THE ADVENTURES OF A CONSULTING TIME LORD

by Soledad

Episode 03 – A Study in Pink

Disclaimer: Both Dr. Who and Sherlock belong to the BBC. I'm just borrowing them to have some fun. However, there are a few lines of dialogue borrowed from the unaired pilot, which belong exclusively to Steven Moffat, may his muse never abandon him.

Author's note: I use the pilot version of Angelo's – the warm, old-fashioned, cosy brown-and-gold one – as well as the pilot version of Angelo, simply because I like them better than in the final version. Since this is an AU anyway, I took the poetic licence. Deal with it. ;)


Part 49 – Everything Else Is Transport

The place was interesting, to say the least. Rather old-fashioned, too, with the huge, ochre-framed windows that went all the way to the floor, consisting of eighteen small, quadratic glass planes set in an olive green grid. The doorframe was olive green, too, and so was the menu card placed between the two windows, as log as they were tall. John briefly wondered if it was a lot of bother to change the card – and if yet, who was the unlucky wretch to do it – or the menu remained the same all the time. The card certainly looked old enough.

Sherlock swept in before him and John followed obediently. The inside of Angelo's was every bit as warm and cosy as it appeared from the outside: with small, round tables and wide-backed, comfortable chairs, nicely carved of dark, polished wood, glassed wooden cabinets between the windows, displaying the wine selection, and an aged mantelpiece with a globe and some kind of bust on it.

Sherlock led him directly into the corner next to the window, where there still was a table for two free. It also offered an excellent view at Northumberland Terrace, which was probably the reason for his choice. John didn't really care. He was hungry, and the smells coming from the kitchen area spoke of a place where excellent food was served.

The restaurant was almost full, couples sitting at nearly every other table, with red candles burning between them, stuck on empty wine bottles. The polished bronze candelabra hanging overhead provided a muted, yellow light that added to the cosy atmosphere. John imagined coming here with a date later… when he'd be able to afford it. To be honest, he had his doubts about the current evening, too.

"Twenty-two Northumberland Terrace," Sherlock said crisply, not noticing (or not caring for) John's mild anxiety. "Keep your eyes at it."

"I thought you'd be keeping your eyes at it," John said, just a tad annoyed, and hung his cane on the back of his chair.

"I am," Sherlock replied, staring over John's shoulder.

John followed his look doubtfully and saw a mirror hanging on the wall behind him, allowing Sherlock to see the road behind him out of the window.

"He isn't just gonna ring the doorbell, though, is he?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No, of course not. But he will pass by; might even loiter."

"Half of London is passing by," John pointed out logically.

"I'll recognise him," Sherlock murmured in an almost dreamy manner.

"Do you know who he is?" John asked, a bit shocked.

Sherlock smiled. "I know what he is."

At this moment the manager – or owner – of the restaurant, a big, balding man with a thin moustache, small, very dark eyes and a white cloth bound before him apron-like, came over, clearly pleased to see Sherlock.

"Sherlock!" he exclaimed in a heavy Italian accent, clapping him on the shoulder and laying a couple of menus on the table.

"Angelo," Sherlock replied, enduring the demonstration of the other man's fondness with some effort.

"Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free," the man announced, laying the table. He put a finger to his lips secretively. "On the house, for you and for your date."

John flinched by the assumption that he'd be Sherlock's date. Sherlock himself, however, seemed completely unfazed by it. "Do you want to eat?" he asked.

"I'm not his date," John told Angelo… and was ignored.

"Anything you choose, I'll cook it for you myself," Angelo promised, which was probably the highest regard he could show for any customer.

Sherlock nodded. "Thank you, Angelo."

"Ohhh! Ooh, this man!" Angelo wrapped an arm around Sherlock's, hugging both his shoulders, much to John's secret amusement. In his opinion Sherlock deserved to be embarrassed from time to time, too, the great git.

Angelo then looked around to make sure nobody could hear before looking at John. "This man got me off a murder charge," he added.

"This is Angelo," Sherlock explained with a somewhat… pained expression. "Three years ago I successfully proved to Inspector Lestrade that at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder Angelo was in a completely different part of town, car-jacking."

"He cleared my name," Angelo beamed at John.

"I cleared it a bit," Sherlock corrected with a grimace. "Anything happening opposite?"

Angelo shook his head. "Nothing," he beamed at John again. "But for this man, I'd have gone to prison."

"You did go to prison," Sherlock reminded him dryly.

For a moment, Angelo seemed at a loss of words, then he winked at John. "I'll get a candle for the table. It's more romantic, huh?"

"I'm not his date!" John spluttered indignantly as Angelo walked put two menus down on the table, smiling widely before walking away.

Sherlock set menu down onto the table. "You may as well eat. We might have a long wait."

John looked up from the menu he was studying. "You don't eat anything?"

"Why, what day is it?" Sherlock asked back.

John gave him a bewildered look. "It's Wednesday."

"Then I'm okay for a bit," Sherlock said as if it had been the most logical answer possible. Perhaps for him it was, but John was shocked.

"You haven't eaten all day? For God's sake, you need to eat!"

"No," Sherlock interrupted impatiently "you need to eat. I need to think. The brain is what counts; everything else is just transport."

John looked up at him again doubtfully. "You might consider refuelling it…" after a short pause, he added, in an awkward effort to make small talk. "So, you have a girlfriend who feeds you up sometimes?"

"Is that what girlfriends do?" Sherlock asked in obvious amusement. "Feed you up?"

"You don't have a girlfriend, then?" John clarified.

Sherlock was looking out of the window again. "Girlfriend? No, not really my area."

A moment passed before John realised the possible significance of this statement. "Oh, right. Do you have a boyfriend?" Sherlock looked round at him sharply. "Which is fine, by the way," John added in a hurry. He most certainly wasn't homophobic, on the contrary. He'd accepted Harry's orientation from the beginning, unlike their parents.

"I know it's fine," Sherlock replied, his annoyance with the entire topic apparent. Or could there be another reason?

John smiled to indicate that he wasn't signifying anything negative by what he said. "So you've got a boyfriend then?"

"No," Sherlock said blandly.

John was still smiling, but his smile had become a little strained. It wasn't easy to keep up a casual conversation with the man, so much was certain. "Right. Okay. You're unattached. Like me." He was rapidly running out of things to say. "Fine." He cleared his throat. "Good."

For a moment, Sherlock appeared genuinely taken aback. "John, um..." he began somewhat awkwardly, "I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any..."

"No," John interrupted, turning his head briefly to the side and cleared his throat, trying desperately not to laugh at Sherlock's badly-veiled panic. "No, I'm not asking you out. No. I'm just saying, it's all fine. Whatever… er… shakes your boat," he didn't dare to look at the other man, "it's fine with me."

"Good," Sherlock stared out of the window, watching a cab pass by.

John hid behind his menu in a desperate effort to remain calm. "So, you don't… er… do anything?"

Sherlock turned to him, glaring at him intently. "Everything. Else. Is. Transport." He replied, emphasizing each word.

The effort of his glare was ruined completely when Angelo came back with an empty wine bottle and a red candle stuck upon it. He put it onto the table, lit the candle and gave John a thumbs-up before turning and walking away again.

~TBC~