One
"Come along John, we don't have all day to dilly-dally around!" Sherlock shouted over his shoulder at a limping Watson, who - try as he might just could not keep up with the sociopathic genius.
"Some of us do have a limp, you know" Watson replied, huffing as he hurried along the pavement a few steps behind on the cold, late October evening.
"Oh come on, we both know that's at least partly psychosomatic." Nevertheless, Sherlock paused and waited for the doctor to catch up with him. "We're here now anyway" he added, a slight grin on his face. John stopped in front of him and looked at the restaurant they had stopped outside of.
"This restaurant's in the middle of nowhere, I'm not even sure we're still in London, why are we stopping here?" The doctor asked, looking quizzically up at the detective.
"Why not? It's as good a place as any, and besides, you need to eat." he replied and pulled the door opened, bowed slightly and motioned for Watson to enter before him.
The restaurant was small and slightly dark, but not enough to be considered gloomy. It had a very welcoming feel to it, and John and Sherlock sank into two chairs at a table by the window. The chairs were dark oak and the tables matched, with a white linen tablecloth draped over each one. A candle sat in the middle of each table throwing a soft glow onto the faces of the patrons of the restaurant, of which there were few. Sherlock smiled at Watson across the table - Watson gave an uncomfortable half-smirk back.
"I suppose you've stopped someone going to prison here as well then? What was it for, larceny? Grand Theft Auto? GBH?" As Watson uttered the last in the trio of crimes, a small, slight young woman with long, brown curly hair came up to the table with a menu pad and a pen. She smiled shyly at Sherlock, then looked up, as if she only noticed Watson for the first time just then.
"Good evening gentlemen, my name is Sara and I'll be your waitress for the evening. The house speciality for the evening is Sea Bass basted in olive oil, crushed chilli and ginger, and there's, uhm, a two for one offer on... couple's meals..."
"I'm not his date." John said firmly, looking straight into the young girl's eyes, who immediately began to blush.
"Oh, forgive me, I just assumed, two gentlemen out together at night..."
"Yes, well, we're not a couple. Anything else on the specials board or can we just see the menu?" the doctor fidgeted with his hands, the left one trembling as always. Sherlock sat with an amused smile on his face, watching as the ex-military man fumbled with hands that were once so sure.
"R-right away, yes, I'm sorry..." Sara muttered as she walked off in the direction of the bar looking quite flustered, where she started clattering about trying to find two menus.
"That embarrassed to be seen with me, are you?" Sherlock grinned coyly from across the table, his head rested on the palm of his left hand, little finger lightly placed on his bottom lip. The candle lit up the contours of his face and John felt a tightening in his stomach. Before he could reply, the detective chuckled and went on a reem of intelligence about the latest case the pair were working on. This left Watson free to muse on his own thoughts for a few more minutes, as he knew that Sherlock never expected a reply to his brainwaves, he just needed someone to talk to so as not to appear completely crazy.
Before any significant pondering could be done, Sara came back to the table carrying two elegant-looking menus, bound in black leather with the name of the restaurant etched in faded gold lettering on the front. She handed one to each of the men at the table, then put down two wine glasses and brought out a bottle of Merlot wine, uncorked it and poured into Sherlock's glass.
"Compliments of Mr Belafonte, as a thank you for helping his son not too long ago. He also said that you can eat for free tonight, anything on the menu." The girl, who to Watson looked around the age of 21 with a soft face and dark brown eyes, was still blushing slightly from her earlier encounter with the gentlemen. After she had finished pouring the wine, she hurriedly made her way back towards the bar.
"I knew you'd helped him in some way or another. We never seem to go anywhere unless we eat for free-"
"What's the point of paying for fine cuisine when my intelligence can pay for it many times over?" Sherlock cut off the doctor, leaving him with his mouth hanging slightly open.
Once Watson had regained some semblance of coherency, he closed his mouth and once more resumed his role of silent partner, allowing the detective - who some deemed crazy and psychopathic, whereas to the doctor he was simply brilliant - to sound off more ideas and follow them to what always proved to be some form of conclusion.
After about five minutes, the rambling slowed to a halt and Sherlock merely sat, waiting for his answer to be acknowledged by John, who - eventually - simply said "How do you do it, Sherlock?"
His reply was but a sly smile across his face.