The Bar
Hello this is a story done in collaboration with the most wonderful SeaStoneThrone of Tumble. Neither her nor I own or possess any rights to Sherlock; it all goes to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC and Steve Moffat.
John stood at the stove, watching the kettle heat up. They were to have a quiet evening together, him and Sherlock. He knew Sherlock absolutely hated the idea, but John had made him behave using… certain unmentionable tactics to convince him. As of now, this was all John wanted with his love. Since the first night they were together, they were basically inseparable. John was seeing sides of Sherlock that nobody had ever seen and nobody, but him, will ever see. And that's how John wanted it.
The kettle screamed at him, signaling it was done, and he took it off the stove. Making tea. That's what he did for both of them all the time. John didn't cook and neither did Sherlock. So John made tea, ordered take out, and fed Sherlock every day. It was his job and John secretly loved it. Sherlock wouldn't eat a thing unless it came from John. Outsiders would say that their relationship was too dependent on each other, but that's how they wanted it.
John brought the two cups of tea and pot into their living room. The fireplace was going and the skull on the mantle was turned around. It was something John did when he thought they might have a shag in the living room. He didn't want the skull to see… Sherlock disproved of it at first, but then he got used to it and did it himself sometimes. When John came home and saw the skull turned around he knew what was in store for him.
John handed Sherlock a tea cup and kissed his lips hard. He just wanted to climb in Sherlock's lap and have a go at it right then, but he held himself back and sat in his own chair. Tonight was supposed to be calming. And John could only hope it would stay that way.
Sherlock was sitting on the comfortable sofa in their house, keeping one eye on his newest scientific journal, explaining the new breakthrough in the area of forensics, and another on John bustling about the kitchen. After they have started to truly settle together as partners as well as lovers, Sherlock has spend quite some time researching human relationships, the stages of development, common mistakes and all of the things that might improve or compromise his time with his lover. He found out that they were practically codependent, but saw no difficulties with said discovery. John made Sherlock pause, and relax, and appreciate things like the stars, and a cup of tea, and a particularly delectable jam, often in combination with licking said jam off of John himself, and Sherlock in turn satisfied his blogger's every physical craving, including the rush of adrenalin that the man was clearly missing from his time as a soldier, fighting in war that was not his own. They functioned quite well together if Sherlock said so himself and he doubted that there would ever be another person who he would allow within his personal space in the same capacity as John. He smiled slightly when John finished perfecting the tea and handed him his cup. He was, as a rarity, in peace and content.
John had this nagging feeling in the back of his mind all night. It felt like he had forgotten something and he was trying his hardest to remember, but nothing came to his mind. He kept trying to push it away all evening and now all night.
"What are you reading?" He asked, sincerely curious. John had caught Sherlock reading a lot of things on how relationships work and trying to understand. He thought it was quite funny, but he knew Sherlock didn't think the same way so he kept his mouth shut when he caught Sherlock researching. He was wondering if this was another one of Sherlock's research papers.
Sherlock lifted his eyes at John. "It is a new study on the benefit of making the blood splatters be preserved, rather than wiped off by the cleanup crew, as a way of preserving more evidence, considering that the photographs of crime scene often time do not involve such things as the depth and fluidity of the liquids. It is really quite good." He finished. It actually was exciting, and made Lestrade's job certainly easier, if of course implemented.
John took a sip from his tea, listening intently, when he heard his phone go off in the other room. That nagging feeling came back worse than before. He ignored his phone the first time it went off. It was only a few more minutes before it went off again. John sighed. He didn't want to get it. It was probably something that would completely change the evening from calm to hectic.
When Sherlock's eyes actually took in John's face, he was torn from his musings and focused his attention on the other man.
"You seem...conflicted? Or nervous...Why are you nervous?" There certainly wasn't a visible reason for his doctor to be experiencing any anxiety; he thought the evening was going rather well.
"I have this feeling," John started and then his phone started up again. So many texts from whomever it was.
"For fucks sake," he muttered, not finish his previous sentence and getting up to go get his phone. When he walked back he was scrolling through all of the texts with a blank face. Of course. He knew it. That's what that annoying nagging feeling was. Mycroft needed them to do something for him and he was texting John.
John sent back an angry text to text Sherlock instead of him, but he knew Mycroft wouldn't do it. In all honesty Mycroft had probably been texting Sherlock all day but Sherlock hadn't had his phone with him...
"It's your brother." He said dully. "And he wants us to do something for him, but I'm not sure yet. I told him to text you because I really don't want to deal with any of his power plays this evening." John flopped back in his chair and nearly chugged his hot tea. Ridiculous really.
"Oh what does he want now!" Huffed Sherlock as he reached his long arm into the cushions of the couch, and fished out his mobile. With a press of a button, and a few seconds of waiting for the blasted thing to turn on, he was assaulted with approximately 27 messages of various length, and even 2 voice mails, all coming from one annoying source: his fat brother.
Sherlock scrolled through them with irritation shining on his face, but after a minute it was replaced by...curiosity? His face elongated slightly, fingers slowed down, and eyes paid a bit more attention to the screen in front of the device. Apparently he would not have a chance to be too bored for the rest of the week. As Sherlock finished reading his brother's texts, his fingers set to work, furiously typing up a response.
"It appears, my dear, that we will not be too bored very soon..." Drawled Sherlock without raising his eyes.
John let out a long puff of air, reading himself for whatever was in store for them tonight. He nodded at himself and got up to turn the skull back around to face the room. Then he began to pace the room.
"Tell me about it," John almost threw his own phone across the room. He just had to answer it. Should have put it on silent or turned it off like Sherlock had. He was overreacting, he knew, but all he wanted was a quiet evening. Just one. That was all. Maybe tomorrow evening... John looked intently at Sherlock and waited for any news on what they were to do.
Usually when Mycroft needed them it was something... unusual and that was an understatement. Mycroft seemed to only want them to do all his weird cases that the government couldn't do because, well, because they weren't the most respectable things.
"You might recall John, the case we were on last week, the one where the papers from Prime Minister's office were stolen, and then returned on his doorstep. According to Mycroft two more thefts have occurred within this week, with the same practice of important documentation of, as Mycroft would put it, sensitive information on a few rather controversial adjustments to the current international trafficking law.
"And if not the laws themselves weren't it then curiously enough the people involved in the process have received notes, persuading them to make sure that those laws would be passed. The culprits have been sighted, but they were simply small fry. The real minds behind this are yet to be caught, even if they are known by now.
"What Mycroft requests, is that I find out their motivation for going to such lengths and the possible bosses of those people." Finished Sherlock, as he finally looked at John. It seemed that the calm of the evening has evaporated from the man like morning mist did from the grass fields by noon, and he was once more deep within his mind, putting together pieces, and tying them together.
The information sunk in and John seemed to approved. It didn't sound like they would be doing anything particularly hard. "Ok. That's all good and... normal." John knew the normal part wouldn't last long.
"Where do we go? And... what do we do to get this information?" Those were the important questions. John went back to his seat, obviously fidgeting. He couldn't keep still and he couldn't tell anymore if it was from the anticipation of this case or because he was still angry. But he was pretty sure the anger was gone and he was just ready to get this over with. That way they could just crawl into bed together that much faster. It probably would have been better for the two of them if they had received these calls earlier that day instead of just ignored them, but it was here now.
"Mycroft had informed me that those particular men are regulars at a certain high-end place called Callooh Callay Cocktail Bar. It is quite exclusive, and only the crème-de-la-crème..." Here Sherlock did the air quotes."... of the society, are allowed in. It is a highly private club, and outsiders are under careful consideration. He has also informed me that he had insured me a spot as a bartender at said establishment starting tomorrow night, and for the rest of the week at least.
"He says that the position will first has to be scouted for a day or two, as the men come in on Wednesdays and it is only Sunday night." Sherlock was excited, finally something that would actually employ the acting classes he was pushed into by Mommy but then continued after realizing their worth for a profession as his own.
Oh... not weird at all. John relaxed. Plus, it didn't even sound like he needed to be involved. He wasn't well known, had a lot of money, or anything really so he wouldn't be allowed into the bar... Perfect!
"Well, it certainly sounds like it would be fun." John gave Sherlock a smile and suddenly wished he hadn't chugged his tea from earlier. "And you get to act! We both know how much you like doing that," John had seen Sherlock act on numerous occasions and then complain later that he couldn't act longer. And of course, in the bedroom when they acted out different sexual scenarios... John's face flushed at he thought and he cleared his throat. Jeez, his mind was horrible tonight. It also seemed like they could have the rest of this night without having to act on this case right away.
"I'm sure you'll pick up on mixology pretty quickly, too, as you do with most things. It seems like I won't be involved in this one!" John's voice was almost peppy as he said it. He clasped his hands together in triumph.
Sherlock stared at John with disbelief. "I am surprised you are alright with this John..." Said the tall men hesitantly. He sat down on the sofa again and looked at John. He looked relaxed and Sherlock was a bit baffled. "I was not aware you were alright with me showing interest in others, much less showing my body to others as well...I suppose never really considered that to be one of your likes" Finished he with a bit of interest.
John's smile faded slowly. What. John quickly went over what Sherlock had previously said in his mind trying to find where Sherlock had mentioned showing himself off to other men. After recalling what he could, he couldn't find anything Sherlock had mentioned about any of that. John's body stiffened considerably.
"What do you mean you have to... do all of that?" He waved a hand in the air as if to signal everything Sherlock had said. "Is this a gay bar? How are you supposed to show off your.. body? And show interest in others?" John a million questions a minute now uncertain about any of this. This was when the normal started to melt into weird. Did high class business men go to gay bars often? He didn't know if he was supposed to be connecting any of this together or not.
"Oh, I suppose I did not mention that one of the specifics of this particular bar is that all of the bartenders are women, famous for not only their excellent cocktail mixing skills, but also their beauty and ability to show off said beauty with their intelligence. Or at the very least the pretense of it." Said Sherlock with a small wave of his wrist. "It is most often frequented by men of the entertainment, business tycoons, and high-end criminals.
"It would be only expected of the newcomer in their world to be able to prove herself to the customer's taste, with the presentation of both of those skills. I suppose I will have to go shopping for something more. Feminine...tomorrow." Pondered Sherlock as he imagined what this transformation would entail of him.
John's jaw dropped. "You're going to dress as a woman?" His voice was much louder than it had been a minute ago. He moved his mouth, saying silent words to himself as he tried to form the next sentence in his mind. John ran a hand through his hair as if trying to restart his brain.
"It looks like I will have to be there now," he grumbled, thinking of drunk men and their tendencies towards scantily dressed women. In this case that woman would be his Sherlock. He and reached out to grab his laptop and do research of his own. He would have to pretend to be one of those three things Sherlock had mentioned and John knew the most about being a criminal from their work with them.
Not only research on that, but research on what Sherlock had to do to become a... female. "Mycroft would give us this case," he mumbled to his computer screen.
Sherlock smiled slightly as he watched his love suddenly take interest in the new case. It seems that John was familiar with the activities that went in inside a bar with regards towards females after all, which, considering his track record, did not surprise Sherlock at all.
He leaped from the couch, and headed towards his bedroom, grabbed the laptop and busied in back into the living room. The research would have to be intense for this one, as he had never fully dressed as a female, sure he had the shoes, and the lusts of one, towards John of course, but never the full mannerism and habits, the movements that separated females from males. Sherlock was acutely aware of the gap between the two genders, as he had on more than one occasion observed his suspects and victims interact, so he had an idea forming in his head. He would need John consult on this.
He pulled his eyes off the laptop for a moment and send a text to Mycroft. "Ensure a pass for John SH"
John was scrolling through pages and pages of information, opening tabs and more tabs than his internet browser should really have. He didn't like what any of his information was telling him and he kept looking up at Sherlock every once in a while.
John had his credit card out and was buying a few things here and there that would make him look like a proper criminal, from what he websites were telling him, and ordered them for next day shipping. Wednesday wasn't far away and he didn't really want to go shopping for these things.
John picked up his phone and sent a text to Lestrade informing him of his new... identity and that they might need his help at some point. Greg would come in quite useful for this. Then he promptly sent Mycroft a text to get papers ready for his new cover. This was going smoothly so far, but he was trying not to think of Sherlock and those men.
"I might lose it," he said out loud, accidentally voicing his thoughts. John glanced up at Sherlock to see if he was deep in his research or if he had heard him.
"I'm sorry what did you say John? I wasn't listening; this is really fascinating material... No wonder Mommy was more irritated then usual at least once a month..." Mumbles Sherlock to himself as he kept scrolling though tags on femininity, feminine behavior, and gender norms.
John didn't repeat what he said and just seemed startled that Sherlock didn't know about women more. "You didn't know about their..." He trailed off, remembering that Sherlock didn't know about the solar system so this shouldn't be a surprise. It also probably didn't help that Sherlock never had a girlfriend in his life like John had. Or a sister for that matter. For someone so smart he could really be so... dumb.
In another browser Sherlock had opened a list of the best shops in London to shop for clothes of expected quality. If he was going to be a woman, there was no way he was embarrassing the Holmes name and showing up as an uncouth, unkempt woman. They wanted class, and he would deliver.
"John! Let it never be said, that Holmes women are in the same category as all of those other harlots!" Sherlock raised his eyes at John, his own shining with determination. "I will have those men eating out of my hand!"
Sherlock's last sentence didn't help John's nerves at all and he was suddenly glad about a few of his purchases. He closed his laptop and stared at Sherlock. John was done for the night. He had bought more than he should in his irrational state and he should probably stop before he got too out of control.
"You are really, really excited about having those men wrapped around your fingers, hmm?" John inquired, a slight edge to his voice. No, no, don't think about it. They aren't going to actually do anything. They were high class business men. But they were men and men were animals. John wasn't excluding himself from this category, but he wasn't the worst man out there.
"Oh John, it's not as if I would be feeding them peeled grapes while wrapped in a sheet! You of all people should know a figure of speech when you hear one. What I mean is that my ability to get information out of them successfully will depend entirely on my presentation of...hmm...What is my name for this, what do you think?" Sherlock pondered. He needed a name that was both him, and him-the-woman as well.
"John I need a name! I cannot begin constricting my story without one. It simply will not be put together." Sherlock opened a new tab and started typing in parameters for female names and their meaning.
A name? Christ, John hadn't thought about changing their names for this. That should have been the number one thing to do in this situation. But John was busy worrying about if Sherlock's figure of speech ended up being real. That was the reason John was going to this thing in the first place.
"How about..." John glanced around the room, looking for things that would make a name come up in his head. A woman's name... names of his ex-girlfriends kept popping into his head but that seemed like it would be horribly out of place in this situation. "Sharon? No you don't look like a Sharon. Cheryl? That's kind of close to your name? No, no..." John stared hard at Sherlock, trying to see what type of woman's name he looked like.
"No, no, those are horrible and unimaginative names! Mommy would never name one of these. Hm... I wonder," Sherlock opened his mobile and pressed "call". "Mycroft! What was Mommy's choice of a baby sister name?" After waiting for a few seconds Sherlock looked apprehensively at the phone. "Are you quite certain then?...Really? Well I suppose if Daddy chose it..." Sherlock hanged up and looked at John with a thoughtful look on his face."It appears that if I was to be born a female you would have known me as Vivian."
John gaped. He just called Mycroft for help. Unbelievable. "Vivian?" He stared at Sherlock, thinking that it did fit him if he was a female. John's imagination got the best of him and he thought of a Sherlock in a tight dress, those heels John loved oh so much, and showing a bit too much cleavage... wait cleavage?
"It sounds like a... sassy name. Fits. Now another matter we have to think of," John said quickly, hoping Sherlock wouldn't think much on John calling him sassy. "If you're wearing a dress, which I assume you are going to, then how are you going to..." John made a motion towards Sherlock's chest. A kind of awkward grabbing motion that made John extremely uncomfortable with himself the second after he did it. He didn't know why he was having such a problem with this, but it was just strange to think of Sherlock as a Vivian with tits.
Sherlock's eyes sparkled in amusement as he spotted the glazed look his lover was sporting. It appears that not only Sherlock's heels would have been a turn on for him, but the rest of him dressed in something much more feminine then his usual attire would help as well.
Sherlock rose from his seat and strode to John placing his arms lightly on the other man's shoulders. He leaned his head down and grasped John's hair with a firm but gentle hold while trailing his other arm down his back.
"Well my dear..." rasped Sherlock "...I would just have to have false breasts then. The Woman's phone still holds quite a few very useful contacts within its address book, all of which I intend to use tonight and tomorrow. Can you imagine me though? I know I look delectable in heels, you've said so yourself so many many times. But think of me in something more...vivacious. "Here Sherlock smirked and nibbled on John's earlobe slightly, putting pressure here and nipping there.
"I think that the image would be more than enough to draw attention from my breasts to my other much more considerable attributes." At this Sherlock's impossibly long leg rose slightly and curled over the side of John's own leg, trailing the heel of the pale appendage over the back of his calves.
John felt warmth pool down in his gut as Sherlock got close. He gasped at Sherlock's behavior. God sometimes he couldn't follow the man's moods but he loved when Sherlock shifted to sexy, teasing Sherlock.
John reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hips and pulled him closer to him in the armchair. "I think you're just doing this to see what it would do to me, aren't you?" John's voice cracked in the middle of his sentence from his sudden strong desire for Sherlock. "Not only the thrill from the case and something new, but you want to be a tease in public. Someone will be getting good tips from me." John moved a hand to pull Sherlock's head down for a heated kiss.
Sherlock was irresistible sometimes, wait no, all the time and it was a miracle John could keep his hands to himself when he was with him. Even when they were out or Mrs. Hudson was crowding in on them, John would study Sherlock and just want to be next to him and touch him in the filthiest way. If Sherlock was going to be in a little dress, then how did either of them expect John to not jump over the damn bar and take Sherlock there?
Sherlock smiled at his little victory. Unfortunately they had a lot to do tonight, and time could not be spend driving his John to delirium at the moment. They would have to postpone that for a later date.
He leaned into the kiss, allowed himself to feel the heat of John's hands on his body and press back in return, before pulling away his flushed face and straightening up. "As much as I would love to be given tips by you tonight my love, it will have to wait, until this is done. I need to order those false breast you seem to be fascinated with, and prepare for my role, just like I suspect you do. I'm certain you cannot waltz in there as you are now. Hmm...We need a role for you..." Sherlock was once more sinking into his mind, attempting to come up with the most suitable character for John to portray in the following week.
John groaned in frustration, but didn't complain about it. He could get Sherlock into bed with him, but he knew Sherlock wanted to focus on his case, so he let him.
"I already have one, no need to think of one," he mumbled, still trying to focus on anything other than Sherlock to make his arousal die down. He found thinking of those horrid men at the bar did the trick right away. "Don't try and arrange anything for me, I've already gotten most of my things. Unless you want to buy me a suit?" John asked. They both knew Sherlock had better taste in clothes than John did. He liked to wear his sweaters and jumpers while Sherlock liked to wear suits and sports jackets over a fairly tight dress shirt and trousers.
Wait, stop it. John mentally smacked himself. He was trying to make his arousal go away, not make it worse. "Pinstripe to be exact.".
"A suit?" Sherlock's eyebrows rose as he considered their conversation so far. "Ah. You will be going as a criminal. Playing up on the clichés then? Hmm..." Sherlock gazed at John thoughtfully. "Yes...A grey suit, with silver stripes, three button of course, a black shirt, and black leather shoes should do nicely for your completion. You're really not one for bright colors, black would make you fade into the background too much in a dim room, and you will be establishing your presence.
"What sort of accessories have you purchased for the character so far? What is your name? What is your occupation? We have to go over the whole thing if we want it to be successful John."
John was assaulted with all the questions at once and he held his hands up to Sherlock to make him stop. "Hat, cane, a few new clips for my gun. Although that last one was just because I needed them after you shot most of them into the wall... I'm sure my name can stay John. No one is really going to be paying attention to me. I'm not going to get information," he said, hinting that he was going to make sure Sherlock didn't get in over his head.
"Occupation... mobster, of course, what else would I be in a pinstripe suit? Come on," John said as if Sherlock should have known. "This is just the first day. We have tomorrow to work on this too, don't forget."
He knew if Sherlock was going to do shopping tomorrow then they weren't in too much of a rush to get this all done and over with tonight. And why shouldn't his name stay John? He wasn't as good of an actor as Sherlock and he might not remember to respond to anything other than John...
Sherlock sighed exasperatedly. "John, please, pay attention. You will be going into a high class club that is frequented by known mafia, bratva, yakuza, and other criminal organization members. You will not be able to simply appear, you will need a reputation. An established reputation, even if small, but that has to hold up to scrutiny should the occasion arise. Your name can be John, but John what? How did you rise high enough to be allowed into the Callooh Callay, who invited you, remember that place is invitation only, and finally what would be your reason for suddenly showing up in there on the same day as a new girl?" Sherlock was amazed that John did not think of those things, he was not risking exposure, and most importantly John's life, just because of a single detail that went untouched.
This was one of those moments that John wanted to strangle his love. Granted, he didn't think of some of those things but sometimes Sherlock's voice made it seem like he was being spoken down on, and it drove John up the wall. He closed his eyes, took a deep, deep breath, and opened them again, feeling fine again.
"Calm down, my love. I've already contacted Lestrade and Mycroft to make a background for me. As for showing up on the same day as the "new girl," John used air quotes as he said it, raising an eyebrow at Sherlock. "Pure coincidence. I won't even mention you. I won't even buy my drink from you, as there usually are more than one way to get drinks from a bar like that." John was referring to the shot girls that wondered around trying to make men buy shots from them.
"How did I rise high enough to be allowed in the bar? Why, by tripping up the great Sherlock Holmes of course. You're going to make a post and change the date on it so it seems real on your website, mind you." Yes, John was picking at Sherlock just a bit, but almost all the criminals knew about Sherlock and they did try to stay away. Try was the keyword. "Who invited me is the good question though..."
Sherlock huffed at his lover's tone as he listened to him. He understood clearly who John was referring to in his speech about drinks, and hate as he did, John did have a point. "Alright, then I will type up a notice on the blog dating a few months back, stating that a criminal managed to get away from me, and leave me with virtually no clues to his crime, and later send his regards to me. That should be enough, and if Lestrade and Mycroft are establishing your identity, then we do have that covered. What we left with are your last name and the reference...Oh!" Sherlock jumped excitedly.
"I know! John it was Her, I still have her phone, and it is not known widely that She had been gone, so a message send from her phone to a few numbers will ensure you have an invitation!" Sherlock puffed up with pride, looking expectantly at John, waiting for his reaction.
"Brilliant!" John said, a smile on his face. He was really getting into it now, and he liked the thrill. "Invitation from Her, which I'm sure will raise a few eyebrows about what my tastes are, but I'm sure its respectable for someone in my new line of work," he shrugged, not really caring if it was or if it wasn't. Then his happy smile turned into a sly one.
"Maybe one day you'll have to punish me for being such a bad criminal and fooling you," John couldn't help but suggest. It did fit their situation and Sherlock did like to play in the bedroom sometimes. Really, though, John was just trying to buy some time as he thought of a last name. He couldn't be Irish because there was no way he looked like he was in the Irish Mafia. He didn't look Italian... His blonde hair was starting to become a problem for this.
Sherlock smiled at the direction his lover was taking this. Then he furrowed his brow. "So we have an established background for you, only thing left is the name...hmm… can you pull of a Russian accent John?" Asked Sherlock.
John did not have the complexion for the local mafia, but his fair hair were quite common for the Slavic phenotype, and bratva has been moving into London lately, fortunately for them, not too intensely, otherwise there was a much bigger chance for John to slip when faced with an actual Russian mobster.
John grinned. "Russian mobster, got it. Should be easy enough," he nodded enthusiastically and planned to practice his accent for the rest of the night. He had this set, and Sherlock's pick for a suit matched if he was in the Russian mafia. The silver and grey colors coincided with what most people wore during winter time, seeing as those colors were considered cool colors. And since Russia was a bit chilly all the time...
"Yes!" He said, standing up suddenly, clapping his hands together, completely taken by this idea. Now last name... John wasn't really a Russian name so maybe he would have to change it.
"Anton Kyznetsov?" He spoke in an almost perfect Russian accent as he said a name and looked expectantly at Sherlock.
Sherlock stared at John in amazement. His lover continued to surprise him, and Sherlock loved him for it. "John! I never knew you could do such a convincing accent. Where did you pick that up?" He could already picture Anton in his mind. John gave a humble shrug, a smile still on his lips. He picked up on things when Sherlock was on his cases and he was behind overshadowed by Sherlock's brilliance. Finally it was showing its benefits.
"Yes! This is perfect. You are an arms dealer, former military of course no man in bratva isn't, keep your rank by the way, it will give you more credence; so! You are Kapitan (captain) Anton Kyznetsov, from...Saint Petersburg, here to establish connections and find more customers, you met Her..."
"And!" John said quickly, interrupting Sherlock. "When I met Her, of course we know what she does, and I managed to find clients through her and had to help her through a rough time which I will have to think more on, so I suppose the invitation would be considered a..." John squinted his eyes as he thought of the word. "A blat? That's when someone uses his contacts to receive a favor right?" John waved his hand in the air, he would have to practice more.
"And through Her, you, Sherlock, ran into me and caused me much trouble to which I managed to escape your fantastic deducing abilities...".
"Oh you're good .." Breathed out Sherlock and swooped into the other man's arms making him stumble back into the armchair and sat on Jo-Anton's lap with a flourish.
"Anton, my dear where do you pick up those tidbits of information?" Sherlock, now trying to fit as Vivian, shifted his entire body just a tiny bit more and leaned on Anton's arm that was resting on the cushion. He placed his hand on his clavicle, trailing his fingertips slightly down and then up towards his hair that was still messed from earlier fun activity. The slender male lifted his feet so they sat on the other side of the chair and turned his head towards the one he was perched on.
"I'm so happy that you are finally going to be coming in to watch me work! I was so lonely without you in my old job, I'm so happy you got me this one." Sherlock thought that perhaps he could call Mycroft and have him arrange it so Vivian was given a position through "Anton's" connections.
John let out a laugh as they both landed in their chair. Upon hearing his new name however, the smile fell from his face and a serious, no-funny-business look fell across his face. He felt his mind click into ex-solider, arms dealer, Russian mobster and his now-piercing brown eyes fell upon "Vivian" in his arms. Anton didn't move to hold her, of course not, a mobster wouldn't show that much affection towards one woman.
He had to clear his throat before he spoke, making sure to speak in his almost-good enough Russian accent. "Couldn't let a pretty little lady like you work for that last scumbag of a man you called a boss," he immediately imaged Anton taking revenge on this so called boss.
A little smile spread across John's lips. "Well I guess it isn't a coincidence that we show up on the same day," John said, back to his normal accent. "And now I don't have to order my drinks from someone else. I expect some flair when pouring mine." He winked at Sherlock and leaned down to kiss his forehead.
