At that moment, however, Sher didn't ignore Mycroft. In fact, she was following the hostess of this new restaurant straight towards the table where she knew he would be waiting. His face lightened when seeing her.
"Sher," he said, rising to her. "You came."
Sher was about to let a nasty comment slip out of her mouth. As she saw the hint of a smile on his lips she held herself. This was one of Mycroft's rare smiles - visible only if you knew where to search for it. She reminded to herself she should be nice, and smiled. "Yes." She said. "Shall we seat?"
Mycroft waited standing when she seated herself, not sitting until she sat comfortably in her chair. A waitress with dyed blonde hair have them menus, and Sher stopped herself from telling her she should learn to appreciate the hair she have. Mycroft seemed to notice her gaze.
"You used to be that way once, remember?" He asked. "Dying your hair."
"Yes, though I only added colors." Sher touched her wig absentmindedly. "I never changed the basis of it."
They sat silently until the waitress came back for their orders.
"May I order for you?" Mycroft asked her.
"Why?" She asked suspiciously.
"I wonder if I still know your likings well enough to order for you. Like we did when you were a child. You don't have to except what I'll say," he added, seeing her reaction. "I'd simply like to try."
Sher hesitated for a couple of seconds. "Fine." She finally said and Mycroft turned back to the irritated waitress.
"Cocktail shrimps for me," he said, "and the fish special dish for the lady."
"Anything else?" Asked the waitress.
"Two glasses of white wine, if you may." Replied Mycroft. "And one salad, no lettuce."
He looked at Sher for her approvement and she nodded, once.
From that moment on the conversation flowed. Mycroft and Sher had known each other since she was a child, since he was an acquainted of her mother. He was there for all the important matters, school graduations and birthdays, like today. He was a replacement to the father she had never met, and his love for her was true. All was perfect between them until she got ill.
The conversation somehow managed to ignore the cancer related subjects for most of the dinner. An impressive matter, considering it to be partly the reason for this dinner.
At desert, they couldn't ignore it any longer.
"To your birthday." Mycroft said, lifting his glass for a toast.
"To a reborn relationship." Sher added, lifting her own glass.
"And more important than all," Mycroft said, "to being cancer free, at last."
Sher's smile stayed on her face, but it no longer reached her eyes. Mycroft noticed.
"I should have never said..." he started, but Sher interrupted.
"No," she said. "It's for the best you said it. We couldn't ignore it forever, can we?"
"Sher." There was a look in his eyes ordering her to let the subject go as he did when she was a child. She could hear her mind screaming to let the subject go. But she could listen to neither.
"Here's a toast," she said peacefully, "for Mycroft Holmes. The man who just happened to be there when I needed a bone narrow donation, and who happens to be a match, despite the fact we're not family related. Tell me," she looked at him, "did you honestly expected me to believe that?"
"Sher," She could hear the order in his voice, breaking into a plea as she talked. But she couldn't let it go.
"A toast to the man who saved my life, by being against all odds and a perfect match, who knew me since childhood, yet never told me how he met my mother." She continued, ignoring him. "A toast to the man who, despite all that sense indicates, continues claiming not to be my father." Her voice cracked and she looked at him, finally ready to hear what he had to say, but he wasn't focused on her.
His eyes were fixated on someone behind her, and she turned to see nothing but a couple being seated.
"I must go." He said. "They will bill the dinner on me." He stood, nodded at her and left.
He always does that. Sher was not surprised, for she was used to these sudden departures of his. But this time, she couldn't help but feeling it was her fault.
She left the restaurant, heavy hearted. Passing on her way by the table where the couple sat, she couldn't but overhear a fragile of what the husband was telling his wife.
"He simply couldn't let it go, Mary. He's determined something is going on. And he won't rest until he figures it out."