It's an unusually quiet afternoon at 221B Baker Street. Sherlock isn't bored and has an interesting experiment going. John updates his blog and catches up with his emails. They sit in comfortable silence, Sherlock occasionally picking up his violin and playing a few notes, before losing interest and going to find something else to do while he waits for the experiment's results.
When John's stomach gives a loud growl in the early evening, he closes the laptop, rubs his face and starts making his way to the kitchen to find some food. Sherlock intercepts him at the door by launching himself across the room and wrapping his arms around John's shoulders, pulling him backwards.
"No, John," he pushes him towards the front door, "we're going out tonight."
"What? You said there were no cases today—"
Sherlock interrupts him, "no, not a case. I'm taking you out for dinner. Now put your coat on and let's go."
John gawps and points at the gently bubbling concoction on their kitchen table, "but your thing."
"Come on," Sherlock has John's coat, holding it open for him.
"You're taking me out for dinner?" Sherlock nods. "No ulterior motive?" He nods again. "I won't have to leave my pasta half eaten?" Nod. "Just me and you?"
"For goodness sake, John. Yes. Now let's go," Sherlock shakes the jacket at him, "unless you'd rather stay here and I go out by myself?"
"Okay, fine, thank you. Let's go."
John finds his phone and wallet already in his coat pocket and he follows Sherlock down the stairs and down onto the street where they hail a taxi. Sherlock doesn't tell John where they're going, although, John has already worked it out.
Angelo greets them with his usual gusto, bringing across extra wine 'for the happy couple'. John looks at Sherlock curiously; they'd agreed to only tell a few people about their involvement for now. Sherlock smiles in return, "he's very perceptive."
They eat their pasta and talk about what they were planning for the rest of the week, falling into their usual banter.
John doesn't complain when Angelo puts a candle on the table.
When they finally leave the restaurant, well after closing time, they find that the night air is still warm enough for John to leave his jacket open and for Sherlock to leave his scarf hanging from his pocket. They decide to walk home, finally able to enjoy the London sights and sounds peacefully without being on the tail of some criminal. Their hands brush and they fall into a companionable quiet.
Eventually, Sherlock speaks, "thank you, John. For letting me do this, it was," he pauses, "nice. I'd like to do this again."
John smirks and bumps their shoulders, "what is this, a business arrangement? How about next Tuesday at four? I'm free then."
Sherlock grins, "I couldn't possibly make Tuesday; Friday is a much better day for me."
John stops walking and leans up to kiss Sherlock's jaw, "sounds perfect."