Before Lucy could respond, Holmes turned and shouted down the street to a group of men walking towards Waverley Bridge.
‘I’ll catch up with you lot later! Save me a pint!’
One of them waved acknowledgement, and Holmes turned his attention back to Lucy, his dark eyes warm with interest.
‘So what brings you to this part of town? Meeting friends?’
‘I was supposed to be, but I was late,’ Lucy admitted.
Holmes’s expression shifted to concern. ‘Oh no. What a terrible way to end the week. And here I was thinking I was the only one having a rough Friday evening – my friends dragged meout for drinks when all I wanted was a quiet night in with a book.’
‘Liar. I remember you liked a drink. You and I had quite a few ourselves. Your colleagues seem to have abandoned you,’ Lucy observed, nodding towards the group who were just going out of view.
‘More like I’m abandoning them. There’s only so much shop talk about post-mortems one can endure over drinks.’ Holmes smiled, and Lucy was struck again by how different he seemed outside of work – less formal, more personable. Just like the last time, a few years ago, when they had had some fun together when he had been working for a spell at the Edinburgh city mortuary in the Cowgate. ‘Look, I know this is rather forward, but since you’ve had a disappointing evening, would you like to get something to drink? And save me from an evening of forced socialising with people who want to discuss decomposition rates over their beer.’
Lucy hesitated. Going for a drink with Sherlock? The alternative was going home alone to her flat, ordering takeaway and spending the evening feeling sorry for herself. Besides, she remembered him being rather a lot of fun…
‘You know what? That would be fantastic, but actually I skipped dinner and now I’m more interested in eating than getting blootered. Besides, I’m working tomorrow. This case is running us ragged.’
‘Excellent!’ Holmes gestured down Cockburn Street. ‘I’m sure we could find a restaurant somewhere.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘I know the maître d’ at the Hawksmoor in the Edinburgh Grand, down in St Andrew Square. Does that work for you?’
‘Perfect. But I want to make it clear that we split the bill.’
‘Och, away, woman. I can buy a friend dinner without there being any strings attached.’
‘Always the charmer, Ron.’ She liked calling him by his first name.
They walked down the curved street together, Sherlock keeping up an easy stream of conversation about Edinburgh on Friday nights, the best places to eat and his amusing complaints about his work colleagues’ inability to discuss anything other than their jobs. Lucy found herself relaxing, the tension and disappointment of the evening beginning to ease.
The hotel lobby was warm and busy, filled with the comfortable chaos of families and groups of friends. Sherlock opened the Hawksmoor entrance door for her and spoke to his friend, who smiled and told them there was no problem getting a table. They were seated in a booth near the back, with menus appearing almost immediately.
‘So,’ Sherlock said once they’d ordered, ‘tell me, do you usually meet your friends on a Friday?’
‘If we don’t have a major case going.’
‘Sounds good. Bit of drinking, bit of dancing then home for a bit of how’s your father?’ He laughed.
She laughed back. ‘You don’t know me very well,’ Lucy pointed out, amused.
‘I seem to recall that I got to know you very well last time.’ He smiled at her.
‘You’ll make me blush,’ she said when the waiter brought their drinks over.
‘Lucy Warren? Blush? I don’t think so.’
‘What about you? What do you do when you’re not performing post-mortems?’
Sherlock considered this. ‘Nothing exciting. I go out drinking with friends sometimes. Stay in and watch Netflix.’
‘What about a girlfriend?’
He laughed. ‘Not at the moment. Still looking for the rightone to settle down with. What about you? What does DI Warren do when she’s not solving crimes?’
‘Honestly? Not much lately. The job takes up most of my time.’ Lucy realised how pathetic that sounded. ‘I’ve been meaning to join a gym, or take up running, or do literally anything that isn’t work-related, but I keep putting it off.’
‘The curse of interesting work,’ Sherlock said sympathetically.
The steaks arrived, enormous and fragrant. They dug in, the conversation shifting to safer topics – Edinburgh landmarks, the best places to get proper coffee, Sherlock’s amusing stories about growing up in Dundee.
