Sherlock's absence on the table left an almost empty feeling in front of him, and yet John was equally enjoying watching as the man leaned back, spread his shoulders wide, and blew the best smoke rings he could manage into the air around them.
"You have secrets, I know you do. Your entire personality is made of secrets, I feel as though I only know one part of you, and the others are so shrouded in mystery." John admitted, looking towards the man with a grin and leaning onto the table just as Sherlock had done, yet this time rather conservatively. He felt Sherlock's eyes on him; he could feel the electric pulse he constantly felt when the man's beautiful blues had trained on him. And so he decided that he might put on a show equal to that Sherlock constantly put on for him. He untucked his elbows so as to make his chest broader, staring down the man across from him as he inhaled heavily on his cigarette, pausing for a moment with the smoke trapped in his lungs before exhaling ever so carefully between his parted lips. He knew that Sherlock's eyes never left him; he saw that the man was staring ever so impatiently at his lips; he saw the corners of his cupid bow lips rising ever so slightly in appreciation...in satisfaction. And for some reason making that man smile was worth it, it was worth whatever sort of public shame may come along with being so outwardly flirtatious with another man, one might even be so daring as to use the word seductive! And yet it made John feel good, it made him feel rebellious in a way, it gave him a spark of excitement that had long since gone out when he had made his vows to his wife.
"Secrets are a natural part of most every man's life, Mr. Watson." Sherlock assured in a breath, once they had both regained their composure and had gone on to drinking more wine so as to calm their excited nerves.
"Your past, your present...your future. What might they hold, Sherlock Holmes?" John wondered carefully. Sherlock simply smiled once more, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray between them while he carefully picked out his next words.
"You would not believe me if I told you, Mr. Watson." Sherlock teased. John simply grinned, however a crazy part of him had to agree with that. He knew that a man as complicated as Sherlock Holmes could not so easily be described in a timeline, his past could never be explained in words. Whatever family trouble he had growing up; whatever fatal flaw he had adopted that might have driven his entire family away, well how could one even begin to explain such a tale! John would like to hear it if he ever got the chance, yet he had a sneaking suspicion that everything in Sherlock's past was classified as a secret, and would not be so easily shared after all.
"It's more the future I care about anyway. I feel as though people too commonly judge someone on their pasts, even if they knew that they regretted the actions they had done. The future is where the possibility is, the future is what holds all the change!" John insisted, taking another sip of wine and feeling it pass down his throat in a painful, almost burning gulp.
"I agree with you, and yet there is a flaw to your proposition. If you have so much faith in the future, remember that the past was the future at one point. Take tonight, for example. When you called me here you had the best intentions, to possibly change the course of the investigation. And yet now here we sit getting drunk together, in the presence of prostitutes and those desperate enough to hire them! Surely, Mr. Watson, tonight's future has already changed into the past...and the future still holds things we might ultimately regret." Sherlock muttered. John's heart leapt before he was quick enough to falter it, and for a moment he sat nearly immobilized in his chair, wondering what the future might hold that he would ever possibly regret. It seemed almost impossible for anything with Sherlock Holmes to be considered ultimately shameful, and yet the future was still open to do something he might regret! It would seem as though most all of his brain was leaning in the direction of sin, and yet tonight he was too drunk to realize it!
"Maybe it's what's in the present that matters, then." John suggested quietly. Sherlock's eyes sparkled, and for a moment they stared at each other once more, feeling things they hadn't yet felt in each other's presence, a sort of fearless intoxication that coursed through their blood, through their very bones! It was almost necessary for them to get closer, and it was the driving force that let John lean ever closer, so that his chin was hovering just above the candle that marked the halfway point between them.
"The present." Sherlock agreed quietly, leaning forward as well and yet not enough to bring their faces together, not enough to dare such proximity.
"What might be done now then, as our presence slowly fades into our past?" John questioned quietly.
"Things we'll regret, I'm sure." Sherlock breathed, a small smile flickering onto his face as his fingers slowly raised up towards John's cheek, almost as if to brush their skin together as was completely necessary, completely appreciated! And yet his fingers never met their mark, he never had the chance to so much as let John have the pleasure of feeling his skin for the first time!
"Leave the loving to the women, dear fellow. If you've got ten pounds I can take you back where I can show you a better time than might be expected of your friend here." giggled one of the more flirtatious and the most disrupting of all the women in this accursed place! Her arms were around John's neck before he had a chance to act, and as she attempted to place her disgusting lips on his cheek Sherlock was already on his feet, pushing her away with such force that she went tumbling to the ground in a heap of skirts and screams. For a moment the brothel fell silent, even the musicians silenced their instruments and all that could be heard was the desperate gasps of the woman as she tried to rearrange herself on the ground so as to look as elegant as possible when she got to her feet. All eyes were on Sherlock, who still stood fuming next to John's chair, almost as if it was his sole responsibility to fend off any other potential suitors. He acted almost as if he was John's guardian angel, come to rescue him from any temptations of female love aside from his wife, and yet for some reason John also had the suspicion that Sherlock might be self-interested instead of merely charitable.
"He's married, if you must know, and I would appreciate it if you left him alone." Sherlock growled.
"Everyone here is married, you psychopath!" she growled, pulling herself to her feet and spitting at Sherlock's feet in disgust. "Yet I wouldn't be surprised if you were a bachelor."
"By choice, not by lack of interest." Sherlock assured sourly, watching as the woman stumbled away in her heels, trying to fix her hair while muttering things about how horrible men were these days. For a moment Sherlock just stood there, shaking his head all while John was trying to blink away the confusion that was circling his head. Why Sherlock would act so violently was beyond him, and why he would get so defense so quickly was yet another question to add to the list.
"Sorry about that." Sherlock muttered quickly, taking a reluctant breath before sinking into his chair where he belonged. John nodded, still feeling eyes on the two of them before the music started back up again and everyone began to go back to whatever it was they were doing before violence had broken out. Everyone got so excited about such things these days; it was almost nauseating to see how eagerly they ate up the scandals! Yet they could hardly understand the motive behind such an action, in fact John couldn't even fathom it himself. Why Sherlock would act so harshly was beyond him, and yet it was almost calming in a way, rather reassuring. It told him that while Sherlock may be a distant, very cryptic man he did in fact have some human feelings tucked away in his heart. Feelings, it would seem, that at least encircled John if not included him all together.
"No need to apologize." John assured quietly.
"Of course there is, I acted rashly, certainly you don't appreciate such actions." Sherlock whispered.
"You had every reason to act." John murmured, however he stayed quite reclined in his chair, nervously watching the clientele around them so as to be sure that there were no more eyes fixed on the two of them.
"That I did." Sherlock agreed. "The women here usually know to leave me alone, I simply assumed they would assume that anyone in my company would be deserving of the same privilege."
"Why do you not employ them, Sherlock? You are rich enough, and surely they are beautiful enough to suffice in your company. For a man who spends his days in a brothel it is surprising to hear that he is almost secluded from the romantic life all together." John wondered, finally asking the question that had been pressing him for the longest time. The very idea of Sherlock's love life had been bothering him ever since he knew the man, for their first and most formal introduction had occurred when they were obviously interrupting Sherlock's peaceful morning with an occupant of his bed.
"What makes you think I am secluded?" Sherlock wondered carefully, the smallest of smiles appearing once more on his face as he tried to bring about the same energy that had been snuffed out during their previous conversation.
"I have never seen you with a woman, you are a bachelor of course, yet you don't talk to many other women except Molly Hooper, who really shouldn't count." John pointed out. Sherlock shrugged, his eyes sparkling as his fingers once more poked along the white table cloth that was draped over the table they shared.
"I do not enjoy the company of most people, Mr. Watson; you might consider yourself special to be one of the chosen few that has been tolerated for this long. Women are especially bothersome, and I do my best to avoid them if at all possible." Sherlock admitted with a grin.
"And so you go...without?" John presumed, remembering back to what Mrs. Trevor had said about her husband as well. That he was overly disgusted by women, and that he had made a habit of ignoring them. What was it with the men in this town and love deprivation? Where did they get their enjoyment, where did they get their pleasure? Was it even possible to go without a woman's company for years on end?
"I did not say that." Sherlock mumbled, stubbing out yet another cigarette and yet not going for another. Instead he sipped at his wine; keeping his eyes intensely fixed on John all while he watched the gears begin to turn in his head.
"Sherlock you are quite the enigma. I would have thought someone as attractive as you would have been in the middle of the romantic scene." John presumed, choosing to ignore Sherlock's previous statement simply because he could not wrap his head around it. Sherlock was talking as if there was another option to women, as if there was some other way to get love without either winning or buying a woman into your bed. Even more peculiar was the glare Sherlock was giving him, the type of look that was worn by someone who had some sort of fire raging in their soul.
"I am quite the experienced romantic, if you would believe me, Mr. Watson. I have been told that my looks are unparalleled, that my touch is an experience that could not be imagined if not experienced, and my presence is simply...breathtaking." Sherlock breathed, leaning forward once more all while John leaned back in an almost helpless state. Why was it so difficult now to keep his mind away from such a thing, why was it only to tempting to let his mind stray off to a world where he might be that lucky woman, experiencing things that were simply unimaginable had they not be lived through?
"Yes but who is it, Mr. Holmes, who has had the pleasure of such experiences?" John wondered with an almost daring sort of laugh. Sherlock's lips upturned into a smile once more, shaking his head as if he really couldn't be bothered with bringing out the list.
"Oh Mr. Watson...wouldn't you like to know?" he teased, and with that he sunk back into his chair and watched once more as John's mind whirled. It would seem as though Sherlock very much enjoyed watching John face such a conundrum, it was almost as if his main goal in life was to puzzle him beyond any hope of clarity. That was where Sherlock chose to leave it, for it was getting late and with a quick check of his watch he decided that he really best be on his way. It was a rather abrupt way to end the night, yet John was almost forced to get to his feet along with his accomplice and get dragged out into the darkness. The sidewalk was almost empty, however Sherlock insisted on hailing a carriage for John and accompanying him to his hotel. It was, as he claimed, a way to ensure he made it there safely, however John had the sneaking suspicion that Sherlock only wanted to spent more time with him despite the hour on the clock. It was nearly midnight, yet Sherlock was not yet willing to give him up! And John could only agree, and so when Sherlock hailed not an open aired hansom but a closed and private carriage instead, John was almost foolishly happy for such a coincidence. He was led inside by Sherlock, who held the door open and was even daring enough to hold out a hand to escort him inside. John thanked him, yet led himself into the carriage by himself. He felt as though the first time their skin touched should be something of a special occasion, not one bothered by formalities or manners. It would be a milestone he would much appreciate, and one that may just be upon them after Sherlock got into the carriage himself, tapping on the roof so as to signal the driver without giving an address or a destination at all. Yet the horse began to clip clop along the cobblestones, and John didn't have much of a worry at all as to what their destination might be. So long as he was in Sherlock's presence he was able to convince himself that everything would work out just fine. 

Sherlock POV: Sherlock was very sneaky tonight, and yet his plans were ruined by that bloody bottle of port that had been sitting on the table in front of them the entire night. He should've ordered simple glasses, not the entire bottle! They had overindulged, and whatever magic the night might have promised beforehand was wasted on drunkenness. There was no pleasure in a man that was drunk, in fact there was no sincerity in it all. Sherlock himself wasn't terribly intoxicated, and yet the way John was rolling his head around on his neck and tapping his feet against the bottom of the carriage, well it was safe to say that he had one too many tonight. The plan had been to get him into the carriage (the Holmes's personal carriage of course, with Mycroft at the reins) and take him up to the manor where they might be able to share their first night. Of course this would have all been lined up should Sherlock have thought it was a legitimate honor! But no, John was not in his right mind, he was drunk and he was delirious, whatever feelings passed between them tonight had no promise of being real, they would be filtered through a screen of intoxication and they would come out mangled and disproportionate. No, whatever love that John might supply him in the future had to be a sober one, a love that was passed along with every clear minded intention that Sherlock was to be the one and only receiver from now on. A drunken man was no good to him. Pity! Oh what a pity it was to let John, now at his most vulnerable and his most desperate state, just slip through his fingers! And yet it was necessary, Sherlock would not feel quite right should he take advantage of whatever delirious state John was in at the moment. Sherlock had given Mycroft three taps to the roof, that meant to take John to the hotel. They had coordinated something of a system, one tap was to the manor, two taps was to make laps around the city, and three was basically the sign of a no go. Back to the hotel with Mr. Watson, where he could sleep off his alcohol and hopefully wake still remembering the feelings that had been passed across that table tonight.
"I had a wonderful evening tonight, Mr. Holmes." John murmured, sitting with his chin propped up on his knees so as to sit as close as he could to Sherlock without actually switching seats entirely. They were across from each other; however it was very obvious that John wanted to be closer.
"Yes, I had an excellent evening tonight as well." Sherlock agreed with a sincere grin. John returned it with a rather childish lopsided grin, for he was very happy and yet still unable to express it properly. Sherlock could tell that there were thoughts roaming around his brain, thoughts that had been sent from his heart and thoughts that were simply urging him on, with the utmost importance! And yet John was doing a very good job restraining himself, for most men at this point in the night were already trying to get on top of Sherlock, trying to get them in their arms before the carriage had even arrived at the Holmes manor. See this was new for him, a man who was happily married was sure to prove to be an obstacle. All the others despised their wives, they hated their families and the life they had chosen for themselves, and so it was only too easy to sway them to the dark side. Most all of them had already come to realize their sexualities without help from a beautiful outside source, like Sherlock, and they were only too easy to sway. See with Mr. Watson, he was happily married and expecting a child. He was under the false impression that he was heterosexual, and judging on his obvious confusion during their talk of romantic interactions, it would be safe to say that he wasn't even sure there was another option. The poor thing, so unsure of what he was going after, just knowing that he was indeed going! Yearning for something he didn't even know existed! Well he was going to need a lot of help, that was for sure. And certainly that was half the reason he kept his distance, for not only did he know that his wedding band was still sitting firmly on his finger, but he also thought it was just weird to get much closer to a man. He undoubtedly thought that whatever desires that were burning in his heart were for someone else, maybe he didn't even connect them with Sherlock!