In the days following the 'incident' in the kitchen, things had grown to be quite awkward between Sherlock and John. Well, things had become awkward for John; Sherlock seemed completely unfazed by it and was acting as if nothing had happened. Each morning when John came down the stairs Sherlock was sitting on the sofa reading the paper and drinking tea. He never looked up from the paper, but occasionally gave a slight nod of the head to acknowledge John. Still, despite the fact that Sherlock was trying to act normal, they hadn't spoken to each other in days, except for the time John went grocery shopping and Sherlock asked him to buy some chocolates.

The next time John heard Sherlock's voice was about a week after the little scene in the kitchen. John had been sitting out in the living room. He had thought about writing something for his blog, but since he and Sherlock hadn't even been speaking in the past week, and Sherlock hadn't picked up another case, he had nothing interesting to write. He decided to watch some daytime television to keep his mind busy for a few hours or until he could figured out something else to do.

While John was channel surfing, he heard a door open somewhere in the flat. Seconds later Sherlock appeared beside him, fully dressed in a blue oxford shirt and black trousers. John pressed the mute button on the remote and looked up to Sherlock, who was fiddling with his sleeve and avoiding eye contact.

"Would you like to join me for lunch?" Sherlock asked, still not looking in John's direction. He was surprised by the offer, but glad it had been made. He was starting to miss hanging out with Sherlock. He found himself smiling and nodding his head before he realized Sherlock still wasn't looking at him. He cleared his throat and stood up.

"Yes. Sure I would." Sherlock glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, and the corners of his mouth turned upwards. He pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and nodded.

"Okay, good. You in the mood for Italian?"

"Sure."

John went upstairs to get his shoes, and when he came back downstairs Sherlock was wearing his coat and tying a scarf around his neck. It seemed he never left the flat without those two things. John grabbed a jacket from a nearby table and put it on, then followed Sherlock down the stairs and outside. Sherlock hailed a cab and soon the two were on their way to an unknown destination. Well, unknown to John. Sherlock had simply given the cabbie an address, then sat back in the seat and stared out the window.

While they rode in silence John glanced over at Sherlock ever so often, just to make sure he was still there. He felt the need to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming, and that Sherlock really was really sitting beside him, and not holed up in his bedroom like he had been since they got back from Fiji.

Once when John looked over at Sherlock he found that Sherlock had been looking at him as well. They both turned their heads and looked out their respective windows. They didn't speak. They didn't move. Suddenly John began to feel uncomfortable, and almost regretted getting into the cab with Sherlock. What in the world was he supposed to say? He wished he'd thought about it before now.

"So, um, where are we going?" He asked, trying to ease some of the awkward tension.

"A restaurant." John rolled his eyes.

"I know that," he said, exasperated. "I meant what restaurant."

"That's for me to know and for you to find out." John turned to look at Sherlock, who was smirking at him. John found himself smiling despite the agitation he felt about not knowing where he was headed. He and Sherlock shared a laugh, and Sherlock began talking about some ancient Italian legend he'd heard of years ago. Before they knew it, the cab had stopped and it was time to get out.

Their steps were in sync as they made their way to the entrance. The maître d' greeted Sherlock with a warm smile and a handshake. He led the two of them to a table in the back of the restaurant, and after chatting with Sherlock for a few moments left them alone. John picked up a menu, and, much to his surprise, so did Sherlock. John peered at him over the top of the laminated paper and watched his eyes as they scanned over the menu.

Sherlock must've felt eyes on him, as he looked up suddenly and caught John's gaze. He lowered the menu slightly and raised an eyebrow, as if he were asking 'what?'. John just shook his head and looked down again. After a few minutes he looked up again, and saw that Sherlock was still staring at him. It appeared he hadn't moved at all since John last laid his eyes on him. This time John was the one to raise an eyebrow, but Sherlock didn’t respond. He kept his eyes fixed on John, and John found himself unable to tear his gaze away from Sherlock's face. All of a sudden the scenes from the kitchen and the hotel room flooded John's mind and for some reason his mouth became incredibly dry. He glanced around the room, wondering where their waiter was.

John looked back to Sherlock, who was still staring at him after all this time. John's face became hot and he looked away again. He saw a young blonde woman wearing a white collar shirt and black skirt walking up to them with a smile on her face and a writing pad in her hand. She introduced herself as their waitress and took their drink orders. After both men ordered their drinks she turned and left, but not after giving Sherlock a once over, several times. John glared at her back while she walked away.

"Are you alright?" John heard Sherlock ask from across the table. He nodded his head, still glaring at the waitress while she visited another table. He tore his eyes away from her and looked down at the table. He heard a chuckle, and looked up to see Sherlock watching him with an amused smile.

"What, are you upset that she didn't 'check you out' instead of me?" Sherlock asked, holding up air quotes. John just glared at him before looking at the menu once more. He'd already decided what he wanted, but he needed a distraction from Sherlock.

The waitress returned with their drinks. John noticed how she leaned too far forward than she needed to when placing Sherlock's drink in front of him. John watched as she shamelessly flirted at Sherlock while taking his order, and smiled to himself when Sherlock completely disregarded her attempts to woo him. She didn't seem to mind, however, and continued to give Sherlock her full attention, batting her eyelashes and toying with her hair when she should've been writing down Sherlock's order. He'd had to repeat his order three times before she wrote it all down. When she turned to John to take his order he was glaring at her once again. She raised both her eyebrows before looking back and forth between John and Sherlock.

"Oh," she said, "I'm sorry." John frowned and stared at her, not understanding why she was apologizing.

"What?"

"I didn’t know you…" she trailed off as she looked at Sherlock, who was staring at John.

"What? No we're not…"

"No, no it's fine. I'm sorry." She quickly took John's order, then rushed off. John sighed and rested his chin in his hand, propping his elbow up on the table while he looked to Sherlock. The detective was staring past his head, not moving a muscle. John turned around to see what he was looking at, but there was nothing there but a wall. When he turned back to Sherlock, he was no longer looking at the wall, but at John. His expression was blank, but his eyes were a different story. It was almost as if each color found in his irises represented a different emotion.

"What were you looking at?" John asked him before taking a sip of his water. He had forgotten how dry his mouth was until then. He ended up drinking half of the glass in one gulp. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and looked away.

"Nothing."

"Oh, so you were just staring off into space then?"

Sherlock nodded, and the waitress returned with their food and placed it on the table, without saying a word to either of them. She gave them a small smile, then nodded and walked away. John picked up his fork and began eating the pasta that had been placed in front of him. Sherlock took one bite of his salad and put the fork down. He grabbed his cup of water and emptied it, then folded his hands in his lap and watched John as he ate.

"Were you thinking about something?" John asked, trying not to bring up the fact that Sherlock's appetite still hadn't seemed to improve. Sherlock nodded his head again, not breaking eye contact. John looked down at his food and began stabbing at a noodle with his fork. "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing." Sherlock quickly replied. John's eyes immediately flicked up to Sherlock, who was staring down at his lap. When Sherlock looked up again and saw the way John was staring at him, his eyes darted around the room before landing on his salad. He grabbed his fork and shoved some lettuce into his mouth. John sighed, then returned to eating.

He was about halfway finished with his meal when Sherlock's phone began ringing. Without checking to see who it was, Sherlock took the call.

"You've reached Sherlock Holmes." There was a brief pause while the person on the other line talked. "Can it wait?" Another pause. Sherlock's eyes briefly glanced in John's direction. "I’m…out with John. We're at a restaurant."

When Sherlock noticed John watching him he sighed and rolled his eyes. Then they both smiled, and John returned to eating. After a few minutes of bantering, Sherlock seemed to have given up on arguing with whoever was on the other line. This was new; Sherlock never gave in to anyone. He was the most stubborn person John knew, yet there he was, telling whoever it was on the phone that he'd meet them somewhere in fifteen minutes.

"Who was that?" John asked as soon as Sherlock pulled his phone away from his ear.

"Lestrade. They need help with a murder case." John put his fork down and began wiping his mouth with a napkin. Then he looked to Sherlock and waited for him to continue. Sherlock looked down at his lap again before speaking.

"Will… Will you come with me?" he asked quietly. John placed the napkin on the table and reached into his pocket, searching for his wallet.

"Of course. Do you want me to pay?"

"What?" Sherlock said, looking up.

"Well, we can't just leave here without paying for the food." A smile slowly crept across Sherlock's face, replacing the slightly surprised expression he'd been wearing as he stared at John.

"I suppose we can't," he said, standing up. "Thanks for paying. I'll go get us a cab." And with that he walked off. John sat at the table for a moment waiting for the waitress to return, but ultimately decided that waiting would take too long, and just threw some money on the table before standing up. As he made his way through the restaurant to the exit he passed their waitress.

"Money's on the table. Keep whatever change as a tip!" he called to her.

"Oh..okay! Thanks!" she called back, waving. "Sorry again about your boyf-"

"Yeah, bye!"

John turned around and rushed out the door. He found Sherlock standing next to a taxicab, holding the door open with a smile on his face. John smiled back and climbed inside.

"Alright then," Sherlock said when he got in and closed the door. "Let's go."