Sherlock fic bit

[nny]

For catwalksalone, written directly into the comment box, any mistakes are my own.



John steeples his fingers dramatically at his temple with a quick sidelong smile, just for the reluctant grin in return and the quick glimpse of very slightly uneven teeth. His other hand he spreads wide over the fortune cookie; if it trembles, just slightly, that only adds to the effect.

"I see," he says, and the sense of mischief that keeps rearing its head around Sherlock has him adding, "a tall, dark stranger."

"Well yes. Obviously."

"I wasn't done," John admonishes lightly, quickly clenching and stretching his hand. "Don't disrupt the psychic vibrations."

"Don't talk bollocks," Sherlock answers easily. "You do know I was only joking? The likelihood of correctly predicting the contents of a fortune cookie are - "

"A pleasant surprise is waiting for you," John interrupts.

"What?"

"Smudge over the first A," he adds, sketching it out with his fingers, "and the Us are out of alignment."

There's a long moment where Sherlock just looks at him, uncomfortably intent. It's easier to look around the restaurant than to meet his gaze, frankly; John can't help but wonder how much Sherlock could tell about these people just from their clothes, what they order, the way they meet their companions' eyes. Or don't, of course. John looks back just in time to catch the way Sherlock's mouth moves as he lets out a dissatisfied huff of air, fingers making short work of the cookie. His eyes widen.

"That's incredible," he breathes. "You're right!"

"...really?"

"No," Sherlock says, with a smirk that turns quickly into a genuine smile when John can't help but laugh at him.

"It was worth a try," he says. "I've had that one at least six times over the past few weeks." He makes a face at Sherlock's raised eyebrow. "I know, not a particularly healthy diet for a medical man - "

"Actually I was thinking what a lonely man you are."

Even after knowing him so short a time he's almost got used to how Sherlock can do that, can say something that pokes directly at the heart or the stomach or any other internal organ and plays with the empty places surrounding it.

"Aren't we both?" he answers after a moment.

"I'm not sure," Sherlock says, standing, throwing a twenty pound note onto the table. John's about to protest; then he notices that the wallet Sherlock's holding is his. John levers himself to his feet, pulls his jacket straight, takes back his wallet and starts towards the door before Sherlock finishes; "yet."

He - unexpected - holds the door open for John.

"Thank you."

"It should be noted," Sherlock contines, as though he hadn't paused at all, as though John is on precisely the same page, "that I don't habitually connect the ideas of Chinese food and loneliness; even if I did, I wouldn't stop ordering it just because I find your company tolerable. I won't starve for the sake of symbolism."

John laughs and rolls his eyes. "What did it say, anyway?"

Sherlock blinks.

"The fortune cookie, what did it say?"

Sherlock pulls his hand from his pocket and unrolls a long strip of paper.

"An unexpected relationship will become permanent," he says.

John stops dead. "Really?"

Sherlock shoots him a sideways look, the quickest glimpse of slightly uneven teeth.

"No."