Chapter 6: Cold Shoulder

"So Sherlock, how is it that you happened to come here tonight. Of all places. On earth?" John was seething. Livid, even. Sherlock thought he looked quite amusing, how he would smile that enraged grin; it would have been highly scary, if the detective didn't happen to find it so endearing.

"I didn't know you were going to be here John, I must have deleted that part." The boffin lied, and he could see how the soldier did not believe him. He loved how easy John was to read sometimes, and yet, how he always managed to amaze him. "Mycroft provided the tickets."

"Still, I find it surprising that you would come; seeing as you hate any sort of social event." He was deliberately ignoring his date, too focused on berating the detective to even notice. Which was good, that meant she held no real importance to him whatsoever. It was going to be easier than he thought.

"Well, John. You're the one always saying how unpredictable I can be at times, aren't you?" He held the army doctor's eyes challenging. He knew he had dismissed the question entirely, but that was not a new trait in his personality, he was always avoiding the soldier's queries. He turned his head and "smiled" at the dancer who just giggled a bit in agreement, unaware of what was really happening. God, she was so vacant.

John took Jessika's laughter as an opportunity to lean close to Sherlock and asked him in a hushed voice. "What are you doing here?" His face was showing all signs of frustration and anger, and it was glorious. Sherlock was quickly storing every expression the doctor let pass by his face away in his mind palace.

"I," He started, as he nonchalantly looked at the Menu for the night. "Am on a date." He finished. Which was surprisingly true. Of course, his intentions may be tainted and selfish, but it was a date nonetheless.

"A date?" The blogger, obviously not believing a single word of that sentence chuckled a bit, and then questioned with an ironic lilt "With whom?"

"Oh, hey guys." Came a slightly high pitched voice, definitely a woman, and one which John recognised right away. He saw confusion morph into surprise in the doctor's expression. Indignation and fury easily deducible. He was gaping at the scene in front of him.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Molly said taking off her coat. "But a new body arrived at the morgue and I had to make sure they wouldn't stuff it in the wrong place." The pathologist explained. And John couldn't decide which was worse, the fact that Sherlock was faking a date with the only intention of ruining John's, or that he dragged innocent Molly along his evil schemes.

The detective had to play nice with the brunette, since that would really help him make an statement. So, he took her coat and draped it around her chair. He didn't go as far as to pull her seat for her though, he wasn't that desperate.

Just as she was about to sit down, the doctor angled his head to his own date and announced. "Actually, I think I have to discuss in private something about a corpse with Molly," He stood up. "And Sherlock." He knew Jessika wouldn't particularly mind, and he didn't seem to care otherwise.

They shouldn't leave the table. Or the doctor would start asking questions he didn't want to answer just yet. He had to see how this date went before doing anything drastic. "Actually, I already had it figured out so you don't need to drag us away to-" However, he was interrupted by John shooting him the same look he did when the detective called Anderson -or practically everyone on the street- a complete moron, and said. "Shut it, and walk." With his Captain Watson's voice, which despite his best efforts, was highly difficult to refuse.

He sighed, as Molly looked horrified, Sherlock hadn't exactly given her any instructions on how to act, he just requested and she delivered, not even asking questions. As always; reliable, not nosy, Molly.

He threw his napkin on the table, starting to go into sulk-mode. Always a flair with the dramatics, his fat brother would say. This wasn't in the plan, and if they strayed, it could lead to John not realising what he wanted to say, and then proceeding to move out and leave the boffin forever. And if there was something Sherlock couldn't risk losing, not even for this, was John's friendship.

Jessika seemed highly confused by the whole exchange. But more amused than annoyed, which was in and of itself a relief to the blogger, who needed someone completely on his side tonight, and a disappointment to the detective who really wished she would just get mad and decided to go. It would make this fairly easier, since his final goal was to get John to stop dating -someone else- altogether.

They walked silently to the refreshments table and the soldier walked as if he was advancing to battle. Matter which was metaphorically true, seen from a non-subjective point of view. "One of you start talking, now." He ordered and Molly gasped a bit. Clearly not liking being interrogated.

"Well, I-" Sherlock was prepared to counterattack him, but was cut short when the voice of the blonde halted his excuses. "Not you." He said angrily, and directed his sight to the pathologist. Waiting for her to explain her involvement in the predicament.

"John, I know this looks really bad. But," She was fidgeting, nervously stumbling into her words, count on Molly to probably give his plan away. "Before you say anything: Sherlock offered me a deal that was too good to pass up. A date with Sherlock," She said, and John was looking at the detective seemingly disappointed, possibly because he dragged their friend into the mess, probably because he took advantage of the obvious school-girl crush she had on him, which by the blogger's books would classify as "a bit not good". "Front row seat drama, and he said he would clean up the beakers at Bart's for a month."

"A week." The curly-haired man, who was looking around deducing people on other tables, corrected. "A week," Molly amended shyly, "It was sort of a win-win-win." She finally finished.

John, apparently, couldn't stay mad with the innocent party. He probably thinks the detective manipulated her into doing everything. Which wasn't that far from the truth, but Molly could have always said "no". "Fine, you're forgiven, Molly." His face went completely soft for a few seconds, and the detective wished for a moment he was less of an arse so his blogger could look at him that way. "And you look lovely." He said gesturing the green dress she was wearing, and suddenly the boffin wasn't as fond of the pathologist anymore. "But you still owe me one."

"Thank you, John." She smiled shyly and Sherlock could tell she appreciated the attention, even thought it was coming in a strictly platonic wrapping.

"Now you," He turned towards the detective, demeanour quickly becoming more defensive. "Why do I feel as if the only reason you're here is to meddle in my social life?" He challenged.

The brunette scoffed. "Please, John. Don't be obtuse. I couldn't care less about your social life." He said offhandedly. And Molly seemed even more nervous. She knew this was probably not going to end up well.

"That's bollocks. If you didn't care, you wouldn't be here, Sherlock." The doctor looked remarkably confident of this statement, and if it wasn't a bad thing for Sherlock's plan, the musician would feel rather proud that his friend knew him and could read him so well. A thought appeared to pass through his face, and realisation showed remarkably well on his features, then he said. "Could it be that you're a bit jealous?"

The detective was taken aback by the accusation, not because he was outraged, but because practically all this time he had been denying it even to himself and now the army doctor had recognised it and thrown it at his face, and it somehow was not possible anymore to dismiss it and think it something -anything- else anymore. John had asked him if he was jealous, and he he couldn't be more right.

Thankfully for Sherlock, Jessika called their attention from their table, exclaiming something about having to eat their food with the assistance of bibs, and that gave him a proper shake and a few seconds to get his stoic mask back on again and quickly think of a right answer. Had he mention that possibly the only good trait this woman had was her impeccable timing?

"I'm not jealous John. Nor do I have the desire to engage in such boring behaviour, I'm hungry and I don't have a case." He said as calm and detached as he could manage, which was saying a lot. "Molly, care to share the buffalo with me?" And he stalked off back to the table, he had to prevent a remark like that from happening again, next time he might not be as effective in not giving himself away. If the truth slips out it would be to the doom of them all.

That left John and Molly alone for a second. And the doctor was seething. The pathologist looked uncertain of what to do, and blurted out the first and only thing which came into her mind. "He really is jealous, you know?" And the doctor didn't need to know that right now. He just wanted the stupid arse over their table to somehow disappear. He turned around and gave her a glare as in saying "Not helping" and that made Molly gasp and walk away to their table. Well, two can play the game. This was going to be quite a night.