John Watson was lounging on the couch, checking his email, when Sherlock Holmes came home (from whatever expedition he'd been on that afternoon) with a rare smile on his face. Sherlock threw his black trench coat into the kitchen and exclaimed, "John! You know how you're always trying to get me to go to a bar with you? To loosen up? Though I don't see why I'd ever need it. To loosen up implies that I'm too tightly wound, but I'm not all worked up, how am I supposed to function? So I still don't see why—"

"Sherlock!" John interrupted, "Get to the point."

"Ah. Well, I was riding home in the cab today, after having tracked down and put that scoundrel, Millers, in jail, I saw a bar that looks like it could be fun. IT HAS NO ROOF, JOHN! Can you imagine that? No roof! Well, I figured I would finally give your suggestion a go, and you and I are going to the bar! So get your coat!" Sherlock threw John's coat at him, and the black jacket landed on his head, blacking out the room for an instant.

When he pulled the coat off his head, Sherlock had already pulled his back on and was yanking John to his feet. "Ok, ok, Sherlock! Give me a second."

"No, John. Now!" And Sherlock pulled his flat mate out the door.

After a short cab ride through the London streets, Sherlock Holmes stood in front of a building, his arms spread eagle in excitement. The structure behind him had a large, neon pink sign glowing the words 'Topless Bar' into the night. John tried his hardest not to laugh and Sherlock said, "See? I told you it looked fun!"

John said through his giggles, "No, Sherlock. I don't think you—" He paused as he considered whether or not to tell his friend about his mistake. He decided against it. "You know, you're right. But, I'm feeling a little wiped out. So, why don't you go on ahead, and I'll catch up with you back at the flat. You can tell me what it was like."

"But John, the sign says drinks on the first floor, and entertainment on the second. I bet they have a jazz band. That'd be classy. Can you imagine listening to a jazz band under the stars in a ROOFLESS BAR?"

John tried again not to laugh, but rather walked up to his friend and put a stash of money in his palm. "Tell you what: the first drink is on me. And trust me, you're going to need it." He smiled at his joke.

Sherlock eyed him suspiciously. "Do you know something I don't?"

John just shrugged. "Doesn't that drive you nuts? Maybe you should figure it out." Then John climbed back into the cab and told the cabbie to take him home.

On his way back, John picked up his phone and texted:

Mycroft,

Did you not teach Sherlock ANYTHING growing up?

-JW

A few minutes later, he got a response:

Not really. Why? What's he done now?

-MH

Well, he's at a topless bar because he thought it was a bar without a roof.

-JW

….Please tell me how that turns out. That's funny.

-MH

I will. And it is.

-JH

An hour and a half later, Sherlock Holmes stomped into the apartment. His shirt was gone, there was a large rip in the left leg of his pants, and a dark stain down the other leg. He stomped through the flat and slammed his bedroom door. "How'd it go?" John called out from his spot on the couch.

"I hate you!" Sherlock called through the door.

John began to laugh uncontrollably. "I couldn't resist! It was too easy. And what happened to your shirt? And your pants…"

Sherlock's curly brunette head popped back out into the main flat. "I don't wish to talk about it." Then he shut the door again, hiding from his flat mate until morning.

John picked up his cell phone and began composing a text.