Chapter 7 – Dinner and Dirty Dancing (Part 3)
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Sherlock Holmes was flustered. It would have been quite cute and amusing if he hadn't been nagging fussing with John for the best part of an hour.
"Anything to get your hands on me," John muttered as his bow-tie was undone and tied again for about the 50th time.
Surprisingly there was no taunt and Sherlock simply glared at him, checking the two of them both, up and down, once more.
"Acceptable," he finally said, pulling on his black coat and scarf and texting on his preciously guarded phone, "Let's go,"
As the two stepped out the front door, John noticed the black taxi was already at their front door.
"That was quick, what did you do? Bribe them or something?" he asked, impressed.
"No" Sherlock said, looking at his friend as if he were an idiot, "It's been waiting for an hour,"
John had absolutely no time to be livid as he was shoved incautiously into the waiting car.
"Oh and by the way," Sherlock peeped over the top of his Blackberry which he was furiously texting away on, again, "Did you bring some money? I forgot my wallet,"
Happy place, happy place, happy place, the doctor chanted, waiting for the anger to clear.
In the 6 minutes it took for the taxi to arrive at the Hilton, about a mile away, John was if anything, angrier.
The £100 fare did nothing to improve his mood.
As the beautiful and snooty concierge escorted them to the conference suite, John tussled discreetly with Sherlock.
"Give me your phone," he hissed.
"No" Sherlock replied. Loudly, "Why?"
"I'm confiscating it til you pay me back. Punishment,"
"I refuse,"
"Look just-"
And it was in this vein that the pair managed to enter the packed room with John grasping tightly at his friend's hand, the hand he assumed the phone to be in.
There was a distinct ripple of giggles and titters and severl "Ooh!"s. John felt heat rushing to his cheeks and dropped the offending limb as if it were toxic.
Meanwhile his cocky counterpart simply sauntered towards Lestrade's lot, gesturing dismissively for John to follow him.
When a waitress passed with a tray of champagne flutes, John took two. He needed a drink. Badly.
"Ooh, careful there John," Sherlock laughed, as the two joined the conversation with the inspector, "Don't want a repetition of the last time you got plastered, found you in a skip"
Lestrade and his group chuckled. John ground his teeth. When they got home he was going to find that damned skull, smash it with a hammer, grind it into a paste and spread it on the consulting detective's toast.
Keeping his thoughts of revenge to himself, John smiled. Well, grimaced.
"You made it!" Lestrade said cheerfully, clapping Sherlock on the shoulder.
Instead of shaking him off as he usually would, Sherlock smiled and launched into some of the most spectacular small talk.
John was flabbergasted. Not once in ten minutes had Sherlock insulted someone's mother, deduced that they were on cocaine, complimented them on their taste in revolting ties which made them look obes or in any way made the conversation awkward.
John made a mental note to watch out for this sociopathic man, he was much more dangerous when desperate.
Even Lestrade looked slightly awed, and shot his consulting detective worried looks every so often.
When Sherlock took a toilet break, the Inspector pulled John back.
"Have you slipped him something?" he whispered, grinning.
"I wish. Who's he trying to impress?"
"Well, whoever takes my job I guess. Hate to say it, but it's working. Someone's going to get a real nasty surprise when they find out what he's actually like,"
"What who's really like," said Sherlock, flashing John a hard stare, then looking back to the group of policemen in suits, "And Lestrade, you really shouldn't let McGilligan work for you, he's dealing drugs,"
While saying this he flashed the offending officer a winning smile.
Lestrade sighed, far too used to Sherlock making crazy deductions to be scandalised.
As they re-entered the mingling fray, John plastered on a fake smile. It was easy to be mad at his friend, but by now he had become accustomed to his ways, and knew, very deep down that Sherlock didn't mean to be a condescending prick. Even though he hardly ever showed it, John knew Sherlock cared about him.
However it was hard to remember this as he became the butt of 80% of Sherlock's well-timed jokes highlighting his many failures. He bore all these with surprisingly good grace, while mentally cataloguing all the horrible things he was going to do to Sherlock's phone, laptop, skull, person.
It went one step too far when the detective found it necessary to tell a group of absolute strangers about the time John had mistakenly used one of Sherlock's chemical bottles instead of shower gel and obtained a very nasty and embarrassing rash.
Immediate revenge became a very promising and appealing idea.
It was then that the Inspector's words drifted back to him and John remembered that he had a little pill in his pocket that, while very legal, would not mix well with alcohol. Then perhaps even the self-proclaimed heavyweight drinker would become more than a little bit tipsy.
John chuckled quietly and pointedly ignored the questioning eyes of his soon-to-be-victim.
