Sherlock turns his coat collar up against the wind and hurries down the steps of the library, hoping that John is already back at the flat. It is late Thursday evening, and based on Sherlock's previous observations of John's study habits, his friend should be halfway through his anatomy and physiology homework by now. Although Sherlock is secretly proud to admit that John is significantly less idiotic than most people at their university, he will most likely need help memorizing the origins and insertions of muscles. Sherlock, as per usual, plans to deny John any help until panic is written all over his frankly adorable face. They've fallen into this playful, unspoken routine, but John should know by now that Sherlock would never let him fail.

The walk back to the flat takes him through campus and past some of the town's busiest pubs, frequented by many of John's ridiculous, supposed friends. Sherlock would never say this out loud, but he knows what true friendship with John is like, and shouldn't that be enough for John? John's associations with The Blundering Idiots, as Sherlock likes to call them in his head, are nothing short of superfluous.

Just as he is working himself into a sulk over these alarmingly recurring thoughts, Sherlock hears his name.

"SHERLOCK! HEY, SHERLOCK!"

The familiar voice is coming from the pub he has just passed. Sherlock doubles back, slightly alarmed, and his eyes fall on the flailing body of none other than John Hamish Watson, Best Friend and Drunken Idiot.

He is in the middle of a dance floor full of people, beaming at Sherlock and dancing like there's no tomorrow.