I started writing this story a long time ago when I was in a foul mood. It was abandoned and picked up again over and over until the final version turned out to be like this.
This takes place pre-TRF and is from John's point of view.
Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock or their characters, I just made them miserable!
Not Sherlock's fault!
I let out a deep sigh and took a swing from the beer mug in front of me. I was feeling rather cross that evening, and as shocking as this is going to sound, it was not because of my crazy flat-mate, Sherlock Holmes. No, my stroppy mood was not Sherlock's fault. Why was I feeling so cross anyway?
Oh, now that I remember, it seems a bit mundane, but sometimes a series of small occurrences can snowball and turn a perfectly ordinary day into a really crappy one. Sometimes, small matters can crash into your defenses and break through your mental dams. That's when you get drowned in a flood of your past regrets, or you have to face some deeply buried yearning, or your delicate psychological balance is tipped into leaning towards a black mood. Such was the ridiculous series of events that lead me here in this dingy pub with a pint of beer before me.
Greg Lestrade plopped down heavily on the seat beside me. His sudden appearance shook me out of my philosophizing. I didn't notice his presence until he appeared. Me! Odd, because I just took a sip from my drink, and this is my first one! I must be feeling worse than I thought…
"Hello John! What's got you into such a bleak mood?" He greeted me.
I opened my mouth to reply but he cut me off. "Oh no, let me guess. Was it Sherlock?"
"No, it wasn't him. I had a fairly ordinary day until it all turned sour."
"Really? Okay, care to elaborate on that John?"
I took a deep breath and began:
"Yes, so, here's how this ordinary day took a turn for the worst for me. I left the surgery at my usual time and got on the tube. I was in a rather pleasant mood, since I hadn't faced any mishaps at work and I managed to find a good seat near the door. There were a couple of young women sitting in front of me and they were talking animatedly to each other. They were roughly the same age, one had her brown hair tied in a bun behind her head and the other one had shoulder length blond hair. I could guess their age and occupation from their voice and clothes. College students, if their backpacks were anything to go by, as well as their casual clothes. The brunet was showing her hand to her companion. She most probably got engaged then.
"I wasn't in the mood to put on my earphones. I just wanted to relax a bit before getting back home. Maybe Sherlock would have a case, or maybe I could persuade him to tidy up his old case files. Either way, this short interval would be needed.
"In hindsight, forgoing my earphones was a big mistake, because I unintentionally heard the women's conversation.
"'So what do you call your husband, Abby?' The blond asked. Not engaged then, she got a new ring as a gift.
"'Oh, I don't know, sweetie, darling, honey, love, you know, the usual.' Abby said with a tone that was meant to be casual, but had an undertone of smugness to it. Or maybe that's how I heard it.
"'You never call him by his first name?'
"'Not usually, no. Well, when I do, I add one of those terms at the end.'
"'So you call him, ah, how exactly?' the blond prodded wistfully.
"'Like 'Mark, dear' or 'Mark, darling'. It's a preventative measure, you know. When we call each other with endearments, it would be less likely for us to insult each other.' Abby explained sagely.
"Sherlock once told me that I'm a hopeless romantic. He's right to an extent, compared to him, I'm considered romantic, disgustingly so. But that drivel was too rich for my blood. It was a blessing that the train reached my stop right at that moment, or I would have puked right there from the excessive mushiness of that conversation. I can only take so much of lovey-dovey nonsense, and I bet that exceeded the crap they write in those horrid romances. Or maybe not, I don't know. I guess that was the cure for any curiosity about trashy romances!
"I got off the tube and got to street level. I saw a couple holding hands and the woman was leaning her head on the man's shoulder. Have you seen that episode of Pink Panther, when he wants to go on a diet? Pink Panther makes his decision, then goes to watch some telly and all the channels are showing food related programs. Well, that was exactly the situation I found myself in. I don't know whether the universe had decided to mess with me, or I had become more sensitive to the issue, but wherever I turned, I could see a pair of lovebirds holding hands and making goo-goo eyes at each other. Heck, all the advertisements were about weddings and such as well!
"I finally reached home. Sherlock was at his microscope, scrutinizing God knows what. I headed straight for the fridge in order to grab the milk so I could make myself a cup of tea. I scanned the contents of the fridge: bread, cheese, human arm holding an apple, butter, tongues, oranges, mustard, some purple mold culture,… Nope, no milk, and I was out of beer as well. I let out a frustrated sigh. 'Oh well, at least they'd have beer at the pub.' I thought to myself, 'No point in staying here and wallowing.'
"So… yeah, that's how I ended up here."
Greg patted me on the shoulder to show me sympathy. "Good thing you didn't empty it on Sherlock." He said pensively.
"Yeah, I feel like a character in one of those family dramas where a kid is dumped on the bloke, and he has to raise the kid without ever being in a relationship." I mused.
Greg snickered and then shook his head, trying to regain his composure.
"So Greg, what brings you to this little den of wallowing?" I asked him, "Did Sherlock wreak havoc on your crime scene while I was at work?"
"No, it's not Sherlock's fault. You'd laugh if I told you."
"Come on Greg, I told you my story, it's only fair that you told me yours."
He took in a deep breath. Looks like he gave in then, hmm, that was easy!
"Alright then, here it goes. My day started relatively normal, get up, drink coffee, go to the office and get buried under a mountain of paper work, get called in for a homicide, the usual. The victim was a 30 year old female, she was a housewife and her body was found in the living room of her own flat.
"You should know that unlike what Sherlock thinks, we're not completely incompetent. This was an obvious case of domestic violence. I mean, she was stabbed with one of her own kitchen knives in her own living room. The body was not moved. Whoever did it was very familiar with the layout of the flat, and she was comfortable enough with them so that when they wandered in the kitchen she was lounging on the sofa- I saw the imprint on the cushion. After interviewing the neighbors, we found out that the only person in her life to fit that description was her husband.
"We arrested the guy and he fessed up real quick. Turned out his motivation for killing his wife of seven years was to take her out of the picture so that he could run off with his new mistress. This is a pretty common motivation, but for some reason this case really bothered me. I guess I've become more sensitive to cases that involve betrayal after my divorce. I guess the fact that the mistress was a PE teacher didn't help matters either!
"Anyway, I'm not corny enough to let a mundane case like that get to me, especially after we got to solve it pretty quickly too. I guess the day took a nosedive after I got a glimpse of Anderson checking out Donavan. Then I saw one of the sergeants, he was asking his partner about a good jewelry store for buying engagement rings. That really did it for me. It was like watching a chronologically distorted movie version of my own marital life! As soon as I finished that drasted case's paperwork, I made a bee-line for the pub."
It was my turn to pat him on the shoulder. He rubbed his eyes and heaved a sigh. "You know John, I just had a revelation."
"What is it, Greg?"
"If this is how we handle the stuff we notice, there's no wonder Sherlock acts the way he does all the time."
"It's a real pain." I agreed.
Just then Molly Hooper came and slumped on the chair beside me. She obviously hadn't notice us because she signaled for a drink and then rested her forehead on her palms. She was wearing a well cut, knee length black overcoat. The buttons were undone, so the form-fitting emerald green cocktail dress she was wearing under it could be seen. She was wearing big earrings and a thick gold bangle and had her hair parted on the side.
She must have been to a party then. Going by the cut of her dress, and the state of her clothes, she had dressed to impress. A boyfriend maybe? No, not while wearing that bangle. Molly had come across enough leeches in her time that she wouldn't put on an expensive piece of jewelry while going out with a relative stranger. So it was probably a girls' night out, showing off her financial success to compensate for her celibacy. Judging by her current mood, it was safe to assume that Molly did not have fun. Okay, I just realized I sounded just like Sherlock back there. Strange…
"So," I addressed her, "What's a pretty girl like you doing in a bar like this?" I asked her in my best flirtatious voice.
Molly looked up in a foul mood. She was about to give me a scathing retort I assume, when she saw me and Greg snickering at our lame attempt at a prank. Molly instantly deflated and a shy smile came to her lips.
"Hello Greg, John! What are you two doing here?" She asked us in a friendly tone.
"Same thing as you I guess, trying to drown our sorrows in as much alcohol as we can." I answered with a smile.
Molly's face fell, "Is it that obvious?"
"Yes it is!" Greg answered airily, "No, let me guess. Um…Sherlock texted you to go to the morgue in order to get him a corps, thus ruining your date?"
"She wasn't on a date, it was a party." I interjected. Molly confirmed my statement with a nod.
"Pulled you out of the party with that text?" Greg corrected his theory.
"No, actually, Sherlock has nothing to do with it. It's pretty lame really, I don't even know why I'm this cranky. I mean, I should be quite used to it by now, seeing my track record so far." She tried to deflect. "Why are you two here?"
"He's having a mid-life crises and I saw my life story acted in front of me in chronologically distorted segments." Greg summarized.
Molly was staring wide eyed at Greg, until she was snapped out of it by the arrival of her drink. She took a sip from her beer and sighed dejectedly. "Well, might as well get it off of my chest at least." She took another sip and began:
"As you deduced John, I went to a party tonight. It was supposed to be a girls' night out, me, Suzy, Betsy, and Maggie. We went out to a nice cocktail bar to have some fun. It was supposed to be a no-guys-just-us-girls night. We're all in various states of being single, so this arrangement was meant to give us a stress-free environment.
The night started out fine; we all got to the bar and found each other. We ordered some drinks and got settled. The bar was playing an upbeat music and Suzy was swaying with it. Before we managed to get through our first drink, a drop dead gorgeous guy approaches Suzy and asks her to dance with him. Suzy has not been with anyone for nearly six months, so naturally, she left us and went with the guy in no time. Betsy, Maggie, and I were left."
Molly took another sip of her beer and put it on the counter heavily, "I'll cut this short before it begins to sound like a lame nursery rhyme. Maggie attached herself to a guy after five minutes and Betsy's ex appeared out of nowhere and proposed to her right there. I was preparing to leave when a guy approached me as well. He was tall and lean with green eyes and wavy light brown hair. After he spoke two sentences I figured out he was a swindler. That was just adding insult to injury. Why can't I find a decent guy? I mean, first there was that swindler a few years back, then it was that gay super-villain, then it was that cat-burglar, and now this guy. And I omitted a whole lot of guys in between." She was nearly hysterical by this point, "It's like I'm made of one of those cloths that attract all the dirt and lint as you go, a scum magnet!" She let out a frustrated breath, then took a hearty drag from her beer.
Greg and I looked at her in stunned silence for a beat. Then Greg cleared his throat, "Um, sorry about that." He said meekly.
Molly snorted and shook her head, "Don't be, I'm kind of used to it by now." Her voice shook imperceptibly at the end of her sentence.
"So, um…How bad was this last swindler?" Greg ventured.
Molly snorted, "Oh, lord, pretty bad! I mean, he was one of those types that would suck a girl dry to the bone!" She let out a nervous giggle, "I was not going to stick around to find out how literal it was going to be." She shook her head, then mumbled, "He was probably more attracted to my bangle than anything else."
"Yeah…do you still have his number?" Greg prodded.
"I guess, he wrote it on a napkin and gave it to me, why?"
Greg speculatively gave Molly a once over, "You know, we could use someone like you as a consultant on the force."
Molly frowned, "What? How so?"
"Like you said, criminals are attracted to you, and you're smart enough to peg them instantly. With some training you could go undercover and put a lot of nasty characters behind bars." Greg told her pleasantly.
Molly perked up, "Really? You think so?"
"Sure," Greg said with a charming smile, "Take this swindler for instance. You have his number, there is a lot we can do with that. How about we discuss it over some dinner?"
"Well, I am dressed for the occasion, so, why not?" Molly said with a grin.
They both got off of their respective stools and headed out of the pub together. I looked after them stunned. That Greg Lestrade is sure smooth as heck; I had to give him that. Then I turned back to the bar and looked at my nearly full mug. I felt like I could bang my head against the table repeatedly. 'Well, at least I'm already at the pub and I have a beer.' I thought to myself.
As I took a swing of my beer I noticed someone come and sit in the stool to my left. I looked at them and my jaw nearly dropped to the ground, because the newcomer was none other than Sherlock Holmes himself. He was looking at me with a rueful expression. "John, I cleaned out the fridge and I bought milk, would you come home now?"
I think my heart melted then and there, he really reminded me of a small child at the moment. I was sorely tempted to use the line 'Sherlock, sometimes adults get angry, and it's not your fault at all', then again, he did get the milk. I smiled at him fondly, "You know what, Sherlock? I'm in no rush to go home yet, how about we go and eat out tonight?"
Sherlock perked up at that, "Excellent! There is this Chinese restaurant that has a window that faces a building that I'm fairly sure houses a great smuggling operation. We can combine dinner and stakeout, kill two birds with one stone, as the saying goes."
"How's the restaurant?"
"Have I ever taken you anywhere with bad food?" he retorted.
"Have you brought my gun?" I muttered with a low voice.
"Of course I have! I'll give it to you on the way."
Adrenaline and Dim-sum, my favorite combination! There was one more thing we needed to take care of, and that was police backup.
"Lestrade is on a date with Molly tonight." I blurted out.
Sherlock gave me a devious smile.
I know you'll think there is something seriously wrong with me for saying this, and I'll take full responsibility for it, since it's not Sherlock's fault, it's mine. I mirrored Sherlock's smile, because the promise of ruining those two deserters' date was absolutely the cherry on top!
Because good friends stay miserable together! Who said everyone gets to have a romantic Valentine's day? Some people have really crappy ones, they just have to make the best of it…
A big thank you to my sister for suggesting Molly's crappy evening and the occasion for publishing this story. :D