Eating out was something John was quickly becoming accustomed to. It was never as good as Mrs. Hudson's dinners left for them were, but even that he felt like he could barely remember. The waitresses here were friendly, and the chips were most like the small shop near Baker Street. He'd learned that hard way. He heard the other man sit well before he bothered to look up, some sluggish part of his part assuming they were in the next table over before that voice ripped him forcefully from his pondering over burgers vs chicken.
He shifted in his seat, body tense and expression an odd mix of shock and confusion. He was suddenly left wondering how alarming it would look if he just got up and left. That wouldn't solve his lunch needs, though. "What do you want now?" Moments like this, John regretted not carrying his gun on him.