So I'm updating this a few hours later than I'd like, but I've been out all day and have just gotten home. Sorry! This chapter is the longest one I've written.. Hopefully that makes up for the fact that it's a tad bit overdue. Maybe?

Anyways, thanks guys for the 2,000 reads! Still can't believe it. :) Enjoy chapter eleven!

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It had only taken them a few minutes to find the restaurant Sherlock had been planning to take John to. It was a small crêpe restaurant called 'Carrie's Crêpes' wedged in between a shoe store and a consignment shop.

"Crêpes?" John asked when Sherlock held the door open for him. There was a smile on Sherlock's face, but a bit of uncertainty in his eyes when he replied.

"Problem?" John stared inside at the empty room and shook his head.

"No. No problem at all." John walked inside, followed closely by Sherlock, and sat down. The interior of the shop could be described as 'rustic', with wooden chairs and tables. Vintage photographs of old cars and movie stars hung on the walls. There were big, round, candle chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The simple lighting was warm and inviting, and gave the room a gentle orange glow. John looked around a bit while Sherlock stood beside him with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Where would you like to sit?" John took a moment longer to decide on a spot, then went towards a table right next to a window. It was rather nice outside, and he wanted to be able to look out and enjoy it. Sherlock sat across from him once he removed his coat and scarf, and they both reached for the menus on the far side of the table at the same time. Their hands briefly touched, and John felt himself flinch at the contact. Sherlock seemed to have jumped as well, and when John looked up at him he was using his other hand to smooth down the bandage John had placed.

"Sorry," he mumbled, looking down as he reached for a menu.

"John I told you, no apologizing." John sighed and looked up at Sherlock, who was offering him a closed mouth smile.

"Right," he said, nodding, "Sorry." Sherlock cleared his throat, and John chuckled. He looked down at the menu and began looking over his options. Sherlock picked up a menu and looked over it as well.

"Hello there boys," came a voice that startled John. "What can I get you today?" John looked to Sherlock, who was staring at him with his eyebrows raised. He turned to the young woman and gave her a small smile.

"We're still deciding, thanks."

"Okay, just let me know when you're ready to order and I'll be back."

"Thank you,"

The woman darted off to parts unknown, leaving John and Sherlock alone once again. Sherlock pulled out his phone and began tapping away.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

"Turning my phone on silent." He glanced up at John briefly while talking. "I don't want anything to interrupt."

"Interrupt what?"

"Breakfast."

John laughed and shook his head, causing Sherlock to look up. "What?"

"What if Lestrade calls?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and waved his hand in the air.

"He'll have to wait."

"Mycroft?"

"John now you're just being absurd." He placed his phone inside his coat pocket and pushed the garment to the side. He folded his hands on the tabletop and stared directly at John. "Right now, you have my complete and undivided attention."

"Sherlock I'm flattered."

"You should be." With that Sherlock sent John a playful smirk, and John's stomach began to do flip flops. He figured he was just hungry, since he had skipped supper the previous evening. He looked back to the menu. Sherlock placed his down on the table, and John looked over the top of his at him.

"You already know what you're getting?"

"I'm not hungry. I'll just have a glass of water or something." John sighed and let the menu fall to the table. Sherlock's eyes grew slightly in size and he stared at John with a confused expression.

"Sherlock, are you really not going to eat anything?" The detective shook his head and looked down like an ashamed puppy. "Look at me Sherlock." He shook his head like a stubborn five year old would when his parents told him to put his toys away. "Sherlock."

"What?" He mumbled, turning his head to the side, still looking down.

"Look. At. Me."

Slowly Sherlock's head raised, and his eyes met John's. For a moment John was too lost in Sherlock's eyes to form a complete sentence. His mouth opened and shut, but no words came out. Eventually he just sighed and blinked at Sherlock.

"Eat something," he said, "For me." Sherlock held his gaze for wheat seemed like an eternity without saying anything. For some reason John's face became incredibly hot, and he felt the incredible urge to look away. However, he kept his eyes on Sherlock's and tried to keep his gaze intense. After another long while Sherlock sighed and nodded his head. Without breaking eye contact he reached for his menu and held it up.

"Alright," he said, "For you."

John smiled at him, then looked down at the laminated piece of paper he was holding. Soon he had made his decision, so he placed the menu on the table and rested his chin in his hand while he looked to Sherlock. He watched as his eyes moved back and forth, scanning over the many different types of crêpes.

"My god," he said after a short while, "how many things can you stuff inside a thin rolled up sheet of flour?" At that point he looked up at John, and the expression on his face was too much for him to handle. He started laughing uncontrollably, but covered his smile with his hand when he noticed the glare he was receiving from Sherlock.

"Have you made a decision yet?"

"How can I?" Sherlock asked, looking back down at the menu. His eyes flicked back up to John's seconds later. "Have you?" John nodded his head and smiled smugly. "What are you getting?"

"A crêpe." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John, but eventually his frown turned upside down and the two were grinning at each other like a couple of idiots. Sherlock waved the waitress over and the two of them placed their orders. When she left, Sherlock grabbed the menu from John's hands and placed it on the table on top of where his sat. Then he interlocked his fingers and rested his chin on the 'bridge' he formed with his hands once he placed his elbows on top of the table. John placed his hands in his lap and leaned back in his seat, staring at Sherlock. His mouth formed a straight line and his eyebrows went up slightly.

"So," Sherlock said, looking down and to the side briefly before looking back up at John. "Do you forgive me yet?" John reached up and scratched the back of his head before answering.

"Ask me again after we get our food." Sherlock's eyes narrowed at John, but there was a smile on his lips. John just stared back, unsure of what to say. For some reason all of a sudden he'd become nervous and fidgety. Sherlock seemed to notice from the look he gave John while he shifted around in his seat, but said nothing and instead began tracing his finger in the grooves between the wooden planks of the tabletop.

"So, what exactly was it that you were you trying to make this morning?" Sherlock sucked in a breath before he began speaking.

"Believe it or not… crêpes."

"In a frying pan?" John asked, trying not to laugh. "Don't you know you need some kind of special…crêpe maker?"

"Well it's not like we have one just sitting around in the flat," Sherlock said rather defensively, his jaw clenching as he spoke.

"So why would you try to make crêpes if you knew you didn't have the proper equipment?"

"Does it matter?" Sherlock asked, his face now contorted into a grimace. "I was trying to do a nice thing. Isn't it the thought that counts?"

"Not when that thought nearly burns down our flat," John shot back, looking down at the table. When he looked up and saw the hurt look on Sherlock's face he sighed. "Sorry." Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat back.

"John I told you, no apologizing."

"But I've hurt your feelings, haven't I?" Sherlock's nose scrunched up and he made a strange face.

"Oh please," he said, rolling his eyes. "Don't be absurd."

"Oh, right. Feelings," John said, nodding his head, "You don't have them. Got it."

"That's not what I meant, John." John was surprised by the sudden change in Sherlock's tone of voice. It had gone from harsh and angry to a gentle murmur. John's eyes slowly rose up to meet Sherlock's, and he felt an odd sensation in his stomach. He tried swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, but due to his incredibly dry mouth the task proved to be impossible. He looked in the direction of the kitchen, hoping their waitress would return with drinks.

Almost as if she'd heard John's telepathic call of distress, the waitress appeared at their table in a matter of seconds, with two glasses of water.

"I just realized I hadn't given you guys drinks yet. I'm terribly sorry. Here, these are on the house. Your crepes should be right out. I'll be back soon."

"Oh boy, free water," Sherlock said sarcastically when she had barely gotten out of ear shot. John hid his smile with his fist and rolled his eyes playfully. Then he remembered how dry his mouth and throat were and grabbed his glass. After emptying it in record time he set the glass back on the table and looked up at Sherlock, who was watching him with an amused smile on his face. He just shrugged and looked away shyly, not understanding why he felt the need to do so.

Their waitress returned, and served them their crêpes. John grabbed a fork and took a bite of his 'Strawberry Delight' crêpe, which was basically a crêpe filled with strawberry jam and sprinkled with powdered sugar. Much to his delight he found it to be quite tasty, and smiled at Sherlock while he chewed.

"I forgive you," he said once he swallowed. Sherlock breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief, then picked up his own fork. John watched intently as Sherlock cut off an incredibly small piece of his 'Chocolate Dream', and placed the fork in his mouth. He chewed painstakingly slow, and finally swallowed. He gave John a tight-lipped smile.

"Happy?" he asked after taking a few more bites. John nodded his head and smiled.

"Yes. Thank you." Sherlock made a confused face, then shrugged and looked down.

"You're welcome."

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Sherlock and John spent the next hour sitting in that crêpe shop. They talked about everything from TV shows they'd watched to the possibility of them going to the zoo next weekend. It was almost as if they were back on that beach in Fiji, walking in the sand and discussing trivial aspects of their lives.

Somehow Sherlock had managed to get Nutella on his chin, and after trying for a decent amount of time to direct Sherlock's hand to where he needed, to wipe, John had reached over with a napkin and fixed the problem himself. Their eyes had met when he did this, and the uncomfortable feeling that was starting to become a common thing for John arose. However, that was the only uncomfortable thing about their time in the restaurant. If asked John wouldn't admit it, but when it came time to pay the bill and leave he was a bit sad to go.

Sherlock was tying his scarf around his neck when the waitress returned with his card. She gave them both a friendly smile, but didn't leave.

"I just wanted to say… and I know this might sound a bit weird but, I was actually watching you guys from my post over there," she gestured over her shoulder with her thumb, "and I must say you two are the cutest couple I've ever seen." John looked over at Sherlock, who was acting as if he hadn't even heard her comment, then back to the young woman standing in front of him.

"We're not a couple." She gave him a knowing look and placed her hands on her hips.

"Yeah, right. And I'm the president of the United States." She gave them one last smile before she turned and walked away, leaving the two of them standing alone. Sherlock held the door open for John as they went out, but before walking outside John turned around to see the waitress waving at him with a smile on her face as she sat at one of the tables. He sighed and went outside.

"How come you never say anything?" John asked Sherlock while they strolled through the streets of London. "When people assume…" he trailed off, and Sherlock just shrugged. "Does it not bother you?"

"No."

"Why not?" Sherlock looked down at his feet while he walked, and after a short while he sighed while his shoulders slumped.

"Because I know the truth."

John paused in his steps when Sherlock said this, but the detective kept walking. John jogged a bit to catch up with him, and kept his head down like Sherlock's was. He thought about what he'd said, and about everything that had happened in the past few months. He thought about what Sherlock said in the hotel room in Fiji, and about what almost happened in their kitchen not too long ago. Without realizing it, John reached up to run his fingers across his lips, and glanced over at Sherlock, whose head was turned away from John. All he could see were his dark curls. When John realized what he was doing with his hand he immediately stuffed both hands inside his pockets. So, Sherlock didn't mind because he 'knew the truth'. Did that mean that John did mind…because he wasn't so sure of what that truth was? He kept his head down and kept walking.