"On to more important things! Let's go have dinner at Angelos, it's been a while since we stopped in"
John had nothing better to do except think about The Hobbit. Or Sherlock sans clothing. Neither of which seemed to be getting him anywhere- so he popped out of his chair and shambled over to get his coat while Sherlock muttered something and dashed into his room before rejoining John on the stairs. Outside Sherlock flagged a cab and off they went. Sherlock wasn't one for idle chatter, and John had nothing idle to chatter about anyway, so it was a pleasantly quiet cab ride.
Once they arrived, John witnessed a miracle! Sherlock paid the cabbie… he actually dug out his wallet and paid the cabbie before ducking out and onto the sidewalk. John, bewildered, thanked the cabbie and got out to stand with Sherlock. The lanky detective was already on the move inside, where Angelo greeted them, "Ahh, my favorite couple! Out for a night on the town eh? Can't blame you, it's a lovely evening…" he chattered on as he led them to the small table near the window they always ended up sitting at. He lit the candle and promised wine and hurried away. John wondered when he had stopped trying to correct Angelo's misconception that he and Sherlock were a couple. Well, they were a couple of blokes. A couple of friends. Perhaps 'couple' wasn't the wrong word to be using after all.
"John, your lost in your thoughts again. I'd appreciate it if you could snap out of them and join me here to look at the menu" Sherlock quipped.
"I don't need the menu, Sherlock, we come here enough that I know what I'm having" John shot back. That'll teach him to think John wasn't aware of what was going on around him.
"But you have to pick what I'm eating as well, you know more about food and what I'll like" Sherlock replied, the hint of a grin on his face.
"what? You mean…your actually going to eat this time? " John felt so confused, what was going on with his friend?
"Honestly, why do you ask the most pointless questions. It is dinner time, I suggested Angelos, and I am looking at the menu. That should indicate that I am interested in consuming food, yes?" Sherlock whined at him.
"Bloody hell…. Alright, well just HOW hungry are you? A full entrée? Or a mere appetizer will do?" said John.
"Anything will do, I am in need of sustenance" Sherlock blandly responded.
"Bugger… well, I'm having the ravioli so I'll order you something else and we can share if we want what the other is having." John reasoned, thinking he did feel like having some chicken parmesan as well, and knowing Sherlock he would only pick at it and eat a few bites before saying he had overeaten.
"Fine fine…" Sherlock waved his hand at John and put the menu over, then signaled to Angelo they were ready to order.
"The usual?" Angelo queried to John.
"Yes for me, and Sherlock will have the chicken parmesan today" John replied with a smile, and Angelo appeared taken aback.
"Oh he will? Very well, excellent choices I will go and put them in right away and bring back your wine" Angelo headed off to the kitchens. He returned with a nice bottle of red and poured them both a glass and left again.
"So, Sherlock, care to indulge me? What is going on with you tonight?" John pressed, wondering if something was wrong with his dear detective.
"What can you mean, John? I told you everything that was going on, I solved the case, spent the afternoon telling Lestrade everything he and his deplorable squad missed, and came home to my wonderful blogger who did not feel the urge to praise me about my brilliant deductions. Most upsetting, John, I thought you would enjoy hearing about my brilliance."
Wonderfully, their food arrived in the midst of Sherlock's tale, and John was glad to be spared a response in favor of stuffing his face with ravioli. Midway through his third bite, he felt eyes on him and looked up to see his delectable (odd word choice…) detective watching him intently. John quirked an eyebrow, but felt no urge to engage in conversation with Sherlock when there was good food to be eaten, and continued to eat. He noticed that Sherlock hadn't touched his chicken yet. Perhaps he didn't know his detective as well as he thought. Did he like chicken? John was pretty sure he did. In fact, John was pretty certain Sherlock never registered taste as important when eating. Blasted man had probably destroyed his taste buds in some experiment gone wrong in his youth.
However, 5 minutes later John still felt Sherlock eyeing him. So he decided to steal a piece of Sherlock's chicken before bothering to ask what was bothering his genius. Sherlock's chicken tasted delicious. John would consider ordering it for himself next time. By now Sherlock had been staring at him a full 10 minutes, John figured he might as well bite the bullet and ask what was going on inside Sherlock's head.
"Ok, spit it out already- what are you thinking?" John said. He figured direct would be best, but Sherlock always found a way around telling him something directly.
" I'm thinking many things, John" Sherlock replied. John had the distinct impression he was being toyed with. Good thing he was full of delicious food and had some tasty wine to wash it down with. His mood couldn't suffer under the withering stare of one Sherlock Holmes.
" Oh good, glad to see your mind is still up to speed on things" John remarked, and decided he didn't much care what was on Sherlock's mind. He was more interested in finishing his wine and anticipating what to expect at the cinema later. Perhaps he would just go alone since he wasn't at all sure Sherlock would be the best person to take. He might spend the whole time deducing things about the other moviegoers or investigating how many people had shagged in the darkened theater in the past week. John shuddered at that, there were things that were better left alone.
Sherlock's eyes narrowed at John, he wasn't used to John giving up so easily on his questioning. Something was definitely off with his blogger. Sherlock knew John had gotten tickets to The Hobbit, Sherlock understood John loved the story- he had swiped an old, battered copy from among John's possessions when he first moved in with Sherlock, because Sherlock could see from the worn spine and well-read pages, that it was important to John. Sherlock figured he could learn something about the kind of person John was from reading the book. Also, he hadn't read fiction in such a long time, since grade school really, and thought it might be a good laugh. What Sherlock didn't expect was to fall in love with the story, and wonder about those poor people and creatures of Middle Earth. Whoever Tolkien was, he had certainly created something amazing. Sherlock was almost envious (being not much into emotions, he couldn't be completely envious) all Sherlock ever managed to do was destroy or disassemble stories, cover-ups, and ruses.
Now, as he looked at John, he desperately wanted to go see The Hobbit with him that night, but would John want Sherlock there? Would he invite him? Or did he have some ridiculous date planned, some woman with sub-par intelligence and no wit who would just want to talk during the movie or leave early to go somewhere else. But, Sherlock couldn't find it in himself to outright tell John he had fallen in love with the story. Also, he wouldn't mind spending time just sitting near John in the dark theater and hearing and seeing John's reactions to the story unfolding. He had grown to love the smell of John, his John – a mix of clean aftershave, toothpaste, and a warm smell that Sherlock hadn't catalogued yet, but knew he infinitely enjoyed. Like a cat with catnip. It was Sherlock's new drug. His favorite drug. Therefore, he took every chance to be near John and attempt to smell him.
John would never realize that Sherlock wanted to go with him, so Sherlock had grabbed John's copy of The Hobbit from its new home in Sherlock's room, and brought it along to give back to John as an unspoken admittance of his theft as well as to introduce the topic of the story and movie plans for that night. He reached into his pocket and pulled the book out- and placed it on the table in front of John, then sat back to watch John's mind work things out. Another of his favorite things to do around John.
John, for his part, was fairly astonished. Of all the things he thought Sherlock would have in a coat pocket, a copy of The Hobbit wasn't one of those things. Not by a long shot. And, hang on….that very much looked like HIS copy of The Hobbit. Well, that bastard. John had wondered where his copy had got to, thought he had lost it when he moved.
"Sherlock…." John started, "why did you take my book, and keep it for so long?"