A/N: I hope everyone is enjoying this fluffy little fic! I'm thinking about going beyond the proposal to write the wedding as well... How does everyone feel about that? As always, thank you so much to all of my readers/followers/reviewers! You guys are great. 3

I do not own anything Sherlock, BBC, or Arthur Conan Doyle related.

Forty minutes later found John Watson sliding into a cab, a bit late, admittedly, but now merrily on his way to have dinner with Sherlock. He had perhaps taken a bit too long to change and freshen up his deodorant and cologne, but really, he and Sherlock never went out much and this was special. Well, to John it was special, to Sherlock it was probably just the fact that he had finally gotten hungry and Angelo's was one of his favorite places to eat, especially since it was always free of charge. A sudden alert tone made the doctor frown, pulling the phone out of his jacket pocket to read the incoming text.

'On your way? -SH'

John blinked, suddenly feeling very stupid. Sherlock had never said that this dinner was not for a case, he had merely told him to come to Angelo's. Chewing his lip with the last of his hope, he tapped out a response.

'In a hurry? -JW'

A nearly immediate reply; Sherlock must have been watching his phone intently.

'Yes, actually. -SH'

Letting out a deep sigh, John shook his head, putting his phone back into his pocket without replying. He really should have known that Sherlock would be stalking some criminal or meeting with a client. The detective was never really much of a romantic, even now that they were together. Sherlock struggled to make himself do simple actions of affection that John found himself doing very naturally. The dark-headed man rarely said 'I love you' first or offered to cuddle with John on the couch, and he especially had a hard time initiating sex with the doctor.

While John understood that Sherlock was a lot like an awkward teenage boy, he really wished the brilliant man would realize how much John loved him and that showing him affection was very welcome at any time. John had thought, for a few fleeting moments, that his boyfriend had finally just asked him to dinner to spend time with him. Huffing at himself, he crossed his arms across his stomach, allowing himself some time to pout before Sherlock saw him. It did no good to chastise Sherlock, because most of the time he honestly had no idea that he had done anything to hurt John's feelings in the first place. Best to pout now and get it over with.

Meanwhile, Angelo was sincerely considering killing Sherlock, or at least knocking the psychopath out and hiding him in the basement for a while. The detective had progressively become more and more nervous, and therefore more annoying in his actions. Sherlock had started tapping his fingers, then firing questions at the Italian about all sorts of things, then pacing, and now the man had begun shouting. First Sherlock had been shouting at his phone, noting that John was late, and now he was just pacing about the restaurant ranting about how he didn't know how to propose properly and how he wasn't good at this romance thing and now John had made him much more nervous than was really needed.

"Sherlock, mate. I understand that you're nervous, but stuff it, will ya?"

The Italian man raised his eyebrows, staring at Sherlock as he jerked to a halt, opened his mouth to retort, then closed it.

"But he's late."

The detective sighed, leaning up against the doorway and forcing himself to relax a little. If John said no, it would merely be the end of his world, not John's. Sherlock could deal with his own unhappiness, but to see John unhappy would be intolerable; thus, he sincerely hoped that the doctor would say yes. Outside, a car door slammed, and Sherlock jerked to stand straight up, running a nervous hand over the small box in his pocket. Peering around the kitchen corner, Angelo grinned widely, walking toward the door.

"John is here, Sherlock."