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Sherlock was doing it on purpose. They all knew it. It was just the consulting detective being difficult and...impossible, really. Sometimes the best course of action with Sherlock was to ignore him.
Though that could be a bit difficult in the middle of a five star restaurant.
It had all started after John and Sherlock had managed to solve a high profile serial killer case that had been plaguing Lestrade for months. Sherlock had worked for a week straight on the details of the case, sleeping only once (and that had been because John had drugged his coffee with a sedative provided by Mycroft).
But they managed to catch the killer, with no small amount of drama (a car chase, a hostage situation and Lestrade a being forced to shoot the suspect) and Sherlock had been in a spectacular mood. That mood had been slightly diminished when Mycroft showed up at the crime scene, insisting on taking them all to a celebratory dinner. Sherlock had known that Mycroft had simply wanted an excuse to take his lover to a fancy dinner and spoil him, but if Mycroft was paying for dinner... Sherlock was more than willing to let his brother dote on his goldfish.
That didn't mean that he couldn't make things interesting.
So there he was, making an excellent show of his appreciation of the marvelous meal he was enjoying. It wasn’t all that hard, for all his annoying traits, Mycroft did have excellent taste in food (which probably leant itself to his brother’s need to diet on occasion). So Sherlock only had to exaggerate slightly as he moaned around his spoon, his mouth full of decadent chocolate mousse.
Across the table from him, Mycroft was rolling his eyes, more annoyed than anything else. To his right, John looked utterly humiliated by Sherlock’s antics, while to his left, Greg was bright red and looked a bit uncomfortable.
Nothing made a meal more enjoyable than when you could annoy everyone present.
“Really Sherlock, we’re in public.” Mycroft let out an exasperated sigh, taking a longer drink of his wine than he normally would.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, playing innocent, “I have no idea what you are talking about, I’m simply enjoying a lovely meal after so long without sustenance.”
“You’re moaning more than a French whore house.” Greg gave him a look, “The mousse is good, but it’s not that good.”
“I beg to differ, Grant.”
“Alright, now you’re doing it on purpose.”
John sighed, finishing his water, “Sherlock, stop being difficult. It’s been a long week for all of us; we’d just like to have a good meal, go home, and get a good night’s rest.”
“Judging by Mycroft’s shirt sleeve, I’m sure rest is the last thing on his mind for when he gets home.” Sherlock smirked, “Though really, I’m surprised you didn’t order oysters, Mycroft. I’m sure that would put your goldfish in the mood.”
Mycroft’s eye only twitched minutely, “This is why you’re the one who upset Mummy at Christmas dinner.”
John and Greg shared a look with each other. Both looked relieved when the bill came and they could make their way out of the restaurant. As Sherlock slipped his coat on, he felt rather pleased with himself for an entertaining evening.
Though when a strong arm gripped his hip and a voice sounded in his ear, he knew the night would get much more entertaining.
“You’re going to pay for that, you know. The moment we’re alone.”
Sherlock smirked as they walked, acting as if he wasn’t being threatened by his lover, “Just wait for Mycroft to drop us off, and you can punish me all night."