A/N: I'm so sorry it took a while! I'm sick (possibly the flu) and all I can do is stay in my bed and sleep during most of the day and feel too bad to write at night and just ugh. My sleeping is also so messed up. I will update tomorrow too, promise!
Day 4: On a Date
"Sherlock!" John yells after walking back into the kitchen. "WHAT have you done?"
"I haven't done anything!" Sherlock says, throwing his arms out.
"Yes, you bloody have! I was in the middle of making the two of us dinner with the only food we have left in this house, and now there is green smoke coming out of the oven." John sounds visibly upset when he utters the last words.
"Yeah... um, I'm sure it can be fixed... somehow," Sherlock mumbles and opens the door, only to get large puffs of the green smoke in his face. He coughs and falls backwards, getting caught by two strong arms.
"You stay away from that smoke, Sherlock, I don't think it's safe," John says, pulling him away from the oven before opening the windows. "When am I going to be able to make a decent meal without your experiments sabotaging it before I get a bite? Unlike you, I actually need food every day!"
Sherlock looks over at the green smoke and all of the jars filled with weird stuff placed out on the kitchen counters. He is feeling somewhat guilty, because the meal had actually smelt quite good before he had opened the door without looking and poured that container of something he wasn't sure what was inside. How had he not figured out the good smell came from inside the oven?
Sherlock looks back at John who is looking very annoyed. He knits his eyebrows together, deep in thought, before he gets up from the floor and walks to his room.
"Put this on, John," Sherlock says when returning with a sweater and a coat.
"What?" John looks puzzled.
"I'm taking you out tonight," Sherlock holds John's coat as he pulls the white knit sweater Sherlock is rather fond of over his head.
"Why?" John asks, letting Sherlock hold his coat out so he can stick his arms through.
Sherlock doesn't answer, just tugs at John's arm to make him follow him.
When they're outside of 221b, Sherlock raises his arm and catches a taxi.
"Not Angelo, then?"
Sherlock just smiles at John.
"Italian?" John smirks at Sherlock with a raised eyebrow.
"Shut up," Sherlock mumbles while opening the door and letting John through.
"Table for two, please," John tells the waiter who then leads them to a small, lonely table more at the back. After the same waiter had taken their orders and left them alone, John folds his hand together on top of the table and looks at Sherlock.
"So?"
"So, what?"
"Care to tell me why you have taken me to get my favourite food in a very nice restaurant?" John smiles.
Sherlock just looks down at the table cloth and fiddles with the napkin.
"Sherlock?" John chuckles and grabs Sherlock's hand over the table.
"Well, I may have sort of ruined all the food you have made for a whole week, and maybe I wanted to sort of... make it up to you," Sherlock mumbles with a little shrug.
"So letting you ruin the food for a week gives me Italian food on a date with my boyfriend? Sounds like something I should let you do more often."
Sherlock meets John's gaze with warm eyes and a chuckle, interlacing their fingers.