If the last week or so had been weird in the extreme, when John got home from work that evening he felt like he had taken a step of the edge of world into Lah-Lah land. The flat was tidy. Clean. No experiments. The table was covered in a neat white cloth. There were candles. There were wine glasses. There was the smell of rather good Chinese food cooking, or at least keeping warm.
Sherlock bounced into the lounge from his room. He must have just been getting changed. He was now wearing that really nice purple shirt and smelt of very expensive aftershave.
"Hi John. I thought you might like dinner. I got all your favourites. And I've bought you a present. It's upstairs in your room." With a growing sense of foreboding, John made his way up the stairs to his room. Lying on the bed was a rather nice and obviously very expensive peacock blue shirt.
He immediately looked around for the skull. It had to be up to something.
"John. Hurry up. Dinner's ready." Sherlock called up the stairs. When John walked cautiously back down the stairs, not wearing his shirt, Sherlock looked rather disappointed. "Oh. Did you not like the shirt?"
"Sherlock. Yes it's a very nice shirt. Why did you buy me a shirt?"
"I thought you'd like it. People like getting gifts."
"Okay, where's the skull? I'm on to the pair of you. Yeah that's right. Thick John Watson has worked out what the genius and his head bone are up to."
"Mrs Hudson is skull-sitting for me. I thought we could have an evening alone?" Sherlock looked a bit hurt. By his standards he was trying to be considerate and seemed to be failing miserably. And Sherlock wasn't used to failure. "I got that special Chow- Mein you like."
John softened a little at the catch in Sherlock's voice as he said that. After all it did take two to tango.
"I do like the shirt. Do you want me to wear it now?" Sherlock nodded and John hurried upstairs to change. That food smelt good. And so did Sherlock.
So good in fact that half way through dinner, when John had noticed that Sherlock wasn't really eating anything, but instead was just staring at him, he decided to try a little experiment of his own.
"Don't you like the food? I just noticed you've only eaten half a spring roll and three noodles."
"No it's nice. Really. I'm just..."
"Transport?" John raised an eyebrow and slowly began to unbutton his shirt. Then with a concentration Sherlock would never have believed he possessed, John got a tub of Sweet and Sour sauce and poured it all over himself. Sherlock sat transfixed for a moment whilst the sticky sauce ran down John's chest and stomach and past his belt.
"Dinner is served Mr. Holmes."