On The Town
Mycroft Holmes had to admit it. Reading John Watson's service record, he was more than a bit surprised. There was much more to the good doctor than he himself had been able to deduce. Once again, Mycroft found himself thankful that such a capable man was looking after Sherlock's wellbeing.
His little brother had become easier to deal with, had kicked his addiction, actually helped the police and finally had a friend and moral compass he so desperately needed. And if said moral compass came with military training and a first aid kit, even better.
A quick press of a button, and Anthea appeared in the doorway to his office.
"Sir?"
"Ah, there you are, Anthea. Please make sure that we send a car to Baker Street at 7pm, to pick up Mrs. Hudson, Doctor Watson and my brother. And also transfer the usual amount to my brother's bank account; it's for a good cause, after all. Also, I want the surveillance team outside 221b to keep the press at bay as long as it takes. Understood?"
"Yes, sir. I'll get right onto it, sir."
With that, his assistant excused herself again and returned her attention to the BlackBerry in her hand. As the doors closed, Mycroft settled back into his leather chair and with the press of another button, started a video conference. He leaned back, crossed his legs and placed his interlaced fingers on his chest.
"…So, gentlemen. I think it's time for a rethink about how our returning war heroes like Captain Watson should be treated. Don't you?"
"John! Come on, get dressed! We've got dinner reservations!"
Sherlock's voice was somewhat muffled by the fact that he was in the bathroom while John was upstairs in his room.
"Yeah, alright. Calm down. Why do I need to change to go to Angelo's?"
"We're not going to Angelo's, John. We're celebrating. It's a nice restaurant so put on a suit! And we'll need to get Mrs. Hudson."
John looked down at himself. Chequered shirt and jeans. Apparently that wouldn't do.
Sighing, he went back to his wardrobe and pulled out a suit. It was graphite in colour, a three piece suit. He'd not had much occasion to wear it but he thought under the circumstances, it would do.
He fished out a white shirt and his dark blue regimental tie of the Fifth Northumberland Fusilier. He fastened the tie and pulled out the silver RAMC cufflinks with the Staff of Asclepius his father had got him as a present when he'd received his first commission in the Royal Army Medical Corps.
He checked his reflection again and headed downstairs to the bathroom to fix his hair, casually closing the buttons on his suit jacket as he descended the stairs.
Sherlock had disappeared into his own bedroom and John thought that he should really get his hair trimmed back to crew cut as he stood in front of the mirror trying to reign in his slightly unruly hair.
Deciding that this was as good as it was going to get, he stepped back out and waited for his flatmate in the living room.
Sherlock emerged a few minutes later, wearing a black suit and light blue shirt. Although the detective usually wore tailored suits, even when it wasn't for a special occasion, John was still a bit envious of how effortless Sherlock made it all look, while he himself was still fumbling with this hair.
"Ah, you heard me after all," Sherlock said as he approached the living room and John.
"Excellent, that suit looks much better than your hideous jumper. Now, let's go and get Mrs. Hudson."
Sherlock said and crossed the threshold to bounce down the seventeen steps before John had a chance to retort and defend his choice of comfortable clothing.
Their landlady was already waiting for them, dressed in her Sunday Best. She opened the door the second John knocked.
"Oh, look at you, my lovelies! Don't you look dashing!" she said and straightened John's tie for him.
"Aw, thank you Mrs. Hudson. You look lovely" John responded.
"Oh, thank you, dear. I wasn't sure what to wear, Sherlock was all mysterious."
"You look fine, Mrs. Hudson" the detective agreed although he wasn't even looking. As Mrs. Hudson was locking her door, John turned around and said "Sherlock, don't you think you could get us a taxi? Seeing as one always magically appears just when you need it?"
"No need" Sherlock said and grinned at the two of them.
"My brother sent a car."
He opened the front door with a flourish and revealed a black town car.
Sherlock held the door for Mrs. Hudson and climbed in after John and their landlady. Mrs. Hudson spent the entire ride fussing about her outfit and the boys' suits, while John still had no idea where exactly they were headed.
Allowing for London evening traffic, they found themselves near Hyde Park corner thirty minutes later. John helped Mrs. Hudson out of the car and looked up in disbelief.
"Galvin at Windows? We're celebrating at Galvin at Windows1? How?" John was incredulous.
"Mycroft went to university with the owner" Sherlock shrugged.
"And you got the table just like that? When I graduated university, my dad wanted to take us here but they were fully booked months in advance!"
"Well, I believe Mycroft had a favour to call in. Now, shall we?" Sherlock said and swooped over to the door, while John offered Mrs. Hudson his arm and accompanied her inside.
Sherlock had not only secured a table, but a window table with the most spectacular view across London in the evening sun. As soon as they stepped into the restaurant, Mrs. Hudson was praising the view of the Thames and the London Eye and how London really was pretty from above.
Sherlock held her chair for her as she sat down, both men deliberately giving her the chair at the head of the table so she could enjoy the view.
John looked around wide-eyed. The 1930's interior, floor-to-ceiling windows, classy bar – he felt a little out of place until he remembered that he was wearing a suit and opened his button to sit down.
Within seconds, a waiter appeared at their side.
"Ah, Mr. Holmes. So good to see you again."
"Good evening, Maurice. Excellent table, thank you. We've got something to celebrate tonight, so I think we'll start with sherry as aperitifs and then a bottle of your best Cabernet Sauvignon for the table."
Sherlock looked around for confirmation from John and Mrs. Hudson who both nodded in agreement.
"Excellent choice, sir" Maurice said and retreated to get the sherry.
They sipped their aperitifs in silence, contemplating the menu. Both John and Mrs. Hudson looked worried when they saw the prices. Sherlock studied them with a slightly insulted look on his face.
"Oh stop being ridiculous. I am inviting you both out for dinner and you can choose whatever you like. Don't even think about going for the cheapest item, John, I know you are not particularly fond of Caesar Salad. We're here to celebrate and both of you can order what you want. I insist, Mrs. Hudson. Starter, main, dessert, coffee, tea… it's on me."
"Oh Sherlock dear, that's very nice of you… but…" Mrs. Hudson began but was cut off.
"Mrs. Hudson, believe me, it's all taken care of. Our latest client just paid. And if you don't believe that, then see this as my treat for the acid burn in the kitchen floorboard…" he smirked.
"Acid burn?" Mrs. Hudson shrieked and John chuckled.
The stain had actually been there for two months now but it had been cleverly covered up by moving the rug two inches to the left.
"Ah, look. Our wine is here" Sherlock smoothly changed the subject. Once Sherlock had tested and approved of the wine and they all had their glasses filled, Sherlock raised his glass.
"A toast!" Both John and Mrs. Hudson raised their glasses.
"To Captain John Watson, who is not only a war hero and one of the bravest men I know, but also the recipient of both, the Military Cross for which he will receive the Bar and the Victoria Cross for his actions in Afghanistan!"
John felt himself blush but approved of the toast.
"To John!" Sherlock repeated and Mrs. Hudson joined in. John clinked glasses with both of them before taking a sip.
"Uh…er... thank you, Sherlock. That was… a bit more moving than I expected" John confessed.
"Oh John my dear boy, I'm so proud of you!" their landlady said and hugged him with tears in her eyes.
"Well, I mean it, John. I called you a war hero during that first taxi ride to Lauriston Gardens and I had no idea of your service record back then, nor did I know the exact definition of the word. But I've seen you in action, chasing criminals and caring for your patients and you deserve the awards that are about to be bestowed upon you."
"Wow. Thanks, Sherlock." Sherlock just grinned.
"But then again you put up with me and you're still my flatmate, so there's a slight chance you might actually be insane."
Both John and Mrs. Hudson laughed and their landlady patted Sherlock's arm.
"Yeah, maybe, but at least I don't run after villains by myself and unarmed!"
"No, but you invaded Iraq and Afghanistan."
"I think we've established that that wasn't just me, though."
"Well, I don't go running after criminals by myself either!" Sherlock exclaimed.
"You don't?" John sounded surprised.
"No! You're usually right next to me!"
"Fair point" John conceded, and raised his glass in a silent salute again, before both men succumbed to their laughter.
They ate their starters and watched the sun slowly set while chatting about this and that. Before the main course was served, of which even Sherlock had ordered some, the manager of the restaurant approached the table.
"Sherlock! When I saw the reservation for Holmes I assumed it was Mycroft. How are you?" he shook Sherlock's hand and turned towards Mrs. Hudson.
"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am."
Then he turned to John and stared at John's tie and the cufflinks and then back at John's face, before saluting him.
John, feeling a little awkward about the situation and not wanting to cause a fuss, got up and returned the salute. Half the diners had noticed this little exchange and were now staring at John.
"Sir, I had no idea you were here tonight or I would have introduced myself sooner. Gerard Galvin, owner of this restaurant and formerly Corporal in the Duke of Lancaster's. I read about you in the paper, you're Captain John Watson. It's an honour to meet you, sir."
"Thank you, Mr. Galvin," John said as he took his seat again.
"My son is currently out there, serving with the Queen's Dragoons. He's been patched up by RAMC doctors a few times now. And let me tell you, I appreciate everything you guys do. Is it true you were actually a combatant as well?"
"Yes. I left the RAMC to fight for my country."
"When I was serving, there was this medical support officer who kept dashing out to patch us up, even under fire. And you did both! You must be crazier than a Commando, and they do some crazy things! You have my utmost respect, sir."
John chuckled.
"Thank you Mr. Galvin. And I'm sure your son is in good hands."
Mr. Galvin excused himself after that and Mrs. Hudson patted John on the back.
Throughout the evening, fellow diners who had witnessed the meeting of the two former soldiers or who recognised John from the article came up to the table to congratulate him and show their respect.
Mrs. Hudson noted with a pleased smile that not just men from her own generation, but young, business-type men who looked to be even younger than Sherlock, came up to speak to John.
While this made John uncomfortable, Sherlock just sat back, grinned and then proceeded to spout out deductions about everyone who approached, much to John's and Mrs. Hudson's amusement.
After dessert and coffee, Maurice brought over three glasses of whisky for the table and Mr. Galvin reappeared and presented John with a bottle of Laphroaig Single Malt Scotch.
"On the house, from the entire staff here at Windows" he declared, as John tried to decline.
"I insist, Captain Watson. Please take this as a small token of our gratitude for your services and to celebrate your achievements and decorations. It's not every day we have a recipient of the Victoria Cross dining with us."
"I don't know what to say, Mr. Galvin. You served yourself; I did what I had to do. I am sure you understand. But thank you for this" John slightly shook the bottle of expensive whisky. "I really appreciate it!"
They saluted one another again and John turned to offer Mrs. Hudson his arm and accompany her outside. He had not even realized that Sherlock had left, presumably to settle the bill. John was busy trying to hail a cab when Sherlock stepped out of the building and another black town car magically appeared at the kerb.
John mumbled something about Mycroft's drivers and how they should be able to recognise him after God knows how many kidnappings, before he got in the car.
Arriving back at Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson hugged both her boys and thanked them for a lovely evening. Upstairs, John put the whisky aside and immediately went to the kitchen to fix them both some tea without even thinking about it.
"Thank you, Sherlock. That was actually really nice of you. And you invited Mrs. Hudson, she was thrilled. What brought all this on, though?" John asked as he handed the detective his cup and finally shrugged off his suit jacket, loosening the tie and vest.
"I've been told that you might want to eat something other than dim sum or Italian sometimes. And that maybe I should sometimes show you that I truly do appreciate your friendship. And because there was a genuine reason to celebrate your extraordinary achievements, I thought that Angelo's wouldn't quite do in this case."
"Uhm… right. Well, that was very thoughtful. Thank you. I had a great time and I've always wanted to go to Galvin at Windows. But you don't have to go out of your way for me, Sherlock, you should know that by now. Believe me, I would have complained or left long ago if I was inclined to take offense at ordering the same take-out or going to the same restaurant over and over again. But I really appreciate the thought behind this, so thank you, again."
"Don't mention it."
Sherlock waved it off like it was nothing but he was secretly pleased that John had liked it. He'd never put much effort into maintaining friendships or acquaintances, most people left after a few weeks at the latest, so he was glad that he could add this to his mental list of things he'd done right.
"Right. I think I'm gonna hit the sack once I finish my tea."
They sat together in silence while both finished their drinks. Eventually, John got up and stretched before taking the mugs through to the kitchen. He brushed his teeth and shouted "Night, Sherlock" into the main apartment before retreating up the stairs to his room.
Even though Sherlock got changed too, he wandered back into the living room once he heard John's door close. John had been calm and rather collected today but retelling his entire military career and being approached repeatedly by strangers about his front page news story, would no doubt cause his nightmares to resurface.
So Sherlock filled the kettle, got the mugs ready, picked up his violin and started to play.
1 Actual restaurant. Galvin at Windows, 22 Park Lane, Mayfair, London W1K 1BE. Situated on the 28th floor of the London Park Lane Hilton.