To anyone who didn't know him, John Watson would look weird. As it was, he was sitting in a booth on the edge of a room, full of people having... well having sex. But the weird part was, he didn't look phased at all. It was as if he were simply at a normal pub watching the rugby game, not at a sex club watching a different kind of sport. It was almost as if he came to watch, that he was a voyeur, but that was not the case. He didn't get off on it, and never made any move to even try. He simply sat. And watched.

Across the room, sat another man, similar to John in his careful watching. Except it wasn't the sex that he was watching (which was hard to do, given how many people visited this particular bar). No, he was watching John, and he could not help but wonder why he was even here, if it was not to participate. He had guessed that it was for later use, that he just cared too much that people might see him do the deed, that he wanked later at home. But that didn't seem right either, because then he would be getting some sort of satisfaction out of watching. He just sat, and observed. And as the man observed John observing, he noticed another man, much to aggressive looking for his taste, walking up to John.

There was a quiet conversation as the man leaned over into John's space, a silent rejection coming from John, that put the one watching on edge. It wasn't long before John's lips were attacked by the man in front of him, all the while being pushed away. The other man just stared. "Should I help him?" he thought, already getting out of his chair. He had only made it halfway across the room, and the man was pinning John down with his legs, struggling to get a good grip on his assailant.

"Excuse me, but I believe it is common custom to stop when someone is fighting back. Don't you agree?" As he said this, he hit the pressure point on the back of his neck sending the man tumbling to the floor. John just gaped at them both, breathing heavily though a little shakily. The man took that as a confirmation and proceeded to drag the assailant over to a security guard who was far too caught up in the couple in front of him to notice the scene that had just unfolded.

"Could you deal with this?" He sneered gesturing towards the man, by his feet. "Then you can get back to shirking your duties." He dropped his grip, and then promptly made his way back to John, making a quick stop at the bar for a glass of water.

He held it out, sitting next to John and looking him over. No signs of injury, which was good, but the fact that there would be bruises was apparent. "Thank you..." John trailed off, taking the glass from him. "Sherlock." He replied curtly. "Well thank you, Sherlock, but I could have handled that myself."

"Yes, of course." he said looking him over once more. "Army doctor, just from the war, should be able to. But you can't. Most likely because of your leg. Psychosomatic by the way, shouldn't worry too much. You couldn't get much leverage on him. Honestly, I did you a favor. That guy was far too vulgar." John was staring at him, and all Sherlock could think was that he had done it again. He pushed someone else away with his freakish observation skills. He got up to leave, not wanting to hear the rejecting from the man himself, when he was stopped by an arm grabbing his. "Wha- How did you do that?"

The look on John's face was not one of horror or anger like Sherlock was expecting, but wonder, pure astonishment, mixed with a little bit of curiosity. "It's... it's simple really." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes before he began. "You are sitting facing the door. You always do, as if you are afraid of what could sneak up on you. So, army. Then there's your reactions. It seems to me, that you are more concerned about the safety of those fornicating around you than the actual sex itself, so you have some involvement in their health, even to a small extent. Doctor. Your limp is almost nonexistent when you walk up to the bar, and you barely use your cane at all. But it still bugs you, like an itch you can't scratch, so it is not just for show. It does actually hurt you." He paused to look at John again, whose face had stayed with that look of wonderment from before. "So, yes, you should have been able to have taken care of it. I was just trying to be nice. Won't make that mistake again."

There were a few moments of silence while John processed this. "You've been watching me..." He finally said and Sherlock cringed. "Yes, I have." There was no way around it. He did just confess to watching John from across the room, everyday he was there. But it wasn't what John thought. He was an oddity, a misplaced man. Someone at a sex club, but not for the sex. But what for?

John was staring at him, obviously waiting for an explanation as to why he was watching John. "Why do you come here? It's not for the sex, you never participate. Or even react at all. It's... interesting." You're interesting. He added in his head, but it was likely that that would send him off and then he would never see him again. He couldn't let that happen. John shrugged. "Why do you watch me?" There was a challenge in his tone and it made Sherlock shiver just thinking about the implications. There were no signs of arousal from him, but then again, he was a sex club without any effect at all so there was probably something else going on.

John downed the rest of his drink and grabbed his coat off of the set next to him. "Well it was nice talking to you, Sherlock was it?" Sherlock nodded. "Thank you and all that." Sherlock barely had anytime to say anything before he had put on his coat, and walked to the bar to pay his tab. There seemed to be less of a limp in his step, and Sherlock took that as a good sign.

They didn't see each other for another month, but that was under completely different circumstances.