Sherlock could hear Johns footsteps reverberate up the well-worn staircase that led to 221B; one eyebrow shot up as the detective looked away from his laptop for a moment, listening. The familiar creak of the 11th step resounded as his friend approached. John was so predictable, stepping in the same spots he always had. Three, two…and . . . .

"Sherlock?"

With a one-sided, satisfied smirk, Sherlock stood up from his laptop, the lid of which he pushed shut with a finger while simultaneously snatching his suit coat from off the back of his chair. Just as John walked into the main room, Sherlock spun to face him.

John, who at first looked concerned, now sucked in a breath, clenching his jaw and looking to the side; a slight nod of his head showed that he was mildly irritated.

"And I quote, 'important. Come ASAP'." John's tone was somewhat miffed.

"Well, yes. It is important. I need to talk to you."

"Sherlock…" John looked back over at his friend, knowing that whatever he said wasn't going to make a dent in the detective's arrogant demeanor, but unable to stop himself from trying anyways, "My wife, Mary…you know Mary; she is at home, a month and a half away from having our daughter, and you beckoned me back here to 'talk'?"

Sherlock paused, trying to hide his amusement. "You would have come if I hadn't expressly asked it of you, John." He cracked a smile now, brushing past John on his way to the door, "I was simply saving you time." He grabbed his overcoat from the hook by the door.

John closed his eyes in brief annoyance…"Right…ok. What is it?" he turned to follow his friend.

"Mycroft is hosting a party and I need a plus one."

John's eyebrows shot up as he shut the door Sherlock had forgotten to, and followed down the stairs. "You are attending a party, one that has living people?"

Sherlock huffed, "Not willingly."

"Yeah I know that bit, but you…"

Sherlock stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned to John; his eyebrows rose expectantly, waiting for John to finish dissecting the aforesaid statement.

"…actually going to a party?"

Sherlock rushed out his answer, "That is what I said isn't it?"

They resumed walking, following the familiar path down the hallway, out the door of the building and out onto the sidewalk of Baker Street.

While Sherlock was hailing a cab, John finally came with an answer. "I-I can't. I've got to be with Mary tonight; she has been feeling a bit ill lately and we are staying in to watch telly."

Sherlock's arm dropped out of the air; he completely ignored the cab as it came to a stop next to him.

"What?"

"Crap telly." John reiterated, "Mary and I are going to spend our evening together watching crap telly and eating Tv dinners."

Sherlock frowned at John's sarcasm.

The cabbie, who had been waiting for his apparent customer to climb in, rolled down the window and demanded an explanation, "You getting in or not?"

Sherlock paid him no attention, shoving his hands into the deep pockets of his coat indignantly, "Well, who am I supposed to take with me then, Gavin?"

"Greg." John made no hesitation in his correction. "Sure, invite Lestrade. You don't have a current case, so obviously he doesn't."

The cabbie piped up in impatience, "Hey! Do you need a ride or not?"

Sherlock shifted his attention to the man, "Bart's Hospital." He retorted, "make it quick."