"Evening," Sherlock replied, sitting up just a little as his companion settled in. "Surgery went well, I see."

Only the regular drumming of his fingertips against the table betrayed any kind of elevated emotion. Someone had already brought menus by, but there was no candle this time--unlike the majority of the tables in the restaurant. Anyone passing by the window would see just a casually mismatched pair of friends out for a bite to eat on a chilly February night.