probably didn't even suspect an affair, in fact she would think herself mad if she ever did begin to cross that line and accept such people as homosexuals to actually exist. No she was probably just biased, not liking the away Sherlock dressed, or the way he kept his hair, or the way he constantly drew her husband away from her in the very little time she ever got to see him through the course of her day. Yes it was quite fair to say that Sherlock was depriving Mary of John, now both morning and night; however she didn't know the last half. She was undoubtedly just listening to the children on the street corner, those who hid in the doorways when Sherlock went by and barred crucifixes in his direction, expecting him to hiss. When Sherlock looked up one last time he saw that the woman was on her feet, and while this might have provided him with some comfort, she was instead of heading back to the hotel heading straight towards him, that look of womanly determination on her face that always gave him the chills. 

"Good morning, Mr. Holmes." Mary said finally, appearing at Sherlock's table and waiting for his consent to sit. Sherlock looked up at her curiously, for while they were both well aware of each other he believed they had never been formally introduced, at least never without John as a mediator.
"Good morning Mrs. Watson. Would you care to sit?" Sherlock asked politely, gesturing to the chair opposite him that had once been occupied by the more beautiful, more inviting member of the Watson duo. Mary thanked him and sat, crossing her legs like the lady she was all while tapping her fingers against the iron armrests of the chair, staring at Sherlock with her should be beautiful blue eyes, all while Sherlock felt like he was under some sort of horrible microscope. This felt like an interrogation, if anything.
"Can I help you with anything Mrs. Watson?" Sherlock wondered finally, twiddling the pen he had been writing with between his fingers with something of a nervous tick.
"If you wouldn't mind taking off those ridiculous sunglasses, that would be a start." Mary suggested with a frown. Sherlock frowned right back, rather taken aback by such a hostile remark so quickly after their first introduction. Her rudeness was making Sherlock increasingly okay with having had her husband last night. It seemed to him like she deserved it at the moment.
"Have I done something to offend you?" Sherlock wondered, taking his glasses carefully off of his face so as to try to appear more compliant. Mary smiled, looking quite curious as she eyed him with some sort of all-knowing glare. Her stares almost made Sherlock uncomfortable, as if she could see straight into his soul and see everything he had ever done much more effectively than her Detective husband could ever dream of.
"Nothing yet, or at least nothing I can be completely rational about." Mary admitted with a sigh.
"I think that is a yes." Sherlock concluded.
"Informally, yes. I find your presence with my husband increasingly annoying, and while I understand that you do not intend to be stealing him from me I have yet to see any logical connection between the two of you. Last he told me you were being suspected for the kidnappings, and now it would seem as though you both had bonded. Over what I have no idea." Mary admitted with a stern sigh.
"Oh this is about John...Mr. Watson, then?" Sherlock clarified.
"You're on a first name basis?" Mary said quickly, looking slightly taken aback at the thought that her husband could actually make friends without her formal consent.
"Well yes, we have known each other for quite a while Mrs. Watson, long enough to grow informal." Sherlock assured with a nod. Mary sighed heavily, as if that was what she had been afraid of, however she seemed to try to give Sherlock the benefit of the doubt. It was almost as if she was struggling through her own internal battle, one side raging to go against Sherlock while the other was insisting that he seemed like a nice guy and that she should at least give him a chance. Despite such an inner conflict it was obvious that the hostile side was winning, for her eyebrows never relaxed and her scowl remained the same.
"I can only hope, Mr. Holmes, that you are not encouraging my husband to be unfaithful?" Mary presumed with a glare. Sherlock blinked, and he could tell that his fright was obvious upon his face, for he had not expected such a question out of the woman's mouth. Surely John hadn't told her? Or had she somehow worked it out in the mere twenty minutes the three of them had seen each other together this morning?
"I'm sorry ma'am, but I'm not sure what you mean." Sherlock admitted, for to be quite honest he was perplexed. There was no way, if John kept his mouth shut, that she could know anything about the affair that had happened just hours before.
"I mean a brothel; you took him to a brothel?" Mary confirmed with a scowl, leaning ever forward in her chair with a glare that could shake mountains. Sherlock couldn't help but feel a wave of relief wash over him, while of course he was still under interrogation it was the lesser of his many crimes that was being suspected. This was an action that he could easily admit to, while the more recent of the unfaithful events was something that would have been a lot more difficult for him to cough out.
"How could you possibly have known that?" Sherlock wondered with an impressive grin.
"Check stubs, in his coat pocket. A whole bottle of wine, something he couldn't have drunk himself. You're his only friend that I know of, and so I suspected it must have been you." Mary admitted with a sigh, twirling one of her long blonde bangs on her finger as if the deductions she had just presented were simply child's play.
"Impressive, Mrs. Watson. Very impressive. And is your husband aware that you could probably do his job better than he can?" Sherlock wondered with a grin.
"He just doesn't like to admit it." Mary agreed, letting loose the first smile that Sherlock had seen on her face. It was a nice smile, beautifully molded throughout her face so as to give her a very charming, almost friendly aura. Sherlock could see how John would've married her; he could at least understand the physical temptation. Now of course if her personality was much like Sherlock had just experienced then that would take a lot more explaining than was probably necessary.
"I did take John to the brothel, Mrs. Watson, but I assure you we kept the women away. I go for the décor, not for the clientele. Your husband was aware of that, and he remained loyal to you that night." Sherlock assured with nod of his head. He made sure to specify the event in question, for while John was loyal (loyal in body at least, for they had gotten quite close and the temptations had been great) the night of the brothel he was nothing of the sort last night. Sherlock didn't like lying, and so when he could throw half of the truth around he was always ever so inclined to.
"Just the answer I was hoping for, and the answer I was expecting. He's a good husband, and for you a good friend." Mary assured, seeming much more at ease as she sat back in her chair and observed the sidewalks with a large, laborious sigh. Sherlock smiled at her, he felt the need to at least come across as friendly, and while the air had been cleared of whatever troublesome questions she had to ask it seemed a good time to possibly try to at least better get to know the completion he was struggling against for full possession of John's heart.