AN: Again this is glam rock like Bowie etc, (If you've seen the movie Velvet Goldmine it's like that.)
There was no after party after the gig since the England leg of the tour was on a real tight schedule. The band bust out the back door to head to the bus, Sherlock striding quickly past the fans to the safety of the vehicle while Johnny and Ia stopped to sign a couple autographs. Later on while they're on the road, Johnny's reading in the curtained privacy of his bunk when The Woman barges in on him.
"Oi," he huffs at the intrusion.
"Relax Johnny boy, I just want a word…" She smirks in the dim light. "So is it true?" she asks taking his silence as a cue to continue.
"Wha' ya on about?" Johnny huffs tiredly.
"You and the virgin," she points to the bunk above.
"Gawd, is he really?" he asks in surprise.
"No clue," Ia shrugs, "Not for lack of trying of course, I walked about completely starkers one day back when we first started," She explains like it was a fond memory, "Lestrade's jaw practically hit the ground the poor dear," She chuckles. "But not Sherlock, carried on like he didn't know where to look, acting as if I was still fully clothed," she adds in confusion.
"Maybe you're just not his area," he flips through the magazine he's been reading with disinterest.
"All I know is I've never seen him going off with anyone at a party…" She sighs, picking at the blanket, "So out with it, then…" she waits expectantly, "There's definitely something going on between the two of ya."
"Even if there was…" Johnny starts, "What makes ya think I'd tell ya?"
"Fair enough," she nods, "But if any bloke needed a good rogering, it's Sherlock Holmes," She winks, slipping out of the bunk.
John can't help the small smile that that remark causes him, but they had a good thing going right now. If it came to anything it would probably happen on stage first, nothing quite so blatant of course; but the game would have to come to a head eventually. It'll be interesting to see who broke first. With a sigh, he hopped out of his bunk; sleep still eluding him after he finished flipping through the magazine. He grabs a beer and sits on the oddly empty sofa and stretching out.
"What the woman want?" A dark voice greets him.
"Like you don't already know," Johnny challenges, knowing full well Sherlock was in his bunk during that conversation.
"Mmm…" he hums absently, prodding John up so he could sit down. John returns to his lying position despite the new addition to the couch his sandy head resting against the front man's thigh. "She's hardly discreet, unless she wants to be."
"Yeah," he nods, "Reckon ya got be a bit… off…" he decides, "If ya wanta be tolerated around here."
"What are you talking about?" Sherlock inquires, "You are not… off."
The sandy haired man chuckles a bit, "We all are," he peeks up at the other man, "Ia sticks around because you don't mind her, she's clever and bold… you find her different the most birds, so you get on." He explains, "Lestrade's Lestrade, you respect him in your own way… Molly, well she doesn't always register on your radar…" he states quietly, almost feeling bad for the poor girl. "I'd be mindful of that one, yea…" he warns.
They're quiet for a beat as the dark haired man absorbs this new data, "What about you?" he asks softly.
"Me?" Johnny smirks with a light chuckle. "Well it I think it helps that I'm decent on the music end, probably doesn't hurt I'm a bit barmy to began with…" He smiles genuinely, "Plus I tolerate your shite." He jests, earning a flick on the head from Sherlock, "Oi," he cries, reflexively slapping him on the face. "I'm not above mucking up that pretty face either, Holmes," he fakes a glare, as Sherlock pouts down at him in feigned indignation.
The next couple shows fly by without any chance to just hang out and party, which is taking its toll on everyone except Sherlock who could really care less as long he still, can get cocaine from time to time. The game continues, though the challenges haven't been too salacious lately, just enough to keep the fans wanting more. This particular stop is for a press conference, which is usually boring, the majority of the press merely doing their jobs and having no clue about the band.
"Right, this question is for The Woman…" the reporter flips through his notes. "What's it like traveling around with a bunch of blokes?"
Ia shakes her head at the stupid question, "It's lovely, really…" she smirks playfully, "Though sharing the loo can get bothersome, that man and his glitter," she huffs referring to Sherlock as the idiots in front of them chuckle like they know.
"Johnny Lazers," another member of the press calls out.
"Um, yeah?"
"You seem to favor a military inspired type look, is that a metaphor for something or some sort of social commentary?"
"Not at all," Johnny smirks, "Thought about joining up back in the day," he explains, "Figured might as well dress like a proper action man."
"Sherlock Holmes," a woman calls out, "Do you plan out your stage shows or just wing 'em?"
"Dull…" he replies under his breath, "Next question."
"No, he doesn't," Johnny answers for him, "We just go out and do it yea…"
"That mean your shagging?" A voice in the back calls out, causing everyone to pause and look from the asker to both Sherlock and Johnny expectantly.
"I'll differ to Johnny for this one," Sherlock smirks a bit, making it part of the game.
"And wha' about all those birds you've been linked to, Johnny? Is the ladies man thing just an act?" Another reporter calls out.
"Um…no, no, There's no act… My prick's none of your business now is it," Johnny answers bluntly, "It's about the music, yea… not about all that," he shrugs, "It always been about that, but you lot seem to forget that for stupid shite and..." he stammers a bit.
"We actually all have hot orgies all time," The Woman offers, instantly lighting the mood and shifting focus to a different topic.
The conference quickly wraps up, but John's temper is getting the best of him. Stewing in it for a bit, as he slams into the main area of the suite followed by his band mates and knocking some stuff about.
"Alright, you've got a couple hours to yourselves before we gotta pack up and head out," Lestrade informs them, " I'll be back in about an hour to check on ya." He leaves.
"Someone's upset," The Woman states in a sing song voice from the chair she's perched on.
"Why do you care what they think John, honesty…"Sherlock intones from the sofa as if the whole thing was boring.
"I really don't," he snaps.
"You're anger says otherwise."
"You left me to the fucking wolves out there, Sherlock!" John shouts, "I get they're just doing their jobs, but do yours!"
"What's that supposed to mean?" He challenges, "I differed to you because it doesn't matter to me what they think."
"If didn't matter than you could have told them the truth, you idiot!"
"There's no point, we know what's going on so why does it matter? Personally I thought you handled that quite well."
"It's not the truth, that's why it matters," John shouts.
"Now now boys, kiss and make up," Ia interjects, waiting expectantly.
"Piss off!" The two men shout at her in unison.
"Bitchy…" she huffs, holding up her hands in surrender.
"I really don't see the problem here," Sherlock states truthfully, "Like you said it is about the music, but it never will be for them, their rags thrive on that trite rubbish, John! You say you don't care, but this is evidence to the contrary."
"This isn't just a part of your game Sherlock this is real life," He clenches his fists, "I don't expect you to fucking understand," he storms off slamming the door to his room.
"Illogical bastard," Sherlock huffs, as he storms off to his own room leaving The Woman sitting there in mild confusion.
Lestrade returns sometime latter finding Ia in the same spot as earlier, "Wha's going on?" he asks suspiciously as he looks about for the other two.
"I'd say a bit of a domestic," she shrugs, tossing her magazine down on the coffee table.
"Oh yea, wha' about?" he inquires.
"No clue, something to do with a game and the press conference… If I didn't know any better I'd say someone was jealous."
"Well hopefully they can use that for the next show," the manger shrugs helplessly.
"Can't wait," The Woman grins mischievously.
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