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"Hi!" Sherlock said cheerily, smiling at the hostess. "I made a reservation for my partner and I, should be under McCain? Terribly sorry for being early, misjudged when the play was ending."
"No worries," the hostess replied, smiling back. "We have the table ready, just follow me."
"Just fab, ta." Sherlock readjusted his grip on John's arm and they went with the hostess. John glanced around as they walked, catching sight of their suspect at another table. She was with a few other women that John recognized as her accomplices. If this worked, they'd be able to arrest the whole gang.
Sherlock drew a chair back, and John positioned himself in a spot that would let him watch their suspect. Sherlock smoothly tucked the chair under him, then went around the table to sit down. The hostess left them with menus and the promise that someone would be around to take their drink orders soon.
They opened their menus, and after a moment, Sherlock asked, "see anything you like, darling?"
"Oh, I'm looking right at it," John replied. He was, of course, talking about the suspect, but he thought Sherlock’s cheeks looked a bit flushed.
Sherlock cleared his throat. "Well, I think I'll probably do the chicken penne alfredo— I hear their sauce is amazing."
"Of course you are," John said, laughing a bit. He glanced down at his own menu again. "Might go for the salmon and pearl couscous— haven't had that since your six month anniversary, for that new job."
Sherlock nodded to show he got the message— their suspect was behind him. A waiter stopped by to take their orders, then came back a moment later with a water jug and two sparkling wine flutes they definitely didn't order. Whatever. John would enjoy it anyway.
He lifted his and held it up to Sherlock’s. "To our success."
Sherlock smiled, tapping his glass against John's. "To us."
Heart fluttering a bit, John took a sip of his drink. Something hard bumped against his lip, and he frowned, pulling the glass away to look inside. His eyes widened.
"Oh my God," John breathed. He grabbed his fork and carefully fished what was clearly an engagement ring out of his glass. He held the ring up for Sherlock to see. “Oh my God.”
Sherlock’s eyes also widened, and he hurriedly set his glass back down. People had heard John, obviously, and a few gasped as they realized what he was holding. A glance at their suspect and her accomplices showed that a few of them were looking at them, but the rest were still focused. If John and Sherlock could keep them here until the police showed up, the chances of them escaping were low. John whispered, “stall,” and Sherlock gave a small nod in reply.
Sherlock stood from his seat and sank to his knee next to John's, taking both his hand and the ring.
“John,” he said, face open and earnest, “we've been together for a while now, and though it may surprise you, I've come to rely on you quite a bit. You enhance all parts of my life, and helped me through a lot of tough times. Those tough times have been worth it because you’ve been by my side. It’s always you. John Watson, you keep me right. Would you do me the honor of agreeing to marry me?”
John felt tears gather in his eyes. It was a lovely speech, but John was also very aware that it was completely fake. He’d seen Sherlock act before, he had no doubt he could pretend to be in love. Still, they had a cover to maintain.
“Yes,” John replied. “Yes, absolutely.” Sherlock smiled up at him and slid the ring on his finger, which miraculously fit John just fine. To really drive it all home, John gently cupped Sherlock’s face and kissed him. He had to really try hard to keep it chaste, because John so wanted to live in the fantasy were he and Sherlock were actually getting engaged. He kept his eyes lidded, watching their suspect and her crew. They were all focused on John and Sherlock, and a couple of them were clapping.
Conveniently, that was also when the police chose to storm into the restaurant. John pulled away from Sherlock, who swayed forward a bit until John steadied him. While everyone else in the restaurant was busy watching the police arrest the group of ladies they’d been chasing, John stood, taking Sherlock’s hand to help him up, then led him out of the restaurant.
They loitered by the door, as they’d have to give statements about what they saw and heard while tailing the suspect.
“So,” John said, desperate to fill the silence, “that was a good bit of acting back there, with the proposal.”
“Yes. Acting.” Sherlock’s tone was weird, but John couldn’t figure out why. “Thank you, Watson.”
“Guess I should give the ring back.” John sighed, tilting his hand around to look at it. It really was a gorgeous ring— a wide gold band with a few vertical lines of small diamonds. He was sad to give it up, but it wasn't his. He and Sherlock weren't engaged. John tugged the ring off, sighing again.
“Here.” Sherlock held out his hand. “I'll return it to the waitstaff. They'll have the owner's number and will explain what happened.”
“Oh! Yeah, sure.” John dropped the ring in Sherlock’s hand and flashed him a smile. “I'll call us a cab?"
“Please.” Sherlock opened the door and went back into the restaurant. John leaned against the building, pulling his phone out to get them a ride home. He'd only had the ring on for about 5 minutes, but somehow his hand felt too light without it. Shaking his head a bit, John forced himself to move on.
Sherlock didn’t love him.