John Watson paused briefly outside The Fox & Anchor and took a steadying breath before stepping inside. It was a cosy, traditional pub, a stone's throw from Barts, and within it was bustling and full, though it couldn't have formally seated any more than 30 people at one time. John pushed in, excusing himself through to the bar, signalling the barkeep with a casual index finger.

"Gin, thanks." He ordered, then cleared his throat. "Actually, could you make that a double..."

The artfully unkempt man nonchalantly returned with a highball and started to pour.

John fidgeted with the ring on his finger, still new to the sensation of its presence. "I'm supposed to be meeting a friend here." But the bartender made no sign of interest or comprehension, so John continued to elaborate. "Uh, a woman. She's..." He paused in thought, and licked his lip reflexively. "It's a bit of an unusual situation."

"We get all sorts in here, mate - and their dates," The man jeered, whilst relieving John of his money and offloading the requested drink in one fluid movement. "There is an 'unusual' one, down back in the snugs, if that's who you're after."

"Right, thanks." John accepted the gin, bewildered about the man's hostile tone. "Um, it's not a date."

"Not any of my business." The barkeep shrugged, and disappeared to tend to someone or something else.

John finally realised - as he made his way towards the grandiose mahogany, etched glass, and heavy brass accents that detailed the semi-secluded wooden booths at the back of the establishment, whilst his wedding band clinkled away foreignly against his drink - that he must look like some married man, nervously meeting with a woman who was not his wife. Because that's exactly what he was doing. John decided that there was something unsavoury about a bartender questioning your morals.

The first of the three snugs housed a small after-work drinks contingent – a group that clearly hadn't yet made their way up their corporate ladder to a rung that afforded them something better than an omnipresence of fluorescent lighting.

John fought against a sudden pang of professional duty – an urge to suggest that they increase their daily intake of Vitamin D to a minimum of 1000 IU (or 25 micrograms); instead, he continued forth to the second of the three snugs, where-

"John? John Watson."

John halted. The heavy-set woman occupying the centre booth quickly held out her hand - offering by way of introduction: "Stamford. Mikayla Stamford..." she said, then added, with an uncertain smile, "We were at Bart's together."

John blinked, then let out a little laugh.

"Yes - of course... Mikayla." John took her outstretched hand, giving it a firm squeeze as he slid in along the bench seat opposite. "Well... Hello."

"Thank you for coming..." Mikayla cast a furtive glance at him, whilst she stuffed the Fox & Anchor drinks menu back into the holder against the wall.

"Of course," John shook his head, "Not a problem."

"Well, actually it has been a problem for some people..." She toyed with her empty wine glass, as a pained look flashed across her face. "Not everyone on my list was willing to make it this far."

John cleared his throat seriously. "Well. It's not a problem to me."

"Yeah. You're one of the good ones, John." A bashful smile, and then Mikayla took in a calming breath. "So... I have to apologise..."

"For what?"

"For missing your wedding."

"Oh. No," John shook his head again, "No, we heard you were on sabbatical. And we got your telegram." John shrugged. "You didn't miss much. Just your typical..."

"I would've liked to have been there." Mikayla nodded apologetically, "But I wasn't quite... ready." She reflexively glanced down as though checking that her enhancements hadn't disappeared on her, or gone awry. "Anyway, that was ages ago, I know."

She slid her empty glass to the open end of the table, hoping to catch the bartender's attention as he hastened past.

"Excuse us," John nearly barked over the din of the pub, as the man tried to ignore them. "A top-up here – for my friend. Thanks." It wasn't a request.

The disheveled bastard of a barkeep reluctantly complied with the order, and disappeared with the empty stemware.

"I've been back for a few months now, actually," Mikayla continued, "Just been working through my list of people to reconnect with, and thought it was as good a time as any to reach out..." A bit of a nervous laugh escaped her, as she eyed John's wedding ring. "I'd heard... that you and Mary had broken up?"

"What? No." John gave a quick but definitive shake of his head. "No, we're very much still, uh, together – married. And quite happily, thanks."

"Oh - god, sorry. No, t-that's..." Mikayla stammered, looking simultaneously mortified and a bit crestfallen. "That's great, John. Good to hear it."

John blinked slowly. "Who said we were...?"

"Your old flat-mate - Sherlock Holmes. Dunno if you remember him..." Mikayla shrugged. "When I started back at work, I must've mentioned something to him about you... And he told me he'd heard you were seeing other people – guess I just assumed that meant something had gone wrong with Mary..."

John swallowed. "Right. No, we're, um, trying out an 'open relationship'... kind of thing. We're both free to, uh..."

The bartender returned to their snug then with a half glass of red wine. John quickly slugged back the rest of his gin, and thrust the empty highball at the man as an exchange. "Another double - cheers." John coughed, his eyes watering. The barkeep sneeringly rolled his eyes and vanished once again.

"So, you are seeing other people?" Mikayla asked, a bit too brightly, whilst she took off her glasses and pretended to clean invisible dust off the lenses.

"Not exactly. I mean..." John floundered. "Well, yes. But - just the one..."

Mikayla replaced her spectacles and smiled at John hopefully.

John exhaled a breath he hadn't realised he was holding in. "Sherlock... didn't tell you?"

Her manicured brows knit together in confusion above her smokey eye make-up.

"Tell me what?" She asked.