A/N: Alright, yes, I know I'm still not done with A Merry Little 221B, but this demanded to be written! I swear. I was listening to this lovely song "Beloved" by VNV Nation and thinking about Season 3, then got this idea.
Anyway! This is fluffy and not-so-canon Johnlock goodness. I'm thinking about turning it into a full-fledged fic... What do you guys think?
Also, thank you to all of my viewers/reviewers/etc.! 3
Warning: I don't own Sherlock, BBC, or anything Sir Arthur Conan Doyle related.
The balding Italian shook his head furiously, shifting the phone to his shoulder so he could pick up a bowl of homemade spaghetti sauce and stir in the oregano he had just thrown in.
"No, I'm not open today, AT ALL. A very famous celebrity - who happens to be a close friend of mine, mind you - has reserved the restaurant tonight to propose to his fiancé," Angelo sighed in frustration.
"I don't give a damn if you've got an army in visiting from the States. Bring them to dinner tomorrow," With that, he hung up the phone, stowing the mostly prepared sauce in the refrigerator.
Angelo glanced up at the clock high on the kitchen wall, noting the time. Only ten more minutes until he needed to pop the meatballs in the oven, and only about forty-five minutes until Sherlock would be here. Shortly after, Dr. Watson would be making an appearance, meaning that the nearly two hundred tea lights Sherlock had left here would need to be lit, along with the traditional tapers on the dinner table. Rose petals would need to be sprinkled, food would need to be finished, and congratulations given.
Smiling with genuine happiness for the couple, he exited the kitchen, humming, to begin covering the dining room with white and red petals, making sure to set a few handfuls aside for the entrance.
Meanwhile, Sherlock Holmes was pacing about the living room of 221B Baker Street nervously, a small box clenched in his fist. Coming to a halt, he gazed upon the black velvet-covered cube with a frown. In general, he did not get nervous; after all, he solved crimes for a living and was generally void of emotion. That is, until a certain discharged army doctor came psychosomatically limping into his life.
With their relationship had come emotionally-involved things to worry about: showing John affection on a daily basis, getting the shopping every once in a while, listening to the "we knew its" and such. But this was a completely different situation: a life-changing one, and Sherlock was only 92.7 percent sure that John Watson would take his hand in marriage. If John accepted, Sherlock would love nothing more than to just sweep the doctor off to the nearest form of marriage authentication and just get it over with.
However…
Mycroft had already threatened him the very hour Sherlock had purchased the ring that they were to be having a real wedding, and that he wouldn't be needing to worry about the details. At first the detective had been furious, but he quickly deduced that John would probably want a real wedding with their "friends" and everyone invited, anyway. Best to let Mycroft worry with the messier parts so that he wouldn't have to.
Letting out a sigh, Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the time. Time to get dressed, then, as he supposed it really wouldn't be appropriate to propose in his robe. But first, he tapped out a quick text to John and sent it along its way, now determined.
'Dinner at Angelo's. See you then. -SH'