"We're going out tonight," Sherlock informed Scarlett as she placed her hair into a high ponytail on her head whilst looking into the mirror as she raised a brow and kept her gaze from Sherlock who was sat up in bed, his eyes shut as he fiddled with a nicotine patch on his arm.
"Oh are we?" she asked and Sherlock nodded;
"Yes," he stated. "So try not to be late home from work."
"And I get no say in this?" Scarlett wondered, leaning further into the mirror and checking her foundation was applied correctly.
"No," Sherlock replied. "Even though I am still mad at you for breaking my violin I am treating you."
"Don't start Sherlock," Scarlett said through gritted teeth, her eyes narrowing as she turned around and pulled her blouse down, straightening her black tube skirt and slipping her heels onto her feet. "I bought you a new one...I could have just let you go without."
"Or you could have smashed something else," he muttered and Scarlett said nothing, reaching for her blazer before looking back to Sherlock;
"For the sake of not staying here and murdering you," she began, "I'm going to go to work early."
"You wouldn't have the guts to kill me," Sherlock snorted. "You could barely handle using a gun for practice."
"Don't test me Sherlock," she said and once again turned to check her final appearance in the mirror;
"Where are we going tonight anyway?" she wondered and Sherlock smiled lightly;
"You'll see," he said. "Don't be late."
"I won't," she replied quickly and grabbed her bag from his chair in the room and with one wave of her hand she left Sherlock in bed.
...
"Not the right one...strings aren't thick enough...handle is too small..." Sherlock murmured under his breath as he looked onto his new violin, sitting in the armchair he so often occupied as John walked from the kitchen and sat down opposite him after just coming back from doing the food shopping.
"What are you moaning about?" John yawned and Sherlock began to allow a scratchy tune come from the violin causing John to place his hands over his ears, fearing for his hearing until Sherlock dropped the violin onto his lap, playing with the bow.
"It's not the same," Sherlock replied. "The notes I played were far too high...it sounded monstrous..."
"To be fair," John replied, "you normally sound quite crap."
"Don't push me John," Sherlock replied. "It's bad enough she broke it and thinks she has the right to be in a mood with me...I mean really..."
"Yes," John mockingly agreed with him. "Terrible of the girl to panic and hit him over the head with the nearest thing she saw, resulting in saving your life. If I was you, I would split up from her."
"Humph," Sherlock grunted. "She'd miss me too much."
"And you'd miss her," John pointed out.
"What? Her mood swings? Ridiculous taste in music? Arguing? Not to mention she takes up nearly half her lifetime stood in front of the mirror," Sherlock responded.
"And when have you ever checked your reflection in the mirror?" John asked Sherlock.
"Not the point," he replied. "And you're by yourself tonight. I'm taking her out for a meal."
"I thought she was mad with you and you with her?" John wondered.
"And that means I can't take her out, does it?" Sherlock wondered and John shook his head;
"No...well...normally couples don't go out when arguing and all that...but you two are the weirdest couple I know," John informed Sherlock.
"Thank you," Sherlock said.
"Not sure if it was a compliment," John muttered. "Where are you taking her?"
"The new Italian which opened recently," Sherlock drawled and John nodded;
"Sounds nice," and then the clogs in his brain began to turn and he simply shook his head. "Where there was a murder? It was in the paper the other night?"
"Was it?" Sherlock feigned innocence. "How convenient."
And before John could even say anything else on the topic Sherlock began to play his violin again.
...
"I thought I told you not to be late," Sherlock informed Scarlett when she rushed from the bathroom and grabbed onto her clutch bag and began rooting through it.
"The city is covered in snow Sherlock," she informed him. "Traffic came to a standstill...I had to get out and run home in my wellies."
"I hope you're not going to be wearing them tonight," Sherlock wrinkled his nose as he simply sat and watched her search the wardrobe for shoes. "Because I am taking you to a rather classy place."
"Is this some form of apology for last night?" Scarlett wondered and placed her grey blazer onto her shoulders, covering her bare shoulders as she wore her strapless purple dress and placed her flat pumps onto her feet.
"No," Sherlock said and stood up, picking his wallet up from his bedside table. "I have nothing to apologise for."
...
"I should have worn my wellies," Scarlett said when her and Sherlock sat down in a small booth in the new Italian, Sherlock began to remove his coat and Scarlett did the same as they allowed a small gap between them in the doughnut shaped ring they were sat in. Sherlock simply grunted in agreement with her and looked around the restaurant in search of anything which could give the murderer away, for he knew it had to be a member of staff.
"You'd have looked a bit daft," Sherlock told her. "Especially with that dress...I haven't seen you wear it before."
"I only bought it the other week," she said, pulling it up slightly and Sherlock looked quickly at her in it, his eyes going up and down and he nodded;
"It suits your frame," he said and went back to looking around.
"Oh," Scarlett said. "I just liked it."
"Well you like the entire Topshop website so that's not a surprise," Sherlock mumbled and Scarlett shrugged.
"Just because I added most of it to my favourites folder on my laptop...wait a minute...you've been on my laptop?" she asked him and he managed to look at her questioning glance and simply shrugged;
"John took his to Sarah's and mine was in the bedroom," he said. "Yours was close."
"I changed the password," Scarlett said.
"Yes you did and that wasn't difficult to figure out either," Sherlock responded. "And your history is just full of clothes...it's ridiculous."
"Are we ready to order?" a chirpy voice asked and Sherlock looked up at the man who was stood away from the booth;
"Yes," Sherlock said. "An orange juice for her and a lemonade for me...and then for the main we'll share a twelve inch pepperoni pizza...oh and a ten inch garlic bread too."
With a nod at the waiter he realised he was dismissed and Sherlock took him out of the equation of being a murderer.
"I might have wanted a coke," Scarlett whispered and Sherlock shook his head;
"You only have that for a caffeine rush," he told her, "never anywhere else...now tell me," he leaned closer to her, his mouth next to her ear, "who looks capable of murder here?"
"What?" Scarlett turned around to look him in the eye as her voice went high pitched.
"Keep it down...a waiter in here is a murderer...I just need to figure out which one," Sherlock said, sitting back as their drinks came and lacing his fingers together as Scarlett sat back and folded her arms, scowling.
"What?" Sherlock asked her.
"We're here to solve a case," she hissed. "I thought you were trying to be normal."
"I quit with that the first week into whatever we are," Sherlock waved off. "So go on...I think it's him walking out...he looks nervous...sweaty palms...sweating like mad on his face and he's not in the kitchen...and now he spilt the drink... how obvious"
"I read about this," Scarlett said with a shrug, "they said that it wasn't the restaurant who did this to that man who died here...he went somewhere else because he said the food wasn't right here...they thought it was there...we tried to take the famiy's case on but no such luck."
"And do you know why he complained the food wasn't right?" Sherlock asked her and she shook her head;
"But you do," she stated and he smirked at her;
"Of course," he replied, "the food here was poisoned and he picked up on it...it was automatically thrown away so it couldn't be tested. Then when you read into it the waiter over there knew the man. He worked for him many years ago...what with the dead man being a successful business man I'm sure he turned a lot of people over to get where he was. Clearly the waiter was one of them...he knew the man had made a reservation and so he set his plan into action."
"That..." Scarlett stammered a little, "was enlightening."
"Of course it was," Sherlock drawled, playing on his mobile and texting Lestrade of what he had deduced.
"Lestrade should be here soon," he informed her. "That wasn't as long as I thought...the criminal class really need to get their act together."
"I don't know if I want to eat here," Scarlett said suddenly and Sherlock looked at her with a raised a brow;
"And why not?"
"A man was poisoned Sherlock," Scarlett replied. "I don't...it doesn't feel right..."
"I'm sure we'll be fine," Sherlock assured her but she shook her head;
"Please can we go?" she asked and Sherlock sighed;
"Fine," he agreed with her and they both began to stand up, moving to the door and passing Lestrade as he walked in;
"The waiter with the sweaty palms and forehead. He looks nervous and keeps running a hand through his blonde hair."
"Your evidence?" Lestrade asked Sherlock who quickly explained and then he and Scarlett took off into the night, walking in the snow.
"So where do you want to eat?" Sherlock asked her and she shrugged;
"Anywhere," she murmured, walking close by him so she didn't bump into people walking down the street and Sherlock simply rolled his eyes;
"You're still in a mood with me," he replied and she shook her head;
"No," she said. "Well...maybe a little...but not as much...I can't be bothered."
"You can't be bothered?"
"Arguing with you is just pointless," Scarlett shrugged. "I'll never win..."
"You're not the first to realise that," he told her with a slight smirk. "But I suppose...a simple thanks can be extended...you did manage to help me with the burglar," Sherlock managed to worm the words out and he offered her his arm and she took it, keeping close to him as the snow began to pour quickly again onto the couple as they wandered around London.