~~~ 1 ~~~~

Crap telly wasn't worth watching, but I couldn't bring myself to rise from the sofa and make it to my room. The day had been so long and the last hour of my shift turned out excruciating with the most tiresome patients one could imagine. Finally I gathered enough strength and was just about to get up when the front door opened.

'Sherlock, where have you been?' I asked sleepily. It was natural for him to turn up at all hours.

His posture appeared a tad shaky and he mumbled with some desperate resolution.

'No, I didn't drink!'

'Of course,' I agreed. That was going to be funny. 'So, where exactly did you not drink?'

He crossed to the armchair and his footing definitely lacked his usual grace. He almost caught his toe on the coffee table!

The smell of spirits was rather faint, must have been brandy and just a jigger or two. But I had rarely seen him imbibe anything before and always suspected he was alcohol intolerant. So, now I had the proof.

'Gay club,' he said announced matter-of-factly as if it was the most normal thing to suppose.

'Did you decide to try everything today?' I was a little worried, but actually more amused than worried.

'Don't be an idiot, John,' he said impatiently, his tongue faltering a bit. 'This was for the case.'

His voice still seemed unstable, but he was regaining his usual self-confidence, verging on self-assurance by the minute. I felt I had missed my chance to see my dear flatmate in his cups. And then I suddenly noticed the marks on his skin. I froze.

'What the hell are these?'

Sherlock touched his neck, flinched slightly and shook his head.

'No idea.'

He opened his notebook and seemed totally absorbed in whatever he was doing. This was obviously meant to indicate he was busy. Some hope.

'I guess I have an idea. They are flipping love bites!'

'Well, quite understandable,' he nodded, his fingers flying over the keyboard just somewhat more slowly than usual.

'Sherlock!'

He waved me away stubbornly, 'John no, I can't be bothered.'

'Sherlock, you will tell me now! Close the blasted thing.'

He cast a puzzled look at me, but obeyed.

'Sherlock, who gave you these things?'

He looked sincerely perplexed.

'I haven't the foggiest. Most probably it was Mark. Or Stan.'

'What?' I blinked to erase some horrible images from my mind. I couldn't decide whether I should punch Sherlock for being such a dumbo or dart to this doggone club immediately to punch everyone there. 'You mean there were two of them?'

'No, just one, but I fail to remember his name. Decided to delete it right after he introduced himself and the ethanol eased the process.'

'And what were you doing with this man?' I felt I didn't have to ask this question in such an accusative tone, but honestly, how was I expected to react?

'I was doing my usual work which this time involved watching the bartender.'

'And Mark or Stan was marking you all over?'

'I needed to eliminate the possibility of being distracted, that's the place where too many people try to chat you up which makes my job more difficult. So I decided one was better than all of them. I figured it would be reasonable to pretend preoccupied with my male partner. When in Rome do as the Romans do,' he pronounced solemnly and wrapped himself in the spread. This gesture was performed with his typical elegance which often caused in me extreme annoyance mixed with some strange tenderness.

I sighed, 'And how did you pick this man?'

'Isn't that obvious? He was standing the closest to the bartender! Use logic, John. It's hard in the beginning, but you may even like it.'

'So, you were making out for the sake of the case?' I still couldn't believe it. Damn it, the man hardly ever touched my hand!

'I wasn't making out,' Sherlock commented with great dignity and affront. 'Luckily my partner was doing the whole business and personally I was working!'

It was funny after all, him huffing, indignant at the idea he could have enjoyed the process. But then I visualised him standing upright pricking up his ears while some drunk moron was grabbing his thin torso... Now this didn't seem funny at all.

'But this man made your whole neck a big bruise!'

'Exaggerating,' Sherlock waved his hand light-heartedly. 'At least this prevented him from talking and I could strain my ears.'

'So, doesn't this bother you? Was it not disgusting?'

'No big deal,' he shrugged his shoulders. 'Sometimes you have to sacrifice your body for the experiment, I got used to that.'

'But not these experiments, Sherlock! What if he had wanted more, what would you have done? Sacrifice your body again?'

'Sounds unlikely. Bear in mind, my objective was to be near the counter.'

'Alright, so what was it like in a gay bar?

'Boring and meaningless. Some people kissing, holding hands, cuddling... Rather disgusting.'

I chuckled. 'All men?'

'Obviously. Although I cannot rule out that some were transgender.'

'And were there these special rooms for, well, you know?'

'John, you shouldn't watch porn so often.'

'I don't watch gay porn! - I retorted furiously.

'Maybe you should try if you're so much interested. But to sate your curiosity I promise I'll find out whether they have these rooms when I go there next time.'

'Next time?'

'Which is tomorrow.' He glanced at the clock, 'Today.'

'Are you going to return?'

'The necessity dictates this. I have three different theories concerning the bartender and they all require an additional observation.'

'And if this guy meets you again?'

'I will know what to do.'

'As if you had known it today! Sherlock, in such places social restrictions are lower and you may end up doing what you weren't going to at all. No case is worth it!'

'This case is a good one,' he explained, already not looking at me and clicking at an astounding speed.

I gave a deep sigh. I couldn't believe I was about to say that. 'Sherlock, tomorrow you're not going there alone.'

'Care to keep me company?' he looked bewildered.

'Do I have a choice?'

'Certainly. Tomorrow you are taking your girlfriend to some tedious musical.'

'I didn't tell you.'

'You googled it on your laptop.'

'Well... Seems, seems it can wait.'

I suspected I would regret it, but really what else could I do? Let him go to this hellish place alone and instead of enjoying the performance with Amanda question myself what unhealthy experiments Sherlock was going through for the sake of the case? Not an option.

'Right,' he said. No 'thank you', of course.

'Goodnight,' I muttered, suddenly realising it was half two and I was sleepy. 'Are you going to bed?'

'No,' he said not lifting his eyes off the screen. 'Goodnight, John.'