Strange Coincidences: Johnlock AU

Chapter Four

"Mr. Watson."

 "Yes, Mr. Holmes." John managed.

"Have the two meetings with Sherlock gone well? I've monitored it using CCTV but I'd still like to hear your thoughts."

John was oddly unnerved by this. No reason, he didn't expect privacy really. He just wanted the meetings with Sherlock to be private, like a secret between them two.

Still John didn't hesitate when he answered triumphantly into the phone. "Very well. He seems interested."

"Congratulations. My brother's attention is hard to capture. You still have three meetings left. I've already taken steps to ensure that Sherlock needs a flat mate at 221B Baker street. If all goes well, by the last meeting he will ask you."

John was about to ask a questions when he heard the familiar beep. Mycroft hung up already.

@@

It was Sunday and the first time in a long time since John was truly relaxed and content. Three days since his encounter with Sherlock, and it left him cheerful with anticipation.

He was so happy that he was willing to go into central London and take a walk. John realized how beautiful the city was, the perfect blend between old, archaic, and beautiful structures and the modern world.

He noticed a charming Italian Restaurant, Angelo's and thought it would be nice to have real, cooked food for once. John pushed open the glass door and a bell chimed. He was met with the enticing aroma of pasta and pizza. The waiter smiled at him and gestured towards the table near the window.

John sat down and waited for the menu. He noticed a newspaper lying near the ledge and picked it up. He flipped through the pages mindlessly, barely paying attention to the articles. Two deaths... Football match...

A deep rumble of a voice came from behind John. "Ah. Reading the newspaper. How quaint of you." 

John jumped and slammed the newspaper down on to the wooden table. He turned around and found Sherlock standing closely behind his seat with a smirk playing on his mouth.

"Christ! Do you always sneak up behind people and give them bloody heart attacks?" John glared at Sherlock. Traitorously, he felt a pool of affection for the arse gathering. On another note, Sherlock looked impeccable as always in his dramatic coat and scarf.

Sherlock seemed to genuinely consider this before answering. "Usually yes. It's entertaining to see the bewildered look on their faces." Sherlock chuckled, and added. "Especially yours." 

"I suppose there's no point in hoping for a peaceful dinner now. Would you like to sit down?" John pointed to the seat opposite of him.

Sherlock wordlessly slid into the seat but then exaggerated a pout. "And here I thought you enjoyed my presence." Sherlock pulled off those absurdly expensive leather gloves and laced his nimble fingers together, propping himself on his elbows and leaning towards John.

"Prat." John muttered.

The detective grinned, picking up the menu.

"Order the lasagna. It's the chef's specialty. You would enjoy it."

"What exactly are you doing here Sherlock?" John asked after ordering. "And why didn't you get anything to eat?"

"I had an arrangement." Sherlock shrugged and focused his acute gaze back onto John.

"I was taking a walk around London and I noticed this restaurant. I was hungry."

Sherlock seemed to regard the word as if it were a bag of vomit, and rolled his eyes. "Ah, food."