The crisp fall air nudged dry leaves down the barren residential street as the slender detective walked hand-in-hand with his doctor. He was leading him somewhere, he said it was going to be special. John's mind raced, imagining some kind of out-of-character big romantic statement: candles and roses, soft and sweet music welling up behind them as they kissed underneath the twilight. His mind stopped dead in its tracks as he saw the dressed table standing in front of yellow caution tape. A dead, mangled body laid on a perfectly green lawn not ten feet from where Sherlock had planned for them to eat, "Seriously?" John asked, "We talked about this."
Sherlock sighed, not understanding what the big deal was, he was trying to do something sweet. John always complained about not getting out enough, and this was the only logical way for him to do it, "Just bear with me, John," he flatly pleaded.
John rolled his eyes and removed his fingers from where they rested in-between that of Sherlock's. He crossed his arms loosely and then motioned at the silver cloche that rested on the white tablecloth, "I'm not going to eat whatever's under there," he stated.
Sherlock groaned, "Come on, John. There is no reason for you to be so hesitant about this. Look, I'll even have them cover the body for you," He turned around and talked to a couple officers, who nodded and slowly went about the task that Sherlock asked of them. He smiled lightly at his date, "See? I've got you taken care of," he said, motioning for him to go sit down at the table.
"Fine," John said. He shuffled, in defeat, to the table and slouched down in his seat. He was stuck at the scene anyway, so he figured that he might as well make the most of it.
Sherlock triumphantly removed the cloche to reveal the dinner and set down a candle that he revealed from somewhere inside one of the pockets of his coat. He lit the wick attached to the vanilla-scented wax with the emergency lighter he always kept, and then sat down across from his companion. It didn't take John very long to warm up to Sherlock's idea. It was strangely romantic to him once he got over the fact that it was a crime scene and not all the blood had been washed off the lawn and the surrounding concrete.
Dusk fell in around them and a light wind made the flame flicker and dance in the dull blue light as they made quiet conversation and Sherlock cupped John's hand in his own. After a few minutes of uninterrupted eating and a short game of footsie, the officer that Sherlock had persuaded to put a blanket over the cadaver came over to the table and whispered something in the detective's ear. Sherlock shot up with exclamations of delight at the new-found information, and kissed John lightly on the cheek before prancing his way over to the deceased.
John leaned back in his chair, not upset that Sherlock was called away. In fact, he was glad that he would be able to watch him in action again. He loved seeing the warm excitement of a new case flush over his features as he gracefully rounded the victim, stalking and observing each minute detail of every inch of the body and surrounding areas.
The street lamps flicked on, and dull stars shone above the neighborhood as the doctor watched his detective engage in the familiar dance he's seen him do a hundred times before.