Okay, finally got this finished! Still not 100% happy with it, but it's better than it was. Planning on making more of these in the future, so any prompts would be hugely appreciated! Thanks for all the feedback so far, please let me know what you think, and any improvements I could make.
Anderson is sick of Sherlock getting the better of him all the time, and thanks to an interesting fact he discovered about Sherlock's general knowledge skills, come up with a plan to show him who's really the cleverest.
"Maybe it's-"
"Shut up Anderson," Sherlock interrupted. "You're putting me off."
Anderson gritted his teeth, fighting every urge to punch that smarmy git in the face. Every time he'd had an interesting point or a noticed something that could be actual evidence, it would immediately be dismissed by the 'consulting detective'. Lestrade and that bloody Dr. Watson didn't help matters... every other word that left their Lord and Saviour Sherlock's mouth was followed by every possible variation of "Wow, you're so clever and perfect Sherlock!"
This time, Anderson had had enough. He'd had it up to here with this snarky, arrogant arsehole. Sherlock thought he was so clever, so witty, so bloody superior to everyone around him... He decided now was as good a time as any to let him know.
"Listen here you arrogant little git. You think you're so clever, so witty, so bloody superior to everyone around you..." Anderson let out all the tension and rage he'd been building up without so much of a twitch from Sherlock (although the remark about turning up his coat collar all the time seemed to strike a nerve).
When Anderson had finished his little rant he suddenly became aware of every pair of eyes in the room burning into him. The astounded silence was broken briefly by Sally Donovan bursting into a round of applause. She coughed quietly and looked away when nobody else joined in.
Sherlock adjusted his collar and strode over to Anderson, and looking him straight in the eyes and spat, "I am superior to you, Anderson, in so many ways. You're just jealous."
Anderson guffawed. "Jealous? Of you? I hardly think so. What have I got to be jealous of? Your cleverness? You didn't even know that the Earth goes round the Sun."
"That information is irrelevan- wait, who told you that?"
John and Lestrade caught each other's eyes and both suddenly found their shoes to be particularly interesting. Anderson only grinned harder. "That is irrelevant. The point of the matter stands; I would thrash you in a general knowledge quiz. And you know it."
"Don't be so ridiculous. You couldn't even tell that the murderer was the man's mistress, even with all the blaringly obvious evidence surrounding you."
Ignoring the jibe, Anderson came up with an excellent idea.
"I tell you what, there's a pub quiz tomorrow night at the Red Lion. Prove how 'clever' you are then." Anderson was stood almost nose to nose with Sherlock now, his arms folded and a huge smirk across his face. "Unless you're scared you'll lose, that is..."
Sherlock snapped up straight and straightened his scarf. "Fine. Tomorrow night it is. I didn't want to humiliate you in public as per usual, but if you insist. Come along, John." Sherlock's mouth pressed into a straight line as he swished through the door.
John was still for a moment, and as he regained the ability to move nodded a curt goodbye to the others and trailed after his flatmate with an expression that seemed be a mixture of astonishment and amusement.
Lestrade stood motionless as he allowed what had just happened to sink in. He jerked the radio to his face as he remembered what he was supposed to be doing. "It's uh, it was the mistress, apparently. Go find her and arrest her or whatever. Jesus Christ, you will not believe what just happened..."
Anderson grinned to himself. This should be fun.
Sherlock was sulking. He didn't want to be here. He had dragged been dragged out right in the middle of an important toenail experiment that for some reason John wasn't overly enthusiastic about. How this whole ridiculous affair was more important than finding out the effect of heat on the decomposition of human nails Sherlock could not understand.
As he considered whether he would be able to somehow move the experiment to the pub, John came over with a pint of beer and Sherlock's tomato juice.
"I don't know why you can't get a bloody normal drink, Sherlock. We're in a pub for God's sake."
Sherlock sighed. They'd been through this once. "Alcohol can massively inhibit the functioning of your brain, whereas tomatoes are high in the antioxidant lycopene-"
"Yeah, Sherlock, you said. Did you come up with a team name?"
"Team name?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Why did they have to have a team name? He glanced down at his paper, where he'd written 'Sherlock Holmes and John Watson' at the top of the page. John put his head in his hands and groaned. Sherlock was about to enquire about his friend's reaction when Anderson sauntered over with his quiz sheet and sat at the table next to them.
"Are you sure you want to do this Sherlock? You can back out now if you like, save yourself the humiliation." Lestrade and Donovan grinned as they sat down with Anderson. Sherlock glared at Anderson and was about to make a witty rebuttal when the quizmaster's voice crackled over the microphone.
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Red Lion pub quiz... tonight's prize will be a £30 bar tab," (an excited "oooooh!" filled the room) "you all know the rules, so let's get started! First up, the music round..."
John lifted his head from the table. He looked over at the pitiful state of their answer sheet. 8 questions in, Sherlock was yet to write down anything.
John leant over to Sherlock and whispered, "Sherlock, just let me write, you don't know any of these. It'll be loads quicker." He went to take the pencil from Sherlock, who snatched it out of reach.
"No. I can do this." Sherlock pouted and stared intently at the paper in front of him, as if willing the correct answers to magically materialise on the page.
"Sherlock, the sheet is blank. Number 1 was Simply the Best by Tina Turner. Number 2 was-"
"Shhh John. I don't need your help. I think I know this one." Sherlock began to scribble down his answer.
"What does that say? Oh God...Sherlock, just stop. You really don't know this one? It's not Elvis you pillock, it's Queen! Give me the bloody pencil."
"No. Leave me alone. I have to do this." Sherlock shifted in his seat so John could no longer see the paper nor battle the pencil from Sherlock's grasp.
"You have to- Sherlock, we are supposed to be a team. I know the answers, you don't. Let me help you."
"I don't need your help."
"For fuck's sake, Sherlock."
John resumed his 'I can't be bothered with your shit today Sherlock' position, whispering the correct answers, hoping the educated idiot next to him would see some sense and actually listen to him for a change.
"That's Meryl Streep, Sherlock. Please. Just trust me on this one. It's Meryl fucking Streep. I promise you."
Sherlock was staring icily at the practically empty sheet. He had ignored every answer John had provided... they certainly weren't going to be winning any drinks tonight. John glanced wistfully over towards Lestrade's table. For a moment, he considered scooting over to join their team. However, after taking Sherlock's possible reactions into consideration, he decided it absolutely was not worth it. God no. Sherlock sulked enough when John agreed with Mycroft... John shuddered to think how Sherlock would react if he ditched him for Anderson, of all people.
"Final question... what is the 6th planet from the Sun in our solar system?"
John groaned and rubbed his forehead. He glanced over at Sherlock, who had scrawled into the answer space 'Not necessary information.' Definitely no prize for them tonight, then.
"And our winners for this evening... team Agatha Quiz-tie! Congratulations!"
A roar of victory erupted from Anderson's table. They'd won? Anderson couldn't quite believe it. Not only had they beaten Sherlock, but they'd beaten the rest of the competitors... this couldn't have gone any better. After many high-fives and lots of hand-shaking, Anderson returned from the bar with a tray of well-earned drinks.
"Better luck next time Sherlock! Here, thought you'd like a consolation prize..."
As he turned to present the drinks to the defeated, he was faced with an empty table. He'd forgotten what a sore loser Sherlock could be... and was suddenly filled with a (probably quite rational) fear of some sort of revenge being plotted for him.