Later that night, Sherlock and John were sat squashed together in a black taxi, with bleary 90s hits from the broken radio droning in the background. John was staring down at the littered taxi floor, contemplating inwardly to himself. Trust Sherlock to have an experiment until late at night, when London clubs were at their busiest. This brought back memories of his university years; puking in toilets and waking up with a random guy in his bed. He was the one that had agreed to this. Why had he? He fixed his gaze on the bleak, black sky outside the misted window. His breath condensed on the grimy glass. It was a cold night. Without knowing, he subconsciously snuggled closer to Sherlock.
"John?" Sherlock shocked him out of his reverie. "If worst comes to worst, we might have to go undercover as a gay couple. That's alright with you, isn't it?" He said this in an offhand manner. "I don't want to attract any unnecessary attention."
"Umm, yeah, sure, whatever," John gabbled, embarrassed. Well, he'd come too far now.
"Just this once," Sherlock said, touching his arm reassuringly. Little did he know what effect that had on John.
They were almost at their destination. The streets were busy, slivers of music escaping from the numerous clubs, vomit already splattering the pavement. London's night life at its best. The taxi stopped at the curb, just outside the bar. They stepped out into the bitter cold air. Sherlock turned to face him and whispered quietly in his ear.
"Hold my hand. Now. Do it."
John couldn't question him. Awkwardly, he took hold of Sherlock's hand, entwining their fingers. A shiver went down his spine, and it wasn't the cold. What was he thinking? They started walking briskly towards the bar door. As they approached, the bouncer winked at Sherlock.
"This isn't your usual scene, Sherlock."
"Dave." Sherlock nodded back.
This isn't what you think it is..." John tried to tell him, but the bar door was already closed behind him, the bouncer chuckling on the other side. He turned to survey his surroundings. It was like an ordinary bar, but full of gay couples. At least they wouldn't be inconspicuous. Sherlock was observing to, in his usual manner. He started dragging John towards the bar. He was surprisingly expert at this, blending in perfectly, bobbing his head to the music, smiling back at the smiles given – which was a lot. John felt strangely possessive. They took a stool. The bartender (obviously gay) was wiping glasses. He seemed friendly enough.
"Awright loves?" he grinned. "What can I getcha?"
"Nothing thanks," Sherlock replied cordially. They had to stay sober, unfortunately, John thought.
"Awright then loves. That's cool. You'll be havin' one later though, betcha! You staying sober for the snog –a-thon competition I suppose then?"
This didn't seem to faze Sherlock at all, but John's stomach was turning flips like an acrobat, he felt nauseous. Sherlock replied with his usual, cool calm,
"Yes, we are."
"Awright, cool. The sign up board's over there if you want."
"Certainly. John, if you will?"
Oh god. Sherlock actually wanted him to do this. The walk up to the board was a simple task, but he was sweating, it was agonizing. As he shakily wrote their names, he felt like he was signing his own death warrant. There was turning back after this. He'd be a different man. There were no more pretend games now, this was real. He felt even sicker after he'd read the description.
'An all out snogging match (with tongues) where couples compete to see who can hold their kiss the longest! Winners receive a tray of shots between them!'
He sat down next to Sherlock, who was already on his second bottle of some obscure alcohol that John had never heard of. It must have been obscure. So much for them staying sober.
"You that nervous?" John grinned weakly.
"Aren't you?" Sherlock did not return the grin..
"I'll be back in a minute." Sherlock headed in the direction of the gents. He's left me, John thought. Well, he might as well have one whilst he was waiting. Sherlock had broke the rule.
"I'll have whatever he had please."