The first one arrived exactly a month after their first "official" date. A bundle of hand-made spaghetti, tied with a red ribbon, complete with a small index card with a recipe for Angelo's famous bolognese sauce.
"Sherlock, you seen this?" John held the package up, perplexed. Sherlock snatched the card with his long, thin fingers.
"That's just Angelo's way of wishing us luck. He seems to have taken a shining to the fact that we finally realised we were being twits - his words, not mine, and chose his humble establishment as the venue." Sherlock shrugged, but there was a hint of a smile playing around his lips.
John nodded. "Alright then, I'll call him and thank him later."
The second one came exactly a month after that - fresh herbs this time. Rosemary, tarragon, oregano. The smell was overwhelmingly delicious, and even Sherlock's appetite was whetted.
The third, and by now the pattern was more than obvious, was a dozen long narrow breads, dotted with cheese. John couldn't help but notice the ends were curved in a distinctive t-shape, clearly reminiscent of the cane he'd left at Angelo's that first fateful night. He chuckled. It was all starting to get a bit silly, but he meant well, and eventually, the housebreaker-turned-restaurateur would run out of things to turn into bouquets.