The Trouble With Sentiment

Chapter Two

Sherlock raised his glass in her direction as she headed back to the table. "You've gained weight. Ten pounds."

She froze mid-step, smile fading.

"Sherlock," John hissed.

He frowned. "What?"

John shot a pained look at Vivian. "Allow me to apologize for him. He's an idiot." John turned back to Sherlock and lowered his voice. "Don't ever say that to a woman. Ever."

"Why not? It's the truth."

Vivian's chin lifted. "Is it a problem?"

"Is what a problem?" Sherlock asked.

"My weight."

"Don't say another word," John whispered. "You'll only make things worse."

Sherlock ignored him. "Why would your weight be a problem?"

"Why mention it if it wasn't?"

He sat back, eyes narrowing. What had she thought he'd meant? Apparently something insulting, judging by her defensive tone. He chose his next words carefully. "You were underweight the last time I saw you. I was only pointing out your improved health."

A skeptical huff. "So, you're saying I look better?"

He took in her cobalt silk blouse and dark, fitted jeans, eyes tracing along the lines of her body. Lines that were undeniably feminine. Her perfectly tailored clothing paid homage to every curve. While those curves hadn't been absent before, they were certainly more pronounced now. A flash of heat shot through him. Why was he feeling warm? He was the furthest one from the fire.

A cough sounded.

Sherlock's gaze bounced up to meet Vivian's, and the warmth washed over him again, this time flooding the back of his neck for no apparent reason. Vivian's eyes were bright, cheeks flushed. It appeared she was equally as affected. Strange. A quick glance at John ruled out an increase in room temperature since John was still wearing his jumper, and his skin retained its normal hue. Vivian's eyebrows rose in expectation, and Sherlock belatedly realized she was still waiting on a response from him. Thoroughly disconcerted, he somehow kept his expression impassive, fingers tightening on the stem of the wine glass. "Yes. You look better. Your clothes actually fit you now."

Clearing her throat, Vivian took the remaining seat between him and John, then nodded. "Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment. It was an observation."

"Oh my god," John murmured, staring down at his napkin, his face one of abject despair. "I don't know why I even try."

Vivian's lips twitched. "An observation. Of course. I shouldn't presume. I appreciate your assessment of my good health."

Sherlock nodded.

Four waiters appeared then, arms laden with trays, and John heaved a sigh of relief. Dish after dish was set before them.

"Did you order the entire menu?" John asked with a laugh.

Vivian lifted a lid off a metal bowl, and steam curled up toward the ceiling. "I didn't know what you'd both like, so I got a little bit of everything."

A massive understatement, to say the least.

Lamb with peppers, crushed coriander and cumin. Tiger prawns with sautéed onions, fenugreek seeds and coconut. Yellow lentils simmered with ginger, tomatoes, and green chilies. And three additional dishes. One chicken, one sea bass, and what appeared to be lobster.

Vivian spooned rice onto her plate, added a stack of garlic naan, and then poured a generous amount of chicken korma on top. John went for the lamb and a heaping portion of lentils. Abigail was fortunate to miss the next twenty-four hours.