Never Wrong.
John never was one to drown his sorrows in alcohol. However, to every rule there must be at least one exception and this evening was proving to be a terrible one.
"You know, I've been wondering..." Lestrade trailed off as he took another swig of his beer. "Are you two... " He waived his finger noncommittally. "I mean, it's just... Right?"
Somewhere after the seventh pint the sense has obviously fled from their conversation. To John's horror, however, he understood what Lestrade was asking. Did it mean he was just as pissed as Lestrade or he was simply thinking too much on the subject? Either way it called for another drink.
"Been thinking m'self." John replied, trying to collect his thoughts and failing. "M'not gay. No, no, no!" He shook his head and quickly regretted it, when the bar suddenly toppled over sideways. It took John a few seconds to regain his semi-vertical position and a few more to remember the sad topic he was on about. "But he's never wrong..."
"Never!" Lestrade agreed grimly nodding emphatically into his beer.
Somehow put-off by this, Watson raised his voice and blurted, "Not his bleeding area, told me. As if I cared!"
"Wanker!" Lestrade sympathized.
"Bloody right!" John took another big gulp and added. "Married."
"So was I," Greg agreed.
"Wasn't even offering. " 'S all fine, right?"
"Right!"
"But that's bloody unfair, you know? Flattered, my arse!"
Lestrade put his hand on John's shoulder.
"Sorry, mate, that's hard."
John, however, was not finished.
"Look at me Greg, I'm just a normal bloke..." He did his best to sit straight and uncross his eyes. "Why would he say that?"
They both sighed.
"Maybe..." John started.
"Nah. Never in six years I've known him."
"So, I just... up and queer? And he's not even bloody interested?"
"Tough," Greg nodded.
Feeling that he needed to defend himself even if a little bit, John said,
"I always tell people, you know. 'Cos they assume."
"'Course you do." Greg approved.
"An' he juss' looks at me all tosh." John took another swig. "As if I'm the bleeding sod to go rejecting..."
"You're a good guy, John." Lestrade pushed his empty glass away.
John looked at his own half-finished one and decided that it was enough.
"Right. Let's get a cab then."
They walked, albeit unsteadily, towards the exit.
When they got outside the cold night air sobering them slightly, John was compelled to clarify.
"I never considered, you know. But he did say, "flattered""
It sounded like a question, at least to Lestrade, who gripped John's arm and shook his head, sad eyes focused somewhere above John's head.
"Never wrong. In six bloody years."
"Fuck," said John before passing out.
Extra ending scene:
"Fuck," agreed Lestrade, looking at the tall familiar figure two yards in front of him.
"Yes, please," thought Sherlock, helping Lestrade ease John into a cab.
A/N: meme prompt.
Pardon my misuse of British slang.
Comments and corrections are welcome as always!
Also, disclaimer: no, really, not mine. Not yet.