Client: A person or company that seeks the advice of a professional man or woman.

John hopped down the remainder of the stairs, fixing his black tie and buttoning up his suit as he walked into the living room. Sherlock was slouched in his chair, eyes on the ceiling and hands pressed in a prayer position in front of his lips. Opposite him, in John's chair, was a tall, slender man, with short, blond hair. Client. The man was currently half-way through telling the consulting detective his story, and by the look of his face, Sherlock wasn't finding it very interesting.

"…I then proceeded to call the police, and they said–"

"Where are you going? You look different." Sherlock interrupted his client mid-sentence as John entered the living room and began adjusting his tie in the mirror. The doctor smiled to himself; 'different' was the closest thing to a compliment he was ever going to get from the detective.

"I'm going to a wedding." he answered.

"Wedding?" Sherlock said, as if he'd never heard of the word. "Why on earth are you going to a wedding?"

"Because I've been invited, Sherlock." John said with an exasperated sigh.

"By whom?"

John hesitated. He knew he would regret telling Sherlock, as the detective would continue to tell him non-stop about how the marriage will undoubtedly fail. Sherlock, however, observed the hesitation and knew instantly who it was.

"Harriet." he said, his words dripping with contempt. John nodded.

The tall client had been sat down whilst this conversation had been occurring, with a look of bewilderment on his face. "Sorry," he interrupted, "I wasn't aware of anyone else in this flat."

"Mr. Sawyer, this is John Watson. He's my flatmate and colleague." John smiled warmly and extended his hand. Mr. Sawyer, however, did not take it.

"I thought you worked alone?" he addressed Sherlock.

"Well, you would be mistaken. John has been working with me for a good year and a half." John smiled again in confirmation.

"I see." He now turned to John. "And why aren't you on this case?"

John frowned. "I – I'm going to a wedding." he said uncertainly.

Mr. Sawyer didn't seem satisfied with this answer. "And you couldn't have skipped it?"

John was definitely confused by now. What was this man getting at? "I'm sorry, is there a problem?"

"Oh, no problem. It's just that I assumed that if you worked with Mr. Holmes, you worked on all his cases."

John stared at him, dumbfounded. "Well, Mr. Sawyer, I have a life besides working with Sherlock. And no offence, but why are you taking this so seriously?"

"Because, Mr. Watson–"

"Doctor." he interrupted. "Doctor Watson."

"Because, Doctor Watson, my case is a very serious one and I like to think that those I entrust it to will not dilly-dally when solving it."

"Sir, you haven't even told me about your case, so there is no reason to get defensive about it. Sherlock doesn't need my help, so you'll be perfectly fine with him."

"Hmm. I would imagine so. You say you're a doctor? I thought doctors worked at hospitals, or clinics? You obviously can't be a good one if you haven't even got a job there."

"I can assure you that I am a very good doctor, and if you continue then very soon your nasal and mandible bones will be broken."

"What?" he asked dumbly.

"He's threatening to punch you in the face." Sherlock explained, rolling his eyes. Obviously not very bright.

"Yes, and I have better things to do than stand here and dilly-dally with the likes of you. If you'll excuse me, I need to go." John moved into the hallway to grab his overnight bag, and when he came back into the living room, Mr. Sawyer was confronting Sherlock.

"Are you just going to let him leave?" he demanded.

"Mr. Sawyer, I have no control over what John does. Although, John," he turned to the doctor, "I would prefer it if you didn't speak to my client like that," Beat. "And it would be better for me if you stayed here. Going to that wedding would be very inconvenient."

"Right, because it's always about you, Sherlock, isn't it?" John growled. "I don't give a damn as to whether this is an inconvenience. My sister's getting married, and I am going to be there!" With that, he took his bag stormed out of the living room, slamming the front door as he left.

"What an extremely rude man!" Mr. Sawyer exclaimed as he slouched back down in John's chair. "I am surprised, Mr. Holmes, that you put up with him. Should I continue my story?" he looked expectantly at the consulting detective.

Sherlock was still staring at the door that John had stormed out of, not paying any attention to his client.

Eventually fixing his cold stare onto said man, he observed that Mr. Sawyer was gazing around his flat, his eyes resting on the open laptop that had remained on John's blog. With an indignant snort, the client looked back up at Sherlock.

"Well?" he asked impatiently.

"Actually, Mr. Sawyer, I'll have you know that John is a very close friend of mine, and I do not appreciate you insulting him like that. And, no, I will not accept your case. It is tremendously boring, and I don't care whether you think the police are wrong: listen to them and I'm sure they will provide an answer. Good day." Sherlock moved over to the door and held his arm out as a gesture for Mr. Sawyer to leave. His client glared at him before standing up and moving over to the detective.

"Yours and your colleague's behaviour today has been unacceptable," he said solemnly "and I can assure you that you will be hearing from my lawyer."

Sherlock scoffed. "Go through with that, and you will be hearing from the British Government."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, it's a promise." Sherlock said, smiling.

Mr. Sawyer shot him another murderous look before walking proudly out of the room and down the stairs.

After he had gone, Sherlock moved back over to his chair. Before he could sit down, however, his phone chimed. Moving over to it, he contemplated not reading it, but he decided to humour himself.

It would be nice if you did not always use my position as a threat, dear brother. Unlike some people, I am not going to constantly be at your beck and call – MH

Sherlock huffed, before punching in a reply.

Thank you for giving your advice, please don't do it again – SH

Sherlock threw his phone aside and sat down, whisking up his violin from the floor. He had been plucking at the strings for five minutes when he heard the door downstairs open and closed. As footsteps pounded up the stairs, Sherlock looked up to see John hurriedly enter the living room, avoiding eye-contact with him as he looked about the room until he picked up his jacket from the floor.

"Forgot this." John said gruffly, waving the jacket in the air. His eyes finally looked up, and he paused in his way to the door.

"Where's your client?" he asked.

"I threw him out."

"You... Why? Weren't you interested in his case?"

"Mmph. Dull."

"Oh, God." John said. "Does this mean you're going to be bored?"

"Probably." Sherlock answered, already looking for something to do as he spoke.

"Great." John muttered. "Do you... do you want me to stay here with you?"

Sherlock smiled softly, "It's fine. Go, your cab will drive off in a minute."

John gave him a brief smile, showing his thanks, before rushing back out the door.