The waiting car wasn't the usual sleek black vehicle that abducted military doctors off the street or transported posh minor government officials around. This was a black BMW Roadster. Just nice enough for two blokes of their age to be driving, but not flashy enough to catch much attention. John ran his hands back and forth over the steering wheel and inhaled the fresh leather scent. It smelled brand new. A quick look at the odometer confirmed it.

"It's just a car," Sherlock said from the passenger seat.

"This isn't just a car. Did your brother buy this just for the operation tonight?"

"He does like to show off," Sherlock replied.

"Because you don't?"

They arrived in time to see a line of heads wrapping around a neon lit building. The valet was overly eager to take their keys and since it wasn't his car John didn't care. They huddled close to one another as they waited behind a thick black rope.

"Mycroft couldn't have gotten us in sooner?" John asked as his teeth chattered. His thin shirt wasn't providing any protection against the cooling London air.

"Perhaps if this were a date instead of an undercover operation," Sherlock replied, chuckling from under the warmth of his leather jacket. He had his hands buried deep in the pockets and his head was thrown back, revealing his long white throat. John reached up to lick a stripe across his neck.

"Up in front, you two!" a voice called.

They found themselves being led ahead of the crowd to the wide swinging door ahead that marked the entrance of the club. Suspicious. He wasn't a uni student anymore and John was a far cry from his younger years as well. They were shrouded in darkness as they stepped through the door and then their eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. Sherlock moved to one side and pulled John over with him. His eyes were already scanning beyond the shadows of the walls to the tables and sofas beneath them. Some areas were curtained off with thick opaque fabric. The dance floor was below them on an entirely different level. Both floors boasted a large bar swimming with bottles, glasses, and attractive women. And men, Sherlock amended, spotting a shirtless bartender in black leather pants.

"Enjoying yourself?" a voice asked near his ear. John nodded to the attractive bartender.

Sherlock didn't try to yell his reply over the loud music and continued his inspection, hunting for the familiar face of James Moriarty.

"I'm going to get a drink. That's allowed, right? Can't have an all-nighter dance or drink," John said.

John slipped between the throng of tightly clad men and women, using his shoulders to gently (and sometimes not so gently) nudge people out of his path. He got a few looks as he made his way to the bar. Most of them were calculating as they took in the clean lines of his clothing and his toned physique. John was entirely confident with his stature and himself. Sherlock found it appealing and he knew those assessing eyes did as well. He moved to follow John to the bar and then someone caught his attention.

The man was clearly out of place, even more so than he and John. He stood at the very end of the bar in a red windbreaker zipped up to his neck - obviously concealing something, probably a firearm. The man waved to the closest bartender and she stopped pulling beer to hurry over to his side. She brought him his drink and left as quickly as she could, sending a fearful glance over her shoulder. Sherlock watched the staff, particularly the bouncers, as they moved their eyes over the crowd, looking for problems. They never seemed to notice the man at the bar.

Sherlock slid carefully down towards the bar, avoiding the couple snogging on the stairs. He moved in next to John and leaned down to whisper in his ear. His target downed the last of his beer and turned his way just as he slipped in besides John.

"Smile as if you're enjoying what I'm saying," Sherlock said quietly, turning his face in and away from the man.

John stood on tiptoe to answer.

"Of course I'm enjoying it," he replied. "What do you say when this is all over we go have dinner?"
Sherlock moved his arms up to John's shoulder, pulling him closer.

"I'm not hungry," said Sherlock.

"Well then I'll eat and you can watch," John replied cheekily. Sherlock felt one corner of his mouth turn up in a smirk.

"I'd like that."

"We can't flirt. We're on a mission," John laughed.

They both grinned like idiots and the women behind the bar leaned over to whisper together. They both giggled from behind cupped hands.

"We need to follow that man," Sherlock indicated with a flick of his wrist as red windbreaker moved up the stairs, shoving people out of his way and earning a good share of curses and swearing.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes are you blushing?"

"Must be the heat," he muttered.

"More flirting. I like this side of you," said John.

Red windbreaker had used a backdoor to make his exit. The door warned of a fire alarm when opened. Sherlock pushed the handle confidently and the door opened quietly. They were in a wide alleyway at the back of the nightclub. Two large dumpsters reeked of alcohol and trash. A small animal scurried away as they walked forward, its bright eyes disappearing under a chain link fence.

John moved deliberately, eyes skimming to either side, looking for anything that wasn't supposed to be there. He was in full military mode and his senses were screaming ambush. And then his ears heard the sound of a chamber being drawn back. There was a soft click and he froze in his steps. Sherlock did the same.

"I can't believe you fell for that!" a familiar voice said from behind them.