A/N: Hello, everybody! A lovely little story for you while I'm trying to get over my writer's block on "Strange as Angels".

Thanks to my beta who takes my handwritten gibberish, types it up and then helps me whip into shape.

Just a minor thing... there's a character that says some things that are a bit not good. These are not the views of the author, nor are they really the views of the character. He's says them to provoke. So I hope you can take it with a grain of salt. And if you don't notice, hurray! That means it's not as bad as what I'm making out to be in my head.

Langdale Pike is one of ACD more interesting one off characters and I think he needs more love than Victor Trevor. Also, in my head he's Tom Hiddleston, and must be read in his voice.

John got into Baker Street late in the evening. He had stopped off at the shops to get some things for a nice, quiet night in with his best mate.

However, as he was putting away the milk, Sherlock came out of his bedroom wearing a tux and tails. He was having trouble buttoning the one glove with his other gloved hand.

"Here, let me," John said, coming over to the tall detective.

John kept his eyes down as he clasped the buttons.

"You look nice," he said. "You got a case on?"

Sherlock gently drew his wrist away from the good doctor's hands.

"No, that would be preferable. This is my brother blackmailing me," Sherlock groused.

John stepped back. "What's it for this time?"

"He has threatened to post my baby pictures on your blog if I don't escort some gossip columnist."

"Really? That sounds a bit excessive."

"Apparently he's the reverse Magnusson. He digs up secrets to suppress them instead of revealing them. Sees himself as a crusader for good, no doubt."

"And what? Mycroft is trying to scare him by making you his date?" John teased.

"Uh…no. We've met before." Sherlock looked down at his mirror-bright shoes.

John frowned. "When?"

"Mycroft and I met with him to gather information on Kitty Reilly."

John's eyes went wide. "Oh."

"Um, yes, well. He was also the first person to break Janine's story."

"Langdale Pike? You're going out with Langdale Pike?"

"Yes."

Well, that would explain the tux, then. Langdale Pike wouldn't settle for his company to be in anything else. He was like Mycroft in a way, preferring to frequent only his home, his office, and his favorite restaurant. People would come to Pike while he was at his table overlooking the Thames and give him the latest gossip. If it panned out, Pike would pay them what he thought the information was worth.

"So, I imagine you'll be eating at the Maberly, then?" John asked, as Sherlock gathered up his mobile, keys and wallet.

The detective smirked. "Where else?" Sherlock's eyes flicked over his flatmate and the objects around the kitchen.

"You were planning a curry and crap telly night, weren't you?" he asked.

The small army doctor sighed. "It can wait. You go have fun."

"Why would I want to do that?" the detective groused.

"To piss off Mycroft," John replied.

Sherlock laughed. "Point." He grabbed his coat and put it on. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small handful of papers. Clutching them briefly in both hands, he set them on the table in front of John before dashing off without a word.

John picked them up, revealing them to be pictures of a soft, round baby with dark curly locks. He went upstairs and pulled out a strongbox from the bottom of his closet.

John opened it and picked out a couple of the objects in it. One was a crystal ashtray, stamped with the royal seal; another was a brochure for touring Dewer's Hollow. He smiled at the items fondly, before putting them back in. He placed the baby pictures of Sherlock on top and locked them away with all the other mementos of his life with the Great Sherlock Holmes.

John ran his fingers over the box and then put it away. He had another box. Buried deeper than the one he had for Sherlock. But he refused to think about what was in Mary's box.

He got up and went downstairs to call for Chinese, suddenly not in the mood for curry.

Sherlock groaned over the stupidity of putting on gloves to leave the house, only to remove them again for dinner.

He handed the page boy his coat and gloves and then followed the maitre d' to Pike's table.

The man stood up to greet the detective. He was tall, taller than Sherlock. His dark curls slicked back, highlighting his high brow. His pale-blue eyes were sparkling with intelligence. His lips curled in a smile, showing off his perfect teeth.

"Mr. Pike," Sherlock said, extending his hand.

"Please, call me Dale. Langdale is too cumbersome for normal use, don't you think?

Sherlock smiled. "Dale, then; call me Sherlock."

"Pleasure, Sherlock," Langdale indicated to the chair in front of him. "Please, sit." The detective sat down.

"So, what has my brother said regarding my supposed duties for tonight?" Sherlock rested his elbows on the table, putting the weight of his head on his steepled fingers.

Langdale's grim split his face. "Only that you are to stick with me for tonight."

Sherlock's eyebrows rose.

"It is not like my brother to give in to so broad a terms."

The other man's laugh was deep and clear. "I held all the cards, you see."

"A man after my own heart," Sherlock's grin turned feral.

The waiter poured the wine Langdale had ordered before Sherlock's arrival, and took their orders.

"Perhaps," the journalist said, after taking a sip of his wine. "But even I know better than to steal something that belongs to someone else."

Sherlock's eye darter over his dinner companion. "But you're not gay."

"No, you're right, I'm not." Langdale took another sip.

"In fact, you've got a girlfriend. You aren't here to seduce me, that much is certain. So why am I here?"

Langdale sat back and folded his arms over his chest, his feet stretching out before him.

"Your brother couldn't figure it out either," he smirked. "It's quite amusing, actually. Two of the greatest minds in Britain, if not the world, and you both thought I was out to seduce you."

"I never said that," Sherlock protested.

Langdale leaned forward on his forearms. "No, but you thought it. You're here with only the single instruction to stay with me all night. It's quite normal to think that this might be a date. Dear Mycroft even warned me that you had feelings for your little flatmate. Quite sweet, really."

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "You never answered my question," he huffed.

"No, I didn't. There was one thing Janine insisted I put in her little exposé. 'There is nothing going on between him and his blogger, John Watson.' Demanded it, really. So I had to see for myself, didn't I? See if she was right."

Sherlock leaned back. "So why did you wait so long?"

"First there was Magnusson. His death caused quite the stir. And then there was the Moriarty debacle. By the time the dust settled, I'd forgotten all about it. But then suddenly the good doctor is back at Baker Street, and I just had to know."

"Well, you can continue to forget it," Sherlock huffed angrily.

Langdale chuckled. "Oh, no. That's not how this works. Come on, Sherry dear. Tell me all about you and that sweet doctor of yours."

Sherlock crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Oh, don't be like that, love. I'm not going to publish what you tell me." Langdale's voice was smooth.

"Then why do you want to know?" the detective snarled.

"Because I got into this business for the very reason that I was curious. And this little thing between you and your blogger has me just eaten up with curiosity."

Sherlock growled, "There is nothing between us, he's not gay."

"Oh, I think there is. Something between you, I mean. Shall we test my theory?"

Their food arrived, and Langdale smirked. "You don't believe me, do you?"

"No."

The journalist picked up his fork. "Eat up. You'll need your strength for this, I assure you."

Sherlock ate in sulking silence. Once they finished their food, Sherlock crossed his arms in front of his chest again.

"Why don't we bet on it?"

Langdale swirled his wine and took a sip.

"Excellent. Let's keep it simple. If I can prove Dr. Watson isn't as straight as you think he is, you'll grant me exclusive rights to you two coming out as a couple."

"That's assuming he returns my feelings."

Langdale rolled his eyes.

"And what will I get if you lose?" Sherlock pressed.

"I will give you information on the most famous unsolved mystery of our time."

The Donnelly case from when Sherlock had been on the run, chasing down Moriarty's web. Not even Lestrade could get his hands on the file. Which suggested a major cover-up.

Sherlock was positively salivating. He stuck out his hand across the table. "Deal."

Langdale took it with a Cheshire grin.

Suddenly the detective wasn't so sure of his win anymore.

Soon they were bundled into a taxi. Sherlock pulled his gloves out of his pocket and moved to put them on.

Langdale stopped him with a touch.

"You have such beautiful hands, Sherry. It would be a shame to cover them, wouldn't you agree?"

The detective gulped nervously. "If I didn't know any better, Dale, I'd say you were gay."

A soft smile played on the journalist's face. "Oh, but I'm not, I assure you."

John was slumped on the couch with a half-empty container of fried rice, watching the Doctor wave his arms around like a madman when they burst through the door to 221B.

The army doctor jumped up as though he'd heard a gunshot. "Oh," he said, hurrying to clean up. "I'll just get out of your way." He would have ducked into the kitchen had his space not been filled up with six feet and two inches of Langdale Pike.

"Actually, Dr. Watson—" Langdale put his finger under John's chin, "May I call you John?"

The former soldier nodded.

"Good, John. We're here to see you." He lifted John's head so they could look each other in the eye.

"Me?" John managed to squeak out.

"Oh, yes," Langdale purred, as Sherlock looked on in horror. "You see, I have a theory about you. Sherry and I even have a little bet on it."

John gulped. "Oh, on what?"

The journalist wagged his finger at him as he tutted, "Uh, uh, uh, John. Telling you would spoil the best. And we can't have you unduly influencing it one way or another, now can we?" Langdale smirked.

John shook his head.

"Good boy. Do you want to hear my theory?"

"Yes," the blond breathed.

"Everyone around town tells me that even though you protest that you're 'not gay,' you must be lying. The way you pant after Sherry and all." Langdale moved in closer.

"But we both know that there are other options. Though I think it's fairly established that you aren't asexual, eh, 'Three Continents Watson'?" He placed a hand on the doctor's shoulder. John's mouth had gone bone dry, while Sherlock's jaw clenched as tightly as his fists.

"Having a gay sister really made things difficult for you, didn't it? With one sexual deviant in the family, there couldn't be two," the tall journalist continued in a low, hypnotic tone. John's palms began to sweat and he fought the urge to wipe them on his jeans.

"So you suppressed your desires. You couldn't like both. It wasn't natural to feel the same way about men as you did about women. You told yourself time and again that just because you found a man attractive didn't mean that you wanted to have sex with him." Langdale ran his hand down John's arm and Sherlock watched as his best friend shivered in desire. His arousal apparently in his eyes, the shortness of his breath and even more telling, the tenting of his trousers.

"Oh, God," John moaned.

"You buried it so deep that you completely missed that your commanding officer, Major James Sholto, was completely head over heels in love with you," Langdale purred.

John closed his eyes.

"And then you met Sherlock Holmes. Tall, graceful and gorgeous. Just one look into those eyes, and you were a goner."

Sherlock unclenched his hands and tried to work blood back into aching fingers.

"But you suppressed your emotions. Yes, those cheekbones were amazing. Yes, that arse of his was tight. Yes, those lips were positively luscious, but that couldn't mean you felt more for him than friendship."

Both Sherlock and John were practically shaking.

"You continued to date women. You even married one. And even with poor James and Sherlock declaring their camaraderie in their affection for you, still you failed to see what was in front of you the whole time."

Langdale moved to whisper in John's ear. "Say it, John."

John's breath hitched.

"Say it," the journalist urged.

"I'm not gay," the doctor said.

"Finish it," the man pressing against him pushed.

"I'm not gay, I'm bisexual."

Langdale ran his hand back up John's arm.

"It's a frightening thing, being bisexual. If you're a man, people assume you're gay; or conversely, if you're with a woman, they assume you're straight. No matter how many of either sex you've been with, all other relationships with the members of the opposite sex become invalid the second you are seen with a member of your own sex."

John nodded, feeling too lightheaded to speak.

"You are so aroused right now, aren't you, John?" the dark-haired journalist murmured and ran his other hand down John's chest, gliding past his abs to his achingly-hard erection. The good doctor jumped.

"I could have you right here on the rug."

John groaned.

"But I won't. Do you want to know why?"

The short blond nodded.

"Because I don't steal things that don't belong to me. I could have you, but afterwards you would have wished your first time with a man was someone else, wouldn't you, John?"

Again the doctor nodded.

"Say it," Langdale hissed.

"Yes, I would have wanted my first time with a man to be someone special."

"Who?"

John looked up and past the journalist to Sherlock, who had been watching the whole scene with baited breath.

"You."

Sherlock's jaw went slack.

Langdale stepped to the side as the detective rushed up to the doctor.

"Are you sure?" he asked his friend.

"Yes, you daft git," John breathed, "I love you."

Sherlock kissed him and John's knees buckled. Sherlock's arms wrapped around his waist to keep him standing.

"I love you, too."

They leaned together for another kiss when they were interrupted by someone clearing his throat. Sherlock and John nearly jumped apart.

"Yes, yes, this is all lovely, but damn it, I'm still here. And Sherlock has to remain by my side until night's end. Otherwise, those pictures go up and I have to go to some tedious government dinner."

They all laughed from the release of tension in the room.

"Why don't you go and freshen up, John?" Sherlock suggested. "This was the hardest on you."

John agreed and went to the bathroom to cool down.

Once he was out of sight, the detective rounded on the other man.

"So, bisexual, then?" he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You were trying to seduce me at the restaurant."

"Only in the name of fun. Just light-hearted flirting. I didn't mean anything by it. Plus, you saw where it led."

"Point." Sherlock smiled, but it slowly slid off his face as something occurred to him. "You lied, you said you held all the cards in your dealing with Mycroft."

"No, I didn't. I lied about that tedious dinner. I was merely clearing the air."

"Knowing someone has lied is the easy part," Sherlock acknowledged, thinking of Mary. "It's figuring out what they're lying about that is the difficult bit."

Langdale smiled, "Just don't forget your end of the bargain."

"Which is what, exactly?" John asked, coming out of the bathroom, drying his hands on a flannel.

"An exclusive to the biggest romantic news since Grace Kelly married that Monacan prince," Langdale said.

"Sherlock!" John yelled.

Sherlock blushed. "I wasn't expecting to lose," he assured the doctor. John sighed.

The short blond turned to the journalist, who was watching them with a bemused smirk.

"While this is all very fascinating," Langdale said, "it does nothing to solve the problem of me being the third wheel."

John turned to him, frowning. "Well, then what was your end game? You are far too sure of yourself to have not known it would turn out this way."

"Ah." Langdale turned away. "You've caught me."

"So what was it?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, in the thrill of the chase I neglected to give myself an out. The three of us going for celebratory drinks would be problematic, considering that the likelihood of the two of you being discreet is practically nil. And I want an exclusive. I don't want it spread it all over the gossip blogs before I've had a chance to break the story myself."

"And what do you expect us to do," John huffed, incredulous, "hide out here until you write your story?"

Langdale cocked a delicate eyebrow. "I'm sure you could find plenty of things to occupy your time."

Sherlock smirked, but John had the decency to blush.

"What was your time limit with Mycroft? Surely it wasn't until dawn?" Sherlock asked.

"Midnight."

"And it's half nine, now?" John asked. Langdale looked at his watch and nodded.

"So, only two and half hours of time to fill? Good." John sat down on the couch and indicated that Langdale take the leather chair.

"I have some questions regarding my newly-discovered sexuality, that you would be best to ply them to. I would rather not have a meltdown in the near future from lack of information on how to deal with it."

"Of course. Whatever you need," the journalist agreed.

Sherlock came and sat down next to John on the couch, and over the next couple of hours they discussed things like fending off homophobic comments, explaining his sexuality to friends and family, and just understanding his feelings in general. Soon enough it was midnight and Langdale made his excuses, leaving the two lovers to discover the answers to the rest of John's questions for themselves.

Once he was on the street the journalist pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Hello, Croft darling. Yes, it went off like a dream. But you didn't hear from me. Of course. A nice bottle of your favorite Scotch will be on your desk on Monday. Thank you for letting me play with them, it was delightful. Bye, Croft darling."

He chuckled. Yes, this was just delightful.

A week later in the gossip column there was a headline that read:

"An Unrequited Love, A Repressed Sexuality, and the Love Affair of the Century." The sub-header went on to say "Forget Wills and Kate! This is what real romance looks like." Followed by the article by Langdale Pike and picture of a very happy couple kissing on the doorstep of 221B Baker Street.