At seven minutes to seven, the doorbell chimed, and John carefully made his way to the door. He opened it, beaming as Mary stepped in.

"Oh." He looked her over, his eyes wide as they settled on her face. "You... look..." He took a deep breath. "Amazing. Wow."

Mary blushed and grinned. "You look rather nice yourself, John. That shirt... the color suits you."

John looked down at himself, then back at Mary. "It... Sherlock picked it out." He shrugged and gave her a sheepish smile. "He's amazingly resourceful on colors. Not sure how but, well..." He trailed off as he heard the door to Mrs. Hudson's flat open.

"Oh, John, Mary, don't the two of you look a sight!" Mrs. Hudson clasped her hands together, delighted at the image of them in front of her. She strode over and gave Mary a careful hug. "It's lovely to see you outside of that dreadful hospital, Mary."

"You too, Mrs. Hudson. How's your hip?"

Mrs. Hudson gave her a half shrug. "Oh not getting any better, but not really getting any worse at the moment, so I suppose I can't complain." She grinned, turning to John and laying her palm against his cheek. "You take good care of this one, John Hamish."

"I'll do my best." John smiled at her. She nodded at them both.

"Good. You run along, I'd better go check on Sherlock. He's far too quiet right now..." She turned and scurried back to her flat.

"So." John turned to Mary again, staring at her in a kind of wonder. "Angelo's isn't far, maybe a five minute walk, if-"

The sound of a camera's shutter and the tremendously bright flash cut him off. He blinked furiously, trying to see anything. He turned to see Sherlock standing there, one of his many cameras in hand. He lowered it, looking at the screen and nodding before looking back up.

He was still covered in soot.

He smiled widely at Mary and John before turning and striding back into Mrs. Hudson's flat without saying a word.

John grimaced. "I... I swear, there's... a very good explanation for all... the... soot..." He gave Mary an apologetic look.

She stared at him in shock for a moment, then burst out laughing.

He stared at her for a moment, completely shocked by her reaction, then joined in.

"Oh, John, that... that was..."

"Yeah." John nodded. "He... well, he's Sherlock, so..."

Mary took several deep breaths, still grinning at him. "Alright. Dinner?"

John beamed. "Starving."

She linked her arm in his, he placed his other hand over hers where it sat on his arm, and they stepped out of 221B.

The evening air was pleasant, the sidewalks not terribly crowded, and John found the company to be perfect. He and Mary talked about minor, unimportant things - the weather, the coming rugby season - small talk. It was easy, so easy, to simply allow himself this one moment, this simple moment where he could pretend he was just some bloke out with a pretty girl, instead of John Watson, best-friend-cum-caretaker of one Sherlock Holmes. The freedom in that was astounding.

They arrived at Angelo's and Billy showed them to their table - the same one John and Sherlock had always shared. John pushed in Mary's chair for her, and thanked Billy.

"This is rather lovely." Mary was looking around at the cozy little restaurant. John smiled.

"Yeah, Sherlock, the day after we met, he... he was on a case, and we came here for a..." John ducked his head. "I'm sorry, you probably don't really want to hear about all that."

Mary looked at him across the table and tilted her head. "Actually... I've read your blog."

John looked up, surprised. "You... you've what now?"

Mary giggled. "Oh don't be so surprised." She licked her lips delicately. "You're rather good at writing up the cases. They're... fascinating."

John flushed and gave her a lopsided smile. "You... well, I... thank you. Sherlock hated them. Too much romanticism, he claimed."

"But that's what hooks people."

John nodded. "Well, try telling him that and he'll just say he doesn't understand why people aren't more interested in the facts." He shook his head. "He can be downright insufferable about that, really."

At that moment, Angelo made an appearance. "John! So good to see you, my friend!"

John stood up quickly and shook Angelo's hand. "Angelo, always a pleasure. This..." John held out his hand toward Mary. "...is Mary Morstan. Mary, this is-"

"Mary, Mary, such a lovely name, my dear!" Angelo took her hand and placed a gentle kiss on its backside. "I'm Angelo, and I am very happy to meet you. If there is anything you need - anything at all - you let Billy there know and he'll tell me straight away."

Mary beamed. "Thank you, Angelo. It's lovely to meet you."

Angelo patted her hand affectionately. "You've a good man, here. One of the best, I'd wager."

John grabbed his water glass and sipped it, trying to stop the heat coursing over every inch of his skin.

Mary looked over at him and smiled softly. "Yes, I'd have to say I agree."

John nearly choked on his water, which did absolutely nothing for what he was certain was, by now, a rather impressive blush covering his face.

"I'll get a candle for the table." Angelo let go of Mary's hand with one final kiss, then sauntered off.

"Sorry, he's..." John looked after Angelo with a fond but slightly exasperated expression. "He's Italian, or at least, that's the excuse he gave me once."

Mary nodded, still smiling, and picked up her menu. "So tell me, what would you recommend?"

A few minutes later, Angelo returned with their candle and fresh breadsticks, took their order, and kissed Mary's hand one more time before declaring that he would personally oversee the preparation of their dinner. John just nodded as often as possible, knowing it was best not to attempt to dissuade him.

Angelo clapped him on the shoulder, and John grit his teeth under the pressure and strain. "You take good care of her, John. She is not like anyone else."

John managed a brief smile. "I know. I will."

Then Angelo was off, calling to his cooks and attracting attention. John closed his eyes and let out a long breath.

"He... is something else, isn't he?"

John opened his eyes and looked at Mary, who was staring at him intently. "That is definitely one way of describing Angelo." He moved his shoulder a bit, feeling out the aches everywhere. "He's a decent bloke, though. Absolutely adores Sherlock, would do anything for him."

Mary picked up her water and took a sip. She nodded. "Sherlock seems to attract those sorts of people."

John frowned. "What... decent people?"

Mary grinned. "People who would do anything for him."

John looked down. "Oh." He sighed. "Yeah, he does."

"So do you, John."

John looked startled. "I... what? No... no, I... I just..." He closed his mouth and sat, considering everything as Mary waited for him to come to that conclusion. "Oh." He leaned back, letting his head touch the window behind him. "Oh, I... I never really..."

He felt Mary's fingers on his hand, and looked down at the table where their fingers touched. He turned his hand over and grasped hers.

"Mycroft - Sherlock's brother - he..." John closed his eyes again, certain he could not talk about this while looking at Mary. "He signed over... everything. Sherlock has a trust fund - of course he does, just look at him, he's too posh not to have one - and... Apparently, Mycroft... hired me, to take care of Sherlock. But he never said, he never..." John reflexively squeezed Mary's hand, and she squeezed back. "And I could just... I don't want his charity, I thought... I thought it was all coming from his pocket, and I was going to get a job and pay him back every damn penny he put out, and now I find out that really it was..."

John shook his head. "I didn't want that."

"Would you have accepted the position?"

John sighed, then shook his head. "No, I'd... I'd have railed against the idea of Mycroft Holmes handing me anything."

"Even though he wasn't really handing you money? You've earned it, haven't you? Taken care of Sherlock all this time?"

John groaned softly. "I... I really can't argue that."

"And had he asked, and you declined, do you think that you and Sherlock would have suffered for it?"

John opened his eyes. Mary was looking at him earnestly. He nodded slowly. "Yeah, we... we might have. Probably would have done."

"I'm not saying what he did was right, John."

"No, but..." John grimaced. "What he did, he did with thoughts of his brother's wellbeing. And I can't fault him there."

Mary nodded. "Financial security of any kind is not something most people would have, in your position."

John nodded. "I know. And... Christ, I sound like such an ungrateful tit. I am thankful for it, I really, truly am. And it's not like I haven't forgiven him for it. I know he wants the best for Sherlock, and for some reason he thinks that's me. I just... I..."

"You want control of your own life."

John shivered a little. "Exactly."

Mary squeezed his hand this time, and he squeezed back. Their dinner arrived moments later, and John wondered how he'd never been able to admit just exactly what had been bothering him until Mary walked into his life.