The Trouble With Sentiment

Chapter Nineteen

When Sherlock raised his head, Vivian sagged back into her seat and released a long breath. "Thank God. Are you alright?" she asked, green eyes dark with worry.

Sherlock nodded. She didn't appear angry. Maybe that would come later. He slipped the pain pill from his trouser pocket, popped it into his mouth, and swallowed it down with a sip of water. "I had an unexpected headache," he said by way of explanation.

Her brow furrowed. "Like a migraine?"

"No, not quite that debilitating, but still...uncomfortable." His temples throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

"That's terrible." The pinched expression on her face made it look like she was the one in pain. "I'm so sorry."

"What for? It's not as if it's your fault," he said. "They come at random for no reason at all. It's annoying."

"Do you want to go?" she asked, setting her napkin on the table.

Sherlock studied her while taking another sip of water. Did she want to leave? Despite having been at dinner for three hours, he found himself reluctant to bring their evening to a close. "No, not yet. I'd prefer to wait for the pain medication to take effect. I'll be fine in twenty minutes."

There was a pause as she studied him in return. "Alright. As long as you're sure."

"I always am."

"It must be nice to be so certain all the time," she said, tone teasing, then nodded at what remained of their dessert. "Would you like any more?" The way her gaze lingered on the plate, it was obvious she did.

Sherlock shook his head. "It's all yours."

Vivian didn't need to be told twice. She picked up a piece of chocolate, slid it through a line of cream, then took a bite. Her eyes fell shut as she savored it with evident relish. A smile tugged at his mouth. Just watching her enjoy herself was enjoyable. Maybe he needed a brain scan.

"So, have I successfully ruined the chef's initials?" she asked as she piled caramel onto the last square.

"Yes. They're indiscernible now." The sweeping, cursive lines painted across the plate had long-since met their demise at her hand.

"What were they?"

"The letters L and D."

"Hmmm...I wonder what they stand for," she mused. "Larry David? Leonardo Dicaprio?" The names made her snicker for some reason. She popped the treat into her mouth.

"It's for Lucas Dubois," Sherlock said.

Vivian choked and fell into a violent coughing fit, hunching forward in her chair. He reached out and smacked her on the back a few times. "You're supposed to eat the food, not inhale it."

The next two coughs sounded rather like expletives. After a moment, her hacking subsided, and she turned to him. "Did you say Lucas Dubois?" she rasped, face red and eyes watering.

"Yes." Sherlock slid her water over to her.

She took a large swallow, then shook her head. "That's impossible. He has three restaurants to run. There's no way he came here to prepare a meal just for us. The cost would be astronomical."

Sherlock merely looked at her.

Vivian's eyes went huge. "You're serious."

"Yes. I acquired him for the evening."

"You acquired him? He's the godfather of modern cuisine, not -- not a collectible!" she sputtered. Her gaze dropped to their empty dessert plate. "Oh my God. I ate an 18-course meal made by Lucas Dubois." Her voice morphed into an awed whisper. "He touched my food."