The Trouble With Sentiment

Chapter Seventeen

Here, they floated on their own solitary cloud, high above London.

Somewhere private: check. Sophisticated: check. An excellent view of the city: double-check. Full marks and then some. Sherlock shook his head. Mycroft's competitiveness was evident even when holding up his end of the bargain. He'd not only met Sherlock's demands, but exceeded them -- the show-off. For once though, the thought was without rancor. Vivian's wide-eyed wonder had Sherlock almost appreciative of Mycroft's high standards and attention to detail. Almost. Sherlock hadn't completely lost his mind.

Peter ghosted back with two bottles of wine. He poured them a glass from each. "I believe you'll find both of these vintages pleasing to the palate, but should you desire something else, do let me know. I'll return shortly." With a nod, he disappeared.

Vivian blinked down at the wine, then turned to Sherlock, brow furrowed. "So, is someone meeting you here to discuss a case or something?"

Sherlock stared. Vivian didn't know why they were here. How was that possible? He'd thought she'd understood the moment the lift doors opened. That was why he'd asked if-- Oh. She'd still assumed they were here for a case, and yet, without any promise of food, she'd still agreed to stay. He found himself smiling. "No. There's no case involved, at least not directly."

"I don't understand. What's going on?"

He gestured, encompassing the table and the view. "This is me repaying you for your assistance this evening."

Vivian went utterly still, then a hesitant hope rose in her eyes. One hand reached out and gripped his arm. "Are we...eating here?" The words were almost a whisper, as if she were afraid some spell would be broken if she spoke at normal volume.

He gave a low chuckle. "It would be poor repayment if I failed to feed you. I interrupted your meal, after all."

A smile dawned across Vivian's face, then quickly brightened until she all but incandesced with joy. Sherlock's blood turned effervescent in his veins. It felt like he'd consumed both bottles of wine in one go. No one had ever looked at him with such unadulterated delight before. His brain immediately categorized the expression as Very Good, with the added mental footnote to reproduce said expression as often as possible.

"If this is how you repay me, you're more than welcome to interrupt me whenever you want, Sherlock Holmes."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Just tell me where to sign."

Sherlock chuckled, well aware Vivian meant every word. She really was far too easy to manipulate when it came to food.
Her gaze shifted back to the view, and she shook her head. "How on earth did you manage all this?"

"You're not the only one full of surprises."

A gleeful laugh. "I guess not."

Sherlock eyed both bottles of wine, then chose the full-bodied red Peter had poured. He swirled it in the glass, then breathed it in. He'd made a study of alcohol and all its various flavors, not in search of gastronomic pleasure, of course, but on account of it being one of the most common vehicles for poison. This wine promised to be sweet and robust, with hints of cherry, black pepper, and vanilla. He picked up the matching glass opposite Vivian and handed it to her. "Here. You'll prefer this one."

Both eyebrows rose. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Simple. The wine shares the same vanilla undertones as your lipstick."

Vivian fumbled the glass, almost dropping it, and gaped at him in shock. That's when Sherlock's brain caught up with his tongue. The only way he could have known the flavor of her lipstick was if he'd tasted it. The only way he could have tasted it was if he'd licked the far side of his mouth after their encounter in the electrical closet. Deliberately.