A soft groan left his lips. "You are a terrible, terrible man, John Hamish Watson." He said, his voice lower than usual.

Sadly, there was no chance that they had enough time to do anything before the food came, and he was not about to be caught in flagrante delecto when the knock on the door came.

Of course, two could play at that game. Sherlock had had his arm on John's side, and he "accidentally" dropped it, so it fell into his lap. He tried to play innocent, but his smirk was anything but.