Sherlock went through his daily work with a slightly distracted mind. It was nice to own your own company, you could leave early if you needed too. He was working very late ore often than he was leaving early, so he took this day for himself.

He dressed in a tight button up purple collared shirt that strained slightly against his chest, and a fairly tight pair of black trousers, along with black socks and black shoes, polished to within an inch of their lives. It was dress casual, and if John did expect it to be a date, then it would work as well.

Multipurpose.

He grabbed one his nicer bottles of wine, a rather expensive French number, made sure his curls were quaffed and in perfect order, then headed downstairs, knocking on the door of 221C, pretending that his heart wasn't pounding.

Was it a date? Sherlock just had to know.