Author's Note: There was a weird little line that decided to stick itself in my brain until I wrote fic about it. Voila! I hope this has the desired effect. Also, apparently I'm incapable of coming up with titles that aren't names of songs? That mustbe an official medical condition, no?
Please enjoy!
xxRegretteRienxx
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"Hm." Sherlock uttered disdainfully, apparently spotting someone he didn't approve of in the crowd.
That hardly narrowed things down, to be honest, so John refused to rise to the bait.
Then Sherlock confessed, "I'm a little surprised she decided to attend."
That was unusual, and John struggled in vain to follow Sherlock's gaze. "Who decided to attend?" he prompted the other man.
"Her." Sherlock stated, as though it was the most obvious thing ever.
When John still didn't twig, he sighed, resorting to an abrupt gesture in the general direction. "The woman." He added, for clarification.
"Yes, thanks for that, I gathered you meant a woman, when you said 'she', Sherlock, but which – "
"Lovely to see you, Sherlock, darling." The greeting burst out of nowhere, a dazzle of blood-red sequins on a frightfully fitted dress accompanying the sing-song tones.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John as if to say, 'Caught on, yet?' but otherwise didn't dignify the flurry of showy hugs and butterfly kisses bestowed on him with a response.
She's theatrical, then, John surmised, or at the very least has aspirations, but she was sharper, more clever, than most in the industry, far more attentive to goings-on around her, if her assessing gaze (far too reminiscent of Sherlock's own) was anything to go by.
"Really, Sherlock, it's been too long. You must make more of an effort to be sociable – you have no excuse! I miss you, you know."
"Don't imagine those sentiments are returned," Sherlock replied, threateningly. "I have no interest in the sort of business you conduct, as you are well aware."
"Aw," the woman pouted, stroking her hands over Sherlock's lapels, ostensibly straightening them. "You wound me, sweetheart, when you say things like that. How about you make it up to me, by introducing your adorable little friend?"
John bristled at that. Adorable? Little? He reminded himself to maintain a chivalrous conduct while at this classy an event. And striking a woman, no matter how offensive they were, was not chivalrous. Unless they were proven beyond a doubt to be men in drag. And even then...
"This is John Watson." Sherlock gathered John in closer with one arm, the affection in the movement still making John's stomach launch into acrobatics. "John, this is Lucinda, the woman who consents to have sexual relations with my brother."
"Charmed to meet you." Lucinda trilled, extending a hand to John, and bobbing a small curtsy.
"Erm, thank you. And you." John replied, slightly knocked for six by Sherlock's unorthodox introduction.
...And his timely vanishing act. Bastard.
"You might understand, I don't generally go around introducing myself to people with that particular phrase, but you know Sherlock. Quite the eccentric." Lucinda's smile didn't even falter.
"No, no, I don't imagine you would do." John stammered, trying desperately to rid himself of the mental images.
"Sherlock didn't say…" Lucinda continued. "How do you know each other?"
John grinned wryly. "Oh, I'm the man who consents to have sexual relations with him. Do you dance?"
-FIN-