The Trouble With Sentiment

Chapter Nineteen

"I take it you find him impressive," Sherlock said, tone dry. "I hadn't heard of him until this evening."

Vivian goggled at him. "Lucas Dubois has transformed the face of the culinary world. He's an innovative genius, a true prodigy. He's like -- like--" She threw up her hands in a helpless gesture. "--the chef version of you."

A smirk spread across his face. "Oh really?"

The pink in her cheeks darkened, and Sherlock grinned. She'd just used him as a measure for brilliance. "I suppose I should be suitably impressed, then," he said.

A sniff. "Yes, well. You're only ever impressed with yourself, so it was the best comparison I could come up with."

His smile remained. Vivian's attempt at retracting the unintended compliment merely served to confirm it. She liked his voice, and she thought he was brilliant. Sherlock didn't think it was possible to feel anymore pleased. He lifted a hand, and Peter appeared at his side.

"How may I be of service?" Peter asked.

"I'd like a word with the chef."

"Of course. Mr. Dubois will be out shortly." Peter took the empty dessert plate and headed back up the balcony stairs.

Vivian gaped after him, then swung around to face Sherlock. "What the hell are you doing?" she hissed.

"Meeting my alter ego," he said, perplexed by her reaction. He'd thought she'd be pleased. "Don't you want an introduction?"

Judging by Vivian's poleaxed expression, the idea that she could actually meet the man hadn't even entered her mind. Her shocked face shifted to one of joy, then just as quickly to horror. She gripped his arm. "Oh God. What am I supposed to say? I don't want to sound stupid."

He cast her a sideways glance. "In that case, you may just want to smile and nod."

A glare. "If I humiliate myself, it's going to be your fault." Her fingers tightened on his forearm, and she gnawed at her lower lip.

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. She really was concerned. Strange. He'd always thought of her as so confident in herself. "You needn't worry. I'm certain he'll find you charming company."

"Right," she said, expression wry. "And why is that?" Her lashes lowered, but not quickly enough to hide the flash of vulnerability in her gaze.

The smart remark he'd prepared turned to ash on his tongue. Vivian cared what he thought. His opinion mattered, just like hers did to him. The air left his lungs in a slow exhalation. Considering the number of truths he'd learned about her tonight, perhaps it was time she learned one of his. "You made the point yourself."

Her gaze returned to his, brows drawing together. "What do you mean?"

"In your description of Lucas Dubois. You made a very specific comparison. What was it?"

"I said he was the chef version of you."

"Yes. And I just told you I was certain he would find you charming company."

"So?"

She wasn't following. He clarified. "Think of it as a logic problem: Lucas Dubois is the chef version of Sherlock Holmes. If he's certain to find you charming company, what can you conclude about Sherlock Holmes?"

There was a pause, then a slow smile widened across her face. "You think I'm charming company."

"No."

Her smile faltered.

"Only when you've eaten," he stated emphatically.

Vivian's smile reappeared, and she threw her head back and laughed.