"Hey!" yelled the stout man over the loud music pounding through the club. He grabbed his mate by the arm. "I'm gonna propose!"
"What?"
"I'm gonna ask Ash to marry me! I love her!"
"Ash? You've known her two months, mate!"
"I don't care! I know her."
"What?" bellowed his friend.
"I said I know Ash!"
"Yeah, but-"
"I know Ash better than anyone!"
"Excuse…me?"
The man glanced to his right, where a tall, thin man with a mop of curly black hair – hadn't he seen him somewhere before? It was hard to remember after all the drinks – had stopped, an indignant look on his face.
"I couldn't help but…" the somewhat familiar man gestured wildly toward the two. "Sorry but you, you are mistaken. I am an expert on ash. You say you know ash, but you really don't. Obvious at a glance…really."
It was hard to hear exactly what he said, but the general gist got across.
"No, you don't! You don't know a thing about Ash! I've been dating-"
"Puh-lease!" The tall man jabbed a finger into the other man's chest and gestured to himself. "I know ash! Don't…tell…me…I…don't!" With each word he jabbed his finger again and again.
"A whole blog!" Sherlock moaned, after he and John had been kicked out of the club. "A whole blog post. Two-hundred…forty something. Remind me why I took that down. Didn't I? It was...something you said, wasn't it?"
"Just shut up now," John groaned, and hailed a cab.