"Hey, handsome," Sherlock said in his perfected woman's voice, "Can I sit here?"
There was a chuckle from the man in the shadows. He leaned forward and brought his face into the light. Sherlock just barely stifled a gasp as John smiled up at him.
"You're not my type," John said, "But you're welcome to sit."
Sherlock's mind went on hyper drive. This was the regular booth of his suspect. What was John doing in it? He smiled slightly and slid in across from John.
"What's your type then?" he questioned.
John laughed rather bitterly.
"Consulting detectives," he muttered so low Sherlock was sure he misheard him.
John stared at his drink for a moment and then looked up, smiling softly.
"It certainly isn't men who dress in drag," John said, smirking.
Sherlock's eyes widened slightly.
"How did you know?" Sherlock asked, keeping his woman voice.
"Well, I learn from the best," John said, grinning widely, "My flatmate is a genius. He notices things about people that even they refuse to acknowledge. Deduction. That's what he calls it. It's mostly his excuse to be an arse. Anyway, I sort of picked up some tricks from him. Not to mention I can tell a stuffed bra when I see one."
Sherlock felt rather embarrassed and turned his head away. He could feel heat in his face and mentally cursed himself for it.
"Hey, no worries, little lady," John said softly, "I won't tell anyone."
Sherlock looked back to John in surprise.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
"No problem," John said brightly, "So what are you doing in here?"
Sherlock rapidly tried to remember what it was he was doing there.
"Looking for someone to go home with," he lied, "What about you?"
John's expression saddened.
"Hiding from my flatmate," he admitted, "Before he can deduce anything about why I'm acting weird."
"Why are you acting weird?" Sherlock prompted.
"Doesn't matter," John answered dismissively, "Nothing can ever come of it. The man is a "high-functioning sociopath". Or that's what he likes to tell people. I know he has emotions. I can see them when he thinks I'm not looking. He thinks I'm stupid and that I can't see what's right in front of me, but I can see it. He thinks if he tells people he's a sociopath enough, it'll become true. But it won't."
John laid his head down on his crossed arms.
"I just wish he trusted me with those emotions," John confessed, "I would never hurt him. But he thinks that he's vulnerable when he allows his emotions to rule him. He thinks it's a defect found on the losing side…I'm not quite sure why there always has to be "sides". I don't know who he thinks he's fighting all the time…"
John trailed off, looking rather depressed. Sherlock felt something inside him twist like a knife in a wound.
"Maybe he thinks the whole world is against him?" Sherlock suggested.
"That's probably true," John answered, "A lot of his life, I think; he's been called a freak by people who don't understand him. And there's a lot who don't understand him. Hell, I don't even understand him and I'm his best friend, flatmate, partner. Whatever the hell we are."
"Partner?" Sherlock piped up, "As in you're together?"
John's head came up and he laughed.
"Oh god no," John laughed, "Haven't you been listening? Sherlock doesn't do together. He does I-use-you-for-what-I-need. He told me he was married to his work when we first met. Well, not when we first met, but not too long after that."
Sherlock frowned at the "I use you for what I need" bit, but quickly dismissed it.
"How'd you guys meet?" Sherlock probed.
"Quite curious about me and my flatmate, aren't you?" John said, smirking slightly, "We met through our mutual acquaintance, Mike Stamford. I accidently met up with him and he told me about Sherlock-that's my friend-needing a flatmate. The man knew things about me by just looking at me. It was incredible the way he just gathered all of what he saw and just found out what it meant. He's truly incredible, really."
Sherlock felt himself glow under John's praises. He smirked slightly, but squashed it so John wouldn't see. They sat in silence for a bit as John finished off his drink.
"Sorry about talking your ear off," John said, "I think I'm a bit buzzed. That always makes me talk more."
"It's ok," Sherlock said brightly, "I like hearing about you and your flatmate."
They sat quietly for another few minutes as Sherlock discovered that he actually did like hearing John talk about them.
"Hey, what's your name?" John asked suddenly.
Sherlock pretended to look hesitant and John laughed.
"Sorry, that seemed creepy," John said, rubbing at his face, "I'm John. I swear that's not fake. That's my real name."
Sherlock smiled shyly.
"Beth," he said quietly.
"Is that your real name or the one you wish it was?" John asked.
Sherlock had forgotten that John knew he wasn't a woman.
"It's the one I mostly go by," Sherlock, or rather Beth, answered.
They went quiet again, staring in different directions. Sherlock propped his high-heel clad feet up on the table. John's eyes travelled down his legs and Sherlock shivered slightly.
"You have got amazing legs," John said in wonder.
His eyebrows scrunched up as if he was trying to remember something.
"They look familiar," John muttered.
Sherlock nearly panicked at that. But John shook his head dismissively.
"Maybe a bit more buzzed than I thought I was," John said rather sheepishly.
Sherlock smiled at him and breathed a mental sigh of relief.
"It's ok," Sherlock assured him, "Perhaps you ought to get home?"
"Probably a good idea," John agreed, "I wish I could say "I'm sure Sherlock is wondering where I went", but that would be a lie. Sherlock hardly realizes when I leave the flat. He asked me for a pen once when I wasn't there and got mad when I hadn't handed it to him. Wanker. Sorry, damn, I'm doing it again. I don't seem to be able to stop talking about him."
"It's quite alright," Sherlock said brightly.
John smiled softly and slid out of the booth.
"It was nice talking to you, Beth," John said, smiling sweetly, "Maybe we'll meet up again, yeah?"
"I hope so," Sherlock answered honestly.
John smiled at him and made his way out of the bar. Sherlock sighed heavily, pushing away those emotions that threatened to overthrow him. He looked at his legs in mild curiosity. John had said they were amazing…he ran his fingers down his slender leg and sighed.
"A woman stroking her own legs," a man's gruff voice said, "Now that's what I like to see."
Sherlock nearly told the man to piss off, but he reminded himself that this was his suspect.
"Hey, handsome," Sherlock said, "Want to sit down?"
"Don't mind if I do," the man answered.
He slid into the booth and his eyes snaked down Sherlock's legs hungrily. Sherlock shivered again, but this time because the man's eyes felt rough on his skin. Sherlock wondered how eyes could feel any way at all. John's eyes had felt soft and gentle, but this man's eyes felt as though they were trying to take him apart. He stifled a frown and launched into conversation with the man, pushing away the disappointment he felt.
