AN: Alright - On to chapter 4. Yay!

So the bar-fight is one of the things responsible for lengthening this story. It was not in my original plans. However I heard Elton John's Saturday Night and had this sudden inspiration to add a fight scene. So I thought – why not a bar-fight? I actually had fun writing this. Poor John though. He gets it kind of rough in this story. I feel bad because really I do love John...

Anyway – let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: I'm praying to Santa to bring me the rights to Sherlock. Until he does so I own nothing.

Thirty seven minutes later and John decides it's time to face the music. Or whatever the hell that figure of speech is.

He's drained his glass while he was sitting there lost in thought; so his assurance to Sherlock that he had "barely had a drop" no longer rang true. But that was of no consequence. He can hold his drink rather well and one is certainly not enough to inhibit his normal function. He lets out a heavy sigh as he stands; noting that he doesn't feel as elated as he probably should. He has just realized he is in love and that the object of his affections is in love with him. Isn't that something most people consider cause for celebration? Shouldn't he be shouting from the rooftops? Or smiling at least.

But then again most people aren't in love with Sherlock Holmes.

This is not going to be a run of the mill romance. Hell, it may not even be considered romance at all. This isn't going to be about pet-names, cuddles and good morning kisses. Not in the least.

John's not even sure if anything will really change between the two of them.

Sherlock obviously isn't incapable of emotion like most people think; their morning "conversation" erased any doubt in John's mind about Sherlock's "human status".

Yet he certainly has difficulty expressing himself emotionally. John recalls the pool incident and Sherlock's stumbling expression of gratitude that he barely managed to decipher among Sherlock's stuttering dialogue. He's gotten better of course.

Like that time he told John that "I'd be lost without my blogger." It sounded downright affectionate coming from Sherlock. So he was capable of expressing his emotions and affections; it just wasn't something that happened very often. And when it did you had to look for it; Sherlock was the sort that made you read between the lines in every way.

This would be no different.

Although he wasn't prone to physical contact, in moments of excitement he often hugged or kissed Ms. Hudson. And although it's entirely different from the form of affection they will be expressing it goes to show that Sherlock isn't as much of a stranger to "base human reactions" as he likes to think. Irene proved to John that Sherlock has a side of him that is still affected by the tides of nature. So whilst it will certainly be difficult perhaps it won't be as stoic of a relationship as he was originally worried it would be. After all Sherlock could be rather warm with him on occasion and surely this emotional revelation will thaw him even more.

Encouraged with his musings; he strides towards the door. And right into a younger red-headed woman. Well technically she stumbled into him as she made her way tipsily from the bar towards a table. Guinness went splashing through the air, landing on his tan jumper as she stumbled trying to regain her balance and prevent herself from falling. "God, I'm so sorry." comes John's apology; almost instinctually. He helps her re-balance and she shoots him a grateful smile; then realizes where her spilled beverage landed.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry!" "No. It's fine. I should have been paying more attention." he reassures her. Really he just wants to get out of there and long-winded apologies aren't what he needs at the moment. "No. All my fault. I don't think I'm entirely sober." she says with a giggle. He manages a polite smile, saying "Careful not to have too much more then." she nods in agreement and John steps around her; trying to leave.

But that's not going to happen. He feels a rough hand on his shoulder; pulling him around to face a wiry blond youth. Who is completely trashed. Lovely.

"Thass my gurl." he growls drunkenly. The slurring detracts from the menacing vibe he's trying for though. "Right, well you can keep her." John says; pulling himself from the man's grasp. "Don mess arounn wif me. I knowwhen a guys after my gurl." he slurs advancing towards John; who backs up to compensate. This is really not what he needs right now. "Nick don't be stupid!" his girlfriend tries to interject. "He wasn't flirting with me." she insists. But Nick is far too drunk to listen. "He wasstoo. I saw 'em" "We just bumped into each other!" she insists; trying to pull him out of John's personal space. But he ignores her. "Tryin that move eh? Bum into the gurl and offer hera drink then righ? Think you're smooth huh?" Now John's getting pissed. This guy really is ridiculous. "I'm not flirting with your girlfriend!" he snaps. "I'm just trying to leave!" he insists angrily. But Nick isn't dropping the matter. "Do you thin I'm stupid? I know when anotha guys after my gurl." And John just loses it.

"I'm Not After Your Girl! Or Anyone's For That Matter!" he shouts. "I Happen To Be In Love With A Man!" Damn. That certainly wasn't supposed to come out. Maybe he shouldn't have finished that drink.

Instead of deterring Nick though, it just adds more fuel to his drunken anger. " So ya think its funny then? Juss to mess 'round witha gulr like that?" "Nick you're being a bastard. Leave it!" his girlfriend hisses; furious and embarrassed by her boyfriend's behavior. "What in hell -" comes John's angry utterance before its cut short by a guttural sort of Omph. Nick's taken a swing at John and just like that their verbal "debate" ends and a very physical one begins.

John manages rather well against his drunken swings and is close to victory until a handful of other patrons decide they want in on the action. Apparently a fist-fight is more fun than chatting up a waitress or watching the game. So there is John; up against five drunken fighters. And yes; he's kicking their collective arses. It's not hard really. They're certainly not skilled fighters and rather unsteady, having consumed more than their share of alcohol. So he just ducks and dodges out of the way of their badly aimed and ill-timed blows. He even gets few good hooks of his own in at them. Nick now has a black eye and another of the fighters is stumbling back after a blow to the stomach.

But then they get smart; or as close to "smart" as they can get. Teaming up on him; the two larger men grab his arms; wrestling him against the bar, allowing the others free-range to come at him. He struggles mightily against them; just beginning to break free as he hears a familiar baritone cutting through the din.

"Police!"

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KP