The cab ride is brief. And silent. Molly, being the outgoing person she is, decided upon herself to squeeze in the cab right in between the two guys. It was a tight fit, but a fit.

The pub immediately sent Sherlock's senses wild, the moment he opened the door. John nearly bolted at him, "We, I mean you, are not solving anything tonight. Remember?" The tall man nodded, rolling his eyes and letting his feet take him wherever they pleased. And they pleased a small, two person table with just enough room for his colleague.

Molly walked behind the men religiously, holding her handbag close to her body. When John finally sat with Sherlock, she stopped at the table, huffing a bit in an aggravated groan. "I know I am not exactly, wanted, here... But." She fumbled over her words, and choked on them completely when Holmes lifted his hand and grabbed hers.

"Tea? The little diner in the plaza? Before you work, first thing Monday." His voice was a dull roar in her ears, and she all but fainted. "You are asking me now?" She chirped.

John was looking away, eyeing the odd waitress coming into their view. Well, waitress was a stretch. Maybe, bar slut with nurse shoes, would fit the bill. His gaze flickered back to Molly, but she wasn't there. "Sherlock, did you ask her on a date?" He asked more wonderously than questionably. Sherlock grinned from ear to ear, still tinging a bit inside from the shoulder pain, "Why? Are you stunned?"

"Stunned is an understatement. You, of all asexuals out there, are going out with someone." Watson boasted. Sherlock barely got a syllable before the waitress, no excuse me, bar slut approached. She slewed a smile not acceptable for day time. "Does the happy couple want something fruity?"

Like always, John nearly jumped out of his chair with, "We aren't a couple." But the grotesque woman disagreed, "Oh, pardon me. First dates are always awkward." She wrote something down in her stratch pad and gave a look to Sherlock.

He held protectively to his injured arm and shoulder. "I'll have the fruity drink, and my colleague will take a beer." Her eyes looked over to John, with an 'I told you so' expression then walked off. Watson hit his hand lightly on the table, "Why did you order that? Seriously, after all the utter crap we take." His seriousness turned into a smile, then a chuckle.

Holmes joined, "Oh, like you really hate being associated with me. Being thought of as gay is the least of your problems, John." The waitress came and dropped off the drinks, winking at Watson. Sherlock looked to his pink concoction of mostly vodka and pink lemonade, "Besides, these aren't so bad."

John shook his head, laughing some more and sipping his own.

Minutes passed, but they soon emerged to thirty minutes, then to an hour and a half. The music got louder and the drinks came faster. John, being the first to realize, that Sherlock doesn't have alcohol all that much. In fact, he can't remember the last drink he's had. The eventfully scary evening turned quickly into one of laughter.

"You see that couple over there?" Sherlock points out, his words slightly verging together. John creaks another giggle, "The fake blonde and buisness suit guy?" Sherlock nods, pointing between the two then to another table far from them. "The blonde is cheating on the suit guy with Miss model over here."

John darts his head, seeing the obviously tall brunette eye locked with the blonde. "They are les- Uh, lesbian? How can you tell?" John's fingers are tapping rhythmically on his thigh, the drinks he's had are overpowering his senses.

Holmes licks his finger as if to turn the page of a book and begins, "The blonde has texted somebody three times since they've walked in, and all those times, that model familiarized from the outlet posters has looked at her own phone each text. Ten minutes ago, the buisiness man went to the restroom and immediately his date recieved a drink. Complements from the model." His head turns back to Watson, and the gears are showable turning slower than before the fruity drinks.

"And he's utterly blind to it." Sherlock adds, his tone died down more. Watson furrows his brows and leans in, "Hmm?"

Holmes blinks, "Finish your drink. I have had far more than enough and need to sleep it off." His random gesture orders a pause from John who processes. "Something wrong, then?"

Sherlock stares to his own glass, he counts in his head how many he's had. "Six. No Seven. No, not right. Watson! John Watson..." He blinks more, eyes unfocused. He just stares at John until his hand reaches for his refilled hard lemonade and chugs it dry. John just looks on ahead.

A loud thump near echoes in the room.

Sherlock, still catching his breath, asks. "What in the heavens?" His head is turning but his eyes aren't looking. John is still looking as before when he speaks, "The buisiness man found out. He knows about their love." Holmes can only seem to look at Watson, everything else just blurrs. John stands and takes him by the elbow, standing his slowly. He thinks that maybe they can make it to a cab if their eyes just keep locked.

One step, two steps, ten steps. And they are leaving the pub, leaving the screaming blonde, the crying model, and the infuriated buisiness suit guy. They are in a cab, finally.

"You know you are two people." John says flat faced. And Sherlock stops his radical blinking to assess his friend. "Am I?" John smiles, "Yes. You are a bit like the blonde. So secretive yet in such plain sight." Holmes laughs, laying his head back. "And who else?" His breath catches most of his words.

Watson licks his lips, "The model."

Sherlock closes his eyes, "How so?" John is still looking at the other, smiling idiotically as before. "Well, I guess it's just the looks. So pretty." He's joking which makes Sherlock go into a laughing fit. But he's also dead serious, which makes Sherlock go silent quickly after. John was so preoccupied with how much Sherlock has had, he didn't realize how many he's had himself. John is past proper decision making.

He moves his eyes from Sherlock's eyes to Sherlock's mouth. And from his mouth to that one stain of lipstick on his collar Molly made when hugging him, she was more than happy knowing he was alright. Then, back to his mouth. "Sherlock, I-" Another thing he failed to realize is his colleague's reactions. It consisted of staring samely at John's eyes and mouth, but instead of a lipstick stain, it was the bloodied knuckle he established when thrashing the deaf stabber into the hard concrete. It was almost heart warming. Then, back to John's lips.

Watson's sentence had no chance to escape once Holmes breathed a word against his. Or maybe it was a sentence? John can't decide, because time just had no meaning once he made the final act of closing the distance.