This is a short piece, pulled together in my lunchbreak, by way of an apology for yesterday's angst-fest. I promised Mattsloved1 some fluff, and here it is - enjoy!
There was a time, not so long ago, that the first words out of John's mouth would be "I'm not his date!" whenever Angelo produced candles for the table. Now, he smiled. This was to be a night Sherlock would never forget.
From the corner of his eye he thought he caught an odd expression on the large Italian's face, but when he looked closer there was nothing to see. He shrugged and carried on talking on his phone to Greg.
Surprise dinner parties were not really his forte, but the Detective Inspector had offered to help.
Except that every now and then he thought he detected laughter in the other man's voice, but as he listened harder it was nothing more than his 'off-duty, relaxed' voice. Shrugging he finished his call and looked out of the window.
Was that...? No, just a kid passing by. So what if he resembled Sammy? He was too clean and smart.
And of course, Mycroft wasn't the only person to drive around in large black cars... was he?
But that was Sherlock walking towards the door! What was he doing here? He had planned to send a text that would bring him here at seven. John frowned, realising his flatmate had already seen him, there was nowhere to hide.
Walking up to the window, Sherlock smirked and pointed over John's shoulder. The shorter man turned around.
Behind him stood a crowd of their friends and colleagues – Angelo, Greg, Sally...even Mycroft with the ever present Anthea (sans Blackberry – for once!). And the kid that resembled Sammy actually was Sammy, with Kallie and Raz, Billy the waiter, Mrs Hudson, Molly, and completing the group, the man who had introduced them, Mike Stamford. Each held a glass of something that looked suspiciously like champagne, and every one of them – even Mycroft – was grinning.
John opened his mouth to speak, but no sound was forthcoming. From behind him the sound of the door opening heralded the entrance of the world's only consulting detective, and he turned, looking up at him with puzzled eyes.
"What...? I mean, this was supposed to be a surprise, but..."
"It is a surprise John, but for you not for me." Sherlock laughed, then, his face became serious.
"John, considering we have spent so much of our time working with these people, I felt it was only fair that they be present for this."
"It was meant to be a celebration of your hundredth major case solved." John said, a fond smile on his lips. "Why wouldn't they be? They're integral to the Work."
"Oh, I have a better way of celebrating that..."
John wasn't sure if it was his imagination, or if the guests collectively held their breath.
"John Hamish Watson, loyal soldier, doctor, flatmate, friend and much, much more...will you be my life partner?"
"I...What?"
"John – will you marry me?"
John's expression went swiftly from stunned to delighted, and his countenance lit up with a face-splitting smile.
"You git!" he grinned, accepting the glass of champagne the tall man was holding out to him. "Of course I bloody will!"
If the passers by were startled by the sudden eruption of cheering coming from the candlelit Italian restaurant, none of the revellers really cared – they were too busy toasting the happily kissing couple!