A small smile touched the consulting detective's lips and he averted his eyes. "Dinner?"
John agreed immediately. "Starving." He replied.
The two men started walking away from the crime scene. "End of Baker Street there's a good Chinese that stays open until two. You can tell a good Chinese by the bottom third of the door handle."
As John caught up with Sherlock with a few quick strides, he glanced at the man. "So dim sum. Mmm."
Sherlock grinned mischievously. "I can always predict the fortune cookies."
"No you can't." John argued, though he wasn't serious - Sherlock probably could predict them.
"Almost can."
•••
The chilly, night air nipped at John's neck as he and Sherlock strode down Baker Street – their destination getting closer as they continued. The only sane thought running through his mind at that moment was that his stomach needed food. John didn't know how Sherlock could stand not eating for long periods of time – that man amazed him sometimes. Sometimes.
He stole a quick glance at the man walking beside him. Bundled up in his black coat, collar turned up against the soft wind and dark blue scarf wrapped securely around that glorious neck, he looked warm and slightly relaxed. With the case finished and mostly solved, Sherlock was happy (well, as happy as Sherlock could be when a case was done with).
Sherlock's pale eyes met John's and he raised a perfect eyebrow. "Problem?"
John's mouth tugged into a smile. He looked at the path in front of them. "None at all."
They reached the little Chinese restaurant mentioned earlier. It was squeezed in between two other shops, with two large windows on either side of the door. Inside, the lights were dimmed to an orange. The hostess led the two men to a small table in the back where no other customers were currently.
John sat in his seat, folding his hands together and propping his arms up on the table. The smell of Chinese food filled the atmosphere, and his stomach grumbled in response. Sherlock took off his coat in a flourish, along with his scarf, hanging them both on the back of his chair. He ordered for both of them, studying the waiter as he nodded in response, taking his leave.
John's mind trailed back to what happened earlier tonight. He still worried what would have happened if Sherlock had taken that blasted pill. Had it been the right one? What if it wasn't the right one? Well, of course then he would have –
"John, stop it."
Sherlock's deep voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and their eyes met. John's brows pulled together in confusion. "Stop what? I didn't-"
"You're thinking too much." Sherlock replied simply.
A sigh escaped the army doctor's lips. "No, I'm not, Sherlock. I was just...contemplating."
With a roll of his amazing eyes, Sherlock made an are-you-serious face. "Same thing, John."
John fell silent and he took great interest in the glass of water set in front of him. He ran a finger over the cold glass, condensation dripping down the side as he did so.
"John."
The waiter came up just then, setting down the bowls and plates of food. John pretended he hadn't heard his name on Sherlock's lips, in that voice that hinted a little concern, and instead started to eat.
•••
••
•
"I know you can't."
"John, you have so little faith in me."
"Quite the opposite, Sherlock. But this is just ridiculous."
Sherlock held the unwrapped and unbroken fortune cookie in his pale, slender fingers. It was brought up close to his face, and those pastel eyes stared the little dessert down. John thought he looked quite humorous at the moment.
"Express yourself, do something creative." Sherlock mumbled.
"Pardon?"
"That's what it says. Express yourself, do something creative." He repeated calmly, handing the cookie over to John, who hesitantly took it.
John paused for a split second, staring at the thing.
"Well, come on, then." Sherlock urged impatiently. "Open it."
John cracked the fortune cookie open, crumbs falling on the table. He tugged out the little slip of white paper:
"Express yourself. Do something creative."
Silence fell between them as John read the phrase over about twenty times, thinking that surely it was a trick, some kind of joke. How…?
He glanced up and smirked a little when he saw Sherlock was grinning widely. "I was right, wasn't I?" he said in a giddy voice, pride practically gushing out of him. John set the paper down, folding his arms.
"It was a lucky guess. Do you come here often? Maybe that's how you know them so well."
Sherlock's smile faded suddenly and as he snatched up another cookie, John suddenly regretted saying it. Another moment of concentration, then he stared straight into John's eyes.
"Look in the right places and you will find good fortune."
•••
Ten minutes later, discarded wrappers and pieces of fortune cookie lay on their plates and the table they were still sitting at. Sherlock had gotten every single one right – they had just gotten done cracking open the fifth one.
John sat back in his chair, arms crossed, having what probably seemed like a staring contest to passerby with the man sitting across from him. "I still can't believe that you got every single one right."
"Oh, come now John. It's not that difficult." He gave a small shrug.
With a huff, John laid a tip on the table. After paying, the two were out the door and walking down the sidewalk back to the flat.
Sherlock walked in front a couple steps ahead, hands shoved deep in his pockets and gaze locked on the concrete beneath his feet. John smiled a little – yes, Sherlock did amaze him. Plus he always managed to surprise John every time he turned around.
"John."
John looked up and slowed to a stop when he realized the consulting detective had planted himself in front of him. Sherlock's gaze flickered over him, and John recognized that face – where he was breaking down every single detail and clue. Suddenly John felt very uncomfortable.
Tilting his head slightly to the side, John waited. Sherlock took a step forward, bringing them only a foot apart. "You're thinking again."
"I know you might not believe it, but yes. I do that sometimes." John murmured, glancing away and clearing his throat awkwardly.
"John, about earlier-" he was cut off when John stuck something in his face. Sherlock blinked, staring at the fortune cookie in John's hand. "What…"
"Just one more." John smiled a little.
Sherlock took it and returned the smile. He stared down at it for a few seconds, and then gave it back to John.
"Your hard work is about to pay off." Sherlock said.
Cracking it open like all the other ones, John took out the paper. He read it. His smile grew bigger.
"Well?" Sherlock leaned forward a little. "I'm right again, aren't I?"
John threw away the rubbish in a garbage can nearby. He handed the fortune to Sherlock, eyes locking. They held on to that piece of paper for a couple of seconds longer than necessary, fingers flush with each other, shoulders brushing. "Like you said, there's always something wrong." He whispered, referring back to their first crime scene together.
•
••
••
•
Sherlock watched as John stepped past him, continuing down the sidewalk.
He looked down at the paper in his grasp.
The consulting detective hid a grin.
"The one you love is closer than you think."
a/n: Review please~!