Sherlock's elation at the developments in the case was almost contagious. John found himself smiling fondly at his friend as he flicked through the file again.
"Money laundering," Sherlock murmured to himself, but John detected the barely supressed glee in his voice.
Rebecca raised an eyebrow at John, but he ignored it and turned to Sherlock instead. "Is money laundering more or less exciting than murder?"
"Oh definitely less, but it's still the best case we've had in weeks." Sherlock handed the file to John so that he could look through it himself.
"What's the name of the restaurant?" asked Lestrade, leaning forwards in his chair.
"The Harbour Light restaurant," replied Rebecca. "It's actually only about a five minute walk from your B&B."
Sherlock leant back in his seat, uncrossing and then re-crossing his legs. "We need to go to this restaurant and observe the people there; try and find out how and why they're laundering money."
Rebecca agreed, tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Unfortunately it doesn't open until 6 o'clock in the evening, but I'll phone up and book a table. What time is good for you?"
"How about 7?" Lestrade suggested. "That gives time for other people to already be there so it's not just us alone in a restaurant. We can probably get away with more investigating that way."
Sherlock nodded his approval. "We'll go under the premise that we're four friends meeting for dinner. I would recommend taking a gun though, just in case. If Dicello was killed because he was investigating the restaurant then it could be someone there who killed him." He stood up and John followed suit.
"Is there anything else we can do for you?" Lestrade inquired.
Rebecca shook her head, smiling pleasantly and trying to catch John's eye. Sherlock noticed that he deliberately avoided her gaze. Undeterred, she spoke, "No, thank you though. I've got a load of paperwork to sort through so you all might as well go off and have fun. I'll call you if anything else comes up."
They said their goodbyes and headed outside.
"What now?" John leant back against a wall and basked in the October sunshine. It was surprisingly warm given the onset of winter, and although there was a bit of a breeze, it was not as bitterly cold as it had been in previous years.
Sherlock wandered over to him and leant back against the wall beside him, fighting the urge to wrap an arm around his waist.
"Well we don't have anything else to do, so why don't we have a look around, maybe go over to Torquay or Brixham?" Lestrade offered, pulling his mobile out of his pocket to call a taxi.
"What's in either of those places?" John asked, sensing that it would probably fall to him to decide where they went and what they did.
"Torquay is more of a place for shopping and is likely to be much busier; Brixham is smaller and a fishing town, generally popular for its picturesque views," Sherlock replied, his eyes following the path of a passing by, no doubt deducing who the driver was and where they were going by the type of tyres and the style of driving.
John considered for a while. "Well, I don't particularly fancy going shopping, so why don't we head over to Brixham and grab a coffee then have a wander around?"
The other two men agreed, the taxi arrived about five minutes later, and then they were on the way to Brixham. Once again, Lestrade sat in the front passenger seat, leaving John and Sherlock in the back. Sherlock was fiddling with his phone; texting by the sound of it. Mycroft? John's phone buzzed: a message from Sherlock. Perhaps he wasn't texting his older brother, then.
What were you thinking about this morning? I need to know.
John risked a glance at him; his face was expressionless, staring straight ahead, the fingers on his right hand tapping out an unknown rhythm on his right knee.
Nothing gets past you, does it? Honestly, I was thinking about you.
No point in lying to him, John thought. He'd know that his words weren't the truth in seconds.
I figured as much. But why were you thinking of me? Did you notice Rebecca trying to make a pass at you earlier, or were you just pretending not to?
John took a moment to contemplate on his reply before composing it.
I did notice. I'm just not that interested. I…had a dream about you. I don't know, Sherlock, my mind's just been going off on one a bit recently.
Sherlock's reply was almost instant.
Mine too.
They both looked up at the same time, their eyes met and Sherlock reached across the rest his hand on John's leg. John flinched at first; he didn't expect the sudden contact, but he quickly adjusted and it strangely didn't feel odd or out of place at all. They smiled at each other.
The taxi driver dropped them off in the main car park in Brixham. Lestrade paid their fare and the three of them headed up to the main road, where Sherlock had spotted a coffee shop called The Bay Coffee Co. They languidly made their way through the door, and glanced around at their surroundings: the café was large and spacious, with a row of two-seater tables running up the left-hand side and the main counter to the right. Ahead of them were a few stairs, leading to more tables and four leather sofas. John ordered and paid for their drinks whilst Sherlock and Lestrade occupied two of the sofas opposite each other. John joined them, sitting down beside Sherlock on the red sofa, facing towards the front of the café. Lestrade relaxed opposite them, picking up one of the many newspapers on the table between them. Sherlock inched closer to John as the man behind the counter brought their drinks over.
"Sherlock, I think we need to have a chat later," John muttered, taking a sip of his coffee.
Sherlock threw an anxious look at Lestrade, who was thankfully immersed in his newspaper. "You're probably right."
They drank their coffees in a pleasant silence, listening to the background music playing in the café and the low hum of other people talking. After a while, Sherlock leant over to John and said in a low voice, "What can you tell me about that couple over there?" He indicated a young couple sat across from them. The girl leant back in her chair with her arms folded across her chest, and the boy had his palms facing upwards on the table between them.
"Well they're obviously a couple…" John began. "Although the girl has her arms as a barrier between them which suggests that she's either trying to defend himself or block him out. Judging by her expression, she isn't very happy." He had become quite good at reading people's body language by now, and Sherlock frequently tested him on it. "The boy is leaning forward, indicating that he wants to be close to her. His hands are facing upwards so he's trying to express himself, or maybe he's hoping that she'll take hold of his hands… Either way, she's not having any of it."
"Good, good," Sherlock said approvingly. "Continue."
John spent a few seconds looking more closely at the unfolding scene in front of him. "They've both got drinks," he said, noticing the two steaming mugs on the table. "But she hasn't touched her; he bought it; he's trying to apologise, so he's obviously done something wrong…" He trailed off as he realised. "Oh, he cheated on her."
"Yes!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Absolutely spot on, well done John."
John felt a blush creeping into his cheeks the way it always did whenever Sherlock praised him.
"Are you two quite finished?" Lestrade was looking at them with a bemused expression on his face.
"Oh, yes," John responded to Lestrade's question. "Do you want to take a walk?"
They grabbed their coats and left the café, John still trying to calm his flushed cheeks, Sherlock still wanting to put his arm around John's waist, and Lestrade wondering once again what the exact definition of Sherlock and John's relationship was.