Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks, causing John to collide with the back of him. Sherlock had pulled him out of bed before sunrise, saying he'd received an interesting cold-case from Lestrade. They had been running about London all day, retracing the steps of the victim the day before he was stabbed. It was now half-past six, the sun was getting low, and John was hungry and on edge, having only grabbed a sandwich for lunch. They were on the way to see one of Sherlock's homeless network in Trafalgar Square, and John was hoping they would finally be able to return home afterwards. Sherlock did have a habit of stopping in his tracks when an important thought occurred to him, but the fact that Sherlock had chosen to stop so suddenly on a blustery, bloody freezing street did nothing to soothe John's temper, as the people around them made frustrated noises at the interruption of traffic flow on the narrow footpath. John grabbed Sherlock and pulled him over to the side of the path, as out of the way of the other pedestrians as possible.
"Sherlock, you can't just stop in the middle of the path when there are other people walking around you. What have you realised?" Sherlock looked at him seriously, his mind clearly racing.
"We need to go to Angelo's. One of his waitresses may be in danger." And without further explanation, he swept off again, leaving John in his wake.
Fortunately, the walk had only taken ten minutes and soon they were within sight of Angelo's. John hoped that whatever Sherlock needed to do here might take a little while so he could grab something to eat in the mean time. Angelo had been delighted when John had stopped protesting his use of the term 'date' and the candles he insisted on placing on the table whenever he and Sherlock visited. It was the closest thing to 'romantic' that Sherlock and he ever did together, so John thought he may as well let Angelo have his fun.
Sherlock swept through the door, and John was surprised when the detective turned around and held it open for John to walk through, like a butler would. Usually when Sherlock was so completely focused upon a case as he was now, any socially acceptable niceties went out the door. He was further confused by the smug smile Sherlock gave him (now he was suspicious - what have I missed?), before he followed the detective's pointed glance to one of the corner tables.
He was shocked to see that Mrs Hudson, Greg, Mike Stamford, Sarah, Molly - even Harry - were all sitting and chatting around a table, with two seats to spare. Mrs Hudson caught sight of him and alerted the others, who turned around and raised their glasses merrily. "Happy birthday, John!"
John turned to Sherlock, his mouth slightly open in surprise. "What - did - did you do this?"
Sherlock's smug smile was still there. "No need to sound so incredulous, John, I am capable of remembering birthdays if I want to."
"But - this - a surprise dinner - with people? What about the case?" John was smiling now, rather touched that Sherlock would organise something like this for him, despite how unappealing the detective himself found such social gatherings.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, John, please, there was no case. I just wanted to make sure you worked up an appetite, Angelo said he's pulling out all the stops." He smirked again at the indignation on John's face.
"You dragged me about London all bloody day to make sure I was hungry?" He was tempted to be annoyed, but he chuckled instead - it was such a Sherlock thing to do.
"Yes, well, I am sitting through a social event for a whole evening, so I feel like it's a fair trade-off." He winked as he pulled his gloves off. "Go sit down, I've just got to have a word with Angelo." He turned away, before catching himself and flashing John a genuinely warm smile. "Oh - and happy birthday, John."
