Thanks to speckledband for being my beta!


John had imagined Sherlock to dance terribly- his long, gangly limbs seemed too cumbersome to be graceful. But somehow, Sherlock managed to seem… elegant whilst dancing. He had a hidden dexterity that others did not have.

They remained silent for a great while, and it was almost irritating to John. He detested the man, yes, but he should at least speak to him. That was what was done.

Let him stay silent for all I care, John thought suddenly and bitterly, before his brain realised that Sherlock would be far more annoyed at John making him talk.

"Lot of people here tonight," John noted.

"Yes." Sherlock said brusquely. "There are."

There was another awkward silence. "Your go," John said with a smirk.

"Excuse me?"

"I said something, now you say something. Isn't that how conversations happen?"

Sherlock smiled, which John had not been expecting. "What would you like me to say?"

"You know what? Let's not bother. It'll only be painful for both of us."

For a brief moment, Sherlock looked hurt, deeply hurt in fact- but John must have imagined it, because a few seconds later, Sherlock laughed. "Are you always so talkative?"

"It's what normal people do," John replied flatly. "Neither of us is adept in social situations, I thought perhaps we should just spell it out to each other."

Sherlock paused. "You aren't?"

"No. I'm unsociable, withdrawn and generally not a fun person to be around. Very much like you, in fact."

"I wouldn't call you any of those things," Sherlock said quietly, so quietly John nearly missed it. "Me, perhaps, but not you."

John could not think of a response, until a wicked thought entered his head. "You saw us with Jim at the bar last night."

Even in the dark, John could see the flush that spread across Sherlock's skin. "Made friends, did you?" The bitter, acidic quality of his voice did not go unnoticed by John, even in the noisy flat.

"Yes," he replied. "I hope we can be very close."

John did not think that such an obvious taunt would work- and why would Sherlock care about him and Jim anyway? - but the effect it had on Sherlock was dramatic. He clenched his fists, stopping still where he stood, chewing on his bottom lip angrily. "Jim has always made friends quickly; it is part of his unbearable charm. He has been less successful at keeping them."

"So I've heard," John stopped dancing too. "I'm sure he deeply regrets losing your friendship, Sherlock."

Sherlock glared at John. "Perhaps we should change the subject?"

"If you think that would help," John replied, caught between anger at Sherlock and delight in baiting him like this.

Sherlock searched for a question, beginning to dance again. "Do you like books?"

"Not the ones that you enjoy, I imagine."

"You are giving a very good impression of hating me, John."

"Would it bother you if I did?" John said contemptuously. "Would it bother you if anyone disliked you?"

"Not everyone," Sherlock said softly. "But you? Yes, yes I think it would."

John didn't know how to reply and stalked angrily away, unaware of the mixture of feelings racing around Sherlock's head. He had to find Molly again. John bumped into Anthea before he realised who she was, and inwardly groaned as she flashed him a catlike grin. "John!" she said smoothly, her voice gleeful. "I hear you've got yourself a budding relationship. "Jim Moriarty- a bartender." She licked her lips in delight. Of course she would find the idea of him liking a lowly bartender laughable. "How cute. He and Sherlock used to be such good friends- they fell out, of course, Jim did something unforgiveable. I'm not quite sure what, Sherlock and Mycroft won't talk about it, but just so you know. I don't want you embarking on a romance with him without knowing the facts."

Like hell you don't. "Jim told me all about it, actually, and I think you'll find that Sherlock is very much in the wrong. So thank you, Anthea, but no thank you."

Anthea stared coldly at him. "I was only trying to help."

John excused himself abruptly and kept on searching for Molly. Anthea would never help him- John wasn't good enough for her company. Across the room he saw Greg and Mycroft curled up together on a sofa, Mycroft stroking Greg's hair softly and staring adoringly into his eyes. Just for a second, all his anger and resentment at the rest of the world melted, and he was overcome with happiness for Greg. Finally, he'd found someone worthy of his time.

John was distracted from the scene of domestic bliss at a loud, harsh wail. He turned to see Harry, Mary and Kitty all staggering around beside him, singing badly.

"I'm bringing sexy back, YEAH! Them other boys don't know how to act, YEAH! I think it's special what's behind your back, YEAH! So turn around and I'll pick up the slack, YEAH!"

John grimaced. This was painfully embarrassing. His sister and her friends singing Sexy Back whilst others around them laughed- what had his life come to?

Mary cleared her throat, clearly taking a solo. "Dirty babe, you see these shackles? Baby, I'm your slave," Mary's voice was far from good- it sounded like a loose pipe. "I'll let you whip me if I misbehave, it's just that no-one makes me feel this way…"

She finished on a long, warbling note that was horrifically atonal. Mary didn't seem to realise she was singing so off key- or just simply didn't care.

The girls burst into laughter and staggered away. There was a ripple of laughter around the crowd nearby, coupled with comments like "Jesus, someone put a muzzle on that girl."

Harry tapped him on the back. "Hey, Johnny!"

John cringed with embarrassment as the others looked around at him, suppressing their giggles. "Never call me Johnny, Harriet."

"Ooh! Somebody's angsty! You never call me Harriet unless you're annoyed at me. Spill- what have I done now?"

"You are embarrassing yourself, and me, Harry. Calm down and sober up, will you?"

Harry pouted playfully. "But Anderson's not, and neither is Molly. They're both off their fucking heads. That's hardly fair, John, just because you're playing Little Miss Abstinence."

John glared sharply at her. "Must you be so childish, Harry? Act your age."

Harry frowned equally as harshly back at him. It occurred to John that perhaps he had gone a little too far, but he was sure that Harry would find some way to get back at him. "Colin?" she called across the room, never taking her eyes off John. "I found him! You were looking for him, weren't you?"

John found Anderson suddenly at his side, his breath stinking of alcohol. Harry smirked at him whilst John mouthed obscene curses back, before she went back to Mary and Kitty, leaving the pair alone.

"I've been waiting to get you on your own all night," he snarled, walking closer to him.

John backed up until he hit the wall behind him. "Excuse me; I just have to ask Greg-"

"Forget about Greg." Anderson put one palm flat against the wall, bringing himself closer to John. "Oh John, you've been playing hard to get with me, haven't you? Trying to keep me keen? I was glad of the time, John, all that sexual tension between us, it only intensified my feelings." Anderson's fingers crept up John's body like a spider, resting finally on John's clavicle and stroking the hard bone.

"Colin," John managed finally, trying to keep his voice firm and calm. "You are very, very drunk. Maybe you should go home?"

"Not without you," Anderson answered with a growl, dragging his hand across John's face.

John batted it away quickly. "Stop it, Colin."

If anything, Anderson smiled wider. "You can drop the act, John. I've seen, I know. I can tell how much you want me." He crushed their bodies together, John struggling to get out of this horrific embrace. Swiftly, Anderson forcefully pressed his lips against John's, his tongue fighting desperately to gain access to John's mouth.

John pushed Anderson off him with a gasp. "Colin, get off me now, or I swear to God, I will scream 'rape' at the top of my lungs."

Anderson frowned. "John, what are you doing?"

"I don't like you like that, Colin!"

Anderson laughed. "Right, OK. Do you get off on games like that? Because I like a guy who experiments sexually."

"I don't get off on it! I can say that confidently- I am 100% sure that I do not find you attractive, and I never shall!"

Anderson looked shocked, and stammered, "You're kidding? But- All those signals you were sending me…"

"There were no signals, Anderson, you imagined them. Now please, let me go." He saw Molly nearby in the room- oh thank God. Molly, his safety net, his escape route, his way out. "Molly!" he called out, finally freeing himself from Anderson. "Please, keep Anderson occupied, just for a moment," he hissed at her.

She looked reluctant. "John, I-"

"Just for a minute or two! Please, I'd be forever in your debt. I'll explain tomorrow."

She nodded and John hugged her quickly, before he pushed his way through the crowd to find the door. He had to go. He had to leave. This had been a truly horrific evening. He shoved his hand inside his pocket for his phone, typing out a brief explanation to Greg as to where he'd gone and heading out onto the street.


Jesus Christ.

A sharp, white hot pain rattled in John's skull, a pain that was all too familiar. John groaned into his pillow, screwing up his eyes to block out that blinding light. He stuck an arm out of bed and felt around on his bedside table, searching for the sunglasses he kept nearby for just such an occasion.

He lazily shoved them onto his head, helping the pain in his head die down just a little. Desperately, he wrenched his aching body out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen, turning on the tap quickly and drinking from the violent stream of water.

Paracetemol. John threw open some of his cupboards, trying to find the little pack of pills he so needed, but it was in vain. Who would have paracetamol? His mind fell on an answer- Molly. Good old Molly, reliable, ever prepared Molly. Grabbing his dressing gown, he put it on as he stumbled up the stairs to her flat.

What he hadn't been prepared to see was Molly stood in her underwear, saying an awkward goodbye to, of all people, Colin Anderson.

John gaped, looking from one to the other and back again, whilst Molly stared sheepishly back. Anderson gave him a conceited yet contemptuous look, before kissing Molly passionately as means of a goodbye.

Well, he moved on quickly. Anderson walked past him on the stairs without making eye contact, and John could not move until he heard Anderson leave the building. "What the hell was that?"

Molly sighed. "Not now, John. Save the lecture for later, but I am really hung-over and I'm not in the mood."

She entered her flat and John followed, his mouth still agape. "But- You? Him? Him?"

"Yes, him!" she said, exasperated, holding her head in her hands.

John tried breathing slowly, to calm himself down. "It's OK, Molly, it's OK. You were drunk, you had no idea what you were doing. We've all done it."

Instead of the look of wretched regret he was expecting, John was surprised to see Molly looking furiously at him. "For God's sake, John. For once in your life, just don't."

John frowned. "What?"

Molly bit her lip in frustration. "Just leave him alone, will you? I know that you've got a reputation to maintain, but for my sake, will you not say something witty and cutting about him?"

John laughed and took her hand. "Molly, it's OK. I'm not going to take the piss out of you. Lord knows, I've gone home with some real pieces of work in my time-"

Molly forced her hand violently from his. "Stop it!"

"Molly, you hate him just as much as I do."

"Do I, John?" she said angrily. "Just because you hate him, do I have to? What if I found him kind, or charming, or I just liked him, what would you do then?"

John laughed incredulously. "But you don't, Molly! He's just a desperate, sad little loser who thinks far too much of himself."

"'Desperate' is he?" She said, tears beginning to fill her eyes. "Oh, well that explains it."

Horrified, John realised how that had sounded. "No, I didn't mean-"

"I know exactly what you meant, John," she interrupted, stunning him into silence. "And it's true. Why should he like me when you are around, John? When anyone is around, who could look at poor, plain little Molly Hooper? It's been like this way my whole life, John, and I'm sick of it, sick of it."

"Molly, you're not plain, you're beautiful."

She laughed bitterly, tears streaming down her face. "Don't fuck with me, John. I know he likes you, he likes you more, and I imagine he always will. But I am giving this relationship a go, John, because if I get a chance at happiness, I take it."

John widened his eyes. "You're dating him?"

"Yes, John! Why is that so hard to believe? Isn't that the way it's always been? The beautiful can pick and choose, whilst the desperate people below have to settle for what they can get."

"Molly, you can do so much better than him."

"But I can't, John. And you know I can't."

"Molly!" He grabbed both her shoulders and shook her. "Stop talking like this!"

Molly shook him off, glaring sharply back at him. "I'm not romantic, John. I can't afford to be." Her voice cracked with the strain of talking. "Years of my life have been wasted chasing after men who never even look at me, and why should they?" She sat down on a stool nearby. "People like me can't afford to be choosy, John, and if someone comes along that I can see even a glimmer of potential in, I will try for them. Oh don't look at me like that, John," she spat. "What the hell would you know about it, anyway? You were the one who buggered off and left me with him."

"I was trying to get away from him," he said, starting to feel angry now. "Because he forced himself upon me. Do you want to be with a man like that?"

"It's better than being alone!" she screamed, her face reddened in anger and despair. "Here I've found someone who will settle for me, John, and you don't know how rare it is to find that in a man. He's well off, he's respectable and he's someone I can bring home to see my parents. He's not perfect, but he's not an alcoholic and he won't beat me, that is more than some women get. I consider myself lucky. I'm just trying it out, John. It could end tomorrow, for all I know. Just let me try it with him."

"And that's enough for you, is it?"

"It will have to be."

John shook his head and said venomously, "I hope you two are very happy together."

He began to walk towards the door, before he heard Molly laugh. "That's right, John, just run away from the problem, just like you always do."

"Excuse me?"

"People like you sicken me. You walk around expecting every little thing to be perfect, just so, exactly as they should be- well, that's not the way the world works, John, not for all of us. You can't face it when you don't get your own way, that's the real issue here."

John laughed coldly. "Whatever, Molly, don't even try that shit with me."

"Go ahead! Run away, run away again like you did last night. But don't think you'll get any sympathy from me when another part of your life goes to shit."

"Another?"

Molly stood up again, hands clenched. "If you'd cared enough to stick around last night, not only would I have not slept with Anderson, you would also have been there for Greg, when he needed you. Have you even checked where he is this morning?"

John shook his head blankly.

"Why does that not surprise me?" she said bitterly. "Mycroft broke up with Greg last night, God knows why, but he did. And where the fuck were you, his best friend? Asleep at home, because you couldn't handle it. I'd advise you to go and look after him, he needs all the care he can get right now. Now get the fuck out of my flat."

John slammed the front door behind him, seething.