John was nervous. He'd been at Angelo's for ten minutes now, wringing his hands and checking his phone every 20 seconds.
He had planned everything to the last second.
Right before he left, he hastily stuck a note on their door telling Sherlock to meet him here.
Sherlock Holmes,
At 7:00
Come to where all our adventures end.
John didn't have a doubt that Sherlock would know he was referring to Angelo's, but it was 7:10 and he still wasn't here. John was getting worried.
A familiar figure walked up to the glass door, and John stopped his pacing.
Sherlock stepped in, a gust of warmth greeting him. His cheeks were pink from the brutal wind and inky curls messy. John inhaled sharply and stepped forward hesitantly.
"A bit too dramatic?" Sherlock asked, looking down at his new coat.
John looked at the propped up collar framing Sherlock's face and the flare of the Belstaff coat and smiled, his heart stuttering. Was it possible for Sherlock to get more beautiful?
"It's perfect on you," John replied.
"Thanks." Sherlock looked away. John couldn't tell if his cheeks were still pink from the cold or from the compliment.
"It's a birthday present from my father, I suppose he felt guilty for not being able to pick me up on the weekends." Sherlock's gaze fell on John. "Though I prefer it."
John did too. There were restrictions on what they could do on the weekdays, but on the weekends the possibilities were endless. It wasn't just working on the latest case Sherlock found fascinating; their shared love for London led to ridiculous, amazing adventures across the city.
John cleared his throat. "Well, this is my birthday present to you."
Sherlock's was quiet for a few moments as he stared at John, and John knew Sherlock was trying to read him.
"Of course I deduced you were planning a surprise. "
John nodded, expecting this.
"Unfortunately I haven't figured out what it is," Sherlock continued.
John grinned. "Good."
"I don't like surprises." Sherlock frowned.
"You'll like this one." John sat down in the booth and gestured for Sherlock to do the same. "So here's the plan. We're going to have coffee here so that I don't accidentally fall asleep on you tonight, and then we're going to eat something, No I don't care that you're not hungry, it's been a day since you ate anything substantial. Afterwards," John waved his arms dramatically, "the best birthday present in the history of birthday presents."
John watched Sherlock drink his cappuccino and suddenly a question was burning on his mind.
"What are your parents like?"
Sherlock looked slightly surprised.
"You don't have to answer," John said quickly. "I was just wondering, since never really talk about them."
"Well, my mother was something of a genius mathematician," Sherlock started.
John felt that the was meant something.
"No, nothing quite so tragic," Sherlock admonished, and John suspected that he really could read minds. "She's alive and perfectly well."
"When she married my father and had Mycroft and I, she gave up on her studies so he could raise us. If she hadn't stopped, I'm sure he could've won the Nobel prize for math."
John wasn't really surprised.
"My father is an English teacher at a high school, so he's busy most of the time."
"And they're both dreadfully normal. I can't stand staying at home for more than a couple days." Sherlock finished.
John's eyebrows rose. "Really?"
Sherlock smiled wryly. "You wouldn't think so, looking at me."
"No, no' John shook his head, "well, you are quite extraordinary."
John could see the smile Sherlock was trying to hide in his cappuccino.
John took a bite of his lasagna and let out a moan, it was heavenly, the mozzarella practically melted on his tongue. He looked up and saw Sherlock twirling strands of linguini onto his fork and staring at John with amusement.
"Shut up," John said, blushing, "it's amazing."
Sherlock nodded. "You chose a good place."
"I wasn't sure if you liked Italian," John admitted, "I was a bit worried."
"It's my favorite."
John mentally added that to the list of things Sherlock likes and dislikes, and realized that the lists only consisted of three things. There was so much John didn't know about his best friend.
"What's your favorite color?"
Sherlock blinked. "Why?"
"I want to get to know you better, you've got every detail of me memorized."
Sherlock snorted, "Please, you know me better than anyone else on this planet."
John would be lying if he said that didn't cause a little burst of warmth in his chest, but he insisted, "tell me anyways."
"Catalina Blue."
"Like the color of your eyes," John said without thinking.
Sherlock looked surprised, and John instantly blushed when he realized what he said.
"Not, not that I've noticed what color your eyes are." John cringed, he should really stop talking now.
"It's fine," Sherlock smiled. "I've been told it's my most striking feature."
"By who?" John asked.
Sherlock's grin grew. "You."