Chapter 7: That Thing You Do

Even if he was irritated beyond belief, Sherlock had to give it to her, Molly had an almost insatiable appetite. She had already devoured her entire meal, and was currently in process of assisting him to finish what he had failed to ingest. Although if he really thought about it, pushing the food on his plate gave him at least something to do while Jessika rambled on and on about her dancing.

"So, I was spinning so fast, and the music was so intense that I lost track of the choreography," She said flapping her hands about, explaining excitedly. However, on a more important matter, the doctor was violently sticking his food on his fork, gazing angrily at the detective across the table, almost ignoring his date completely. "I ended up doing a Straight Leg Scorpion at the end, which wasn't scripted at all."

At this opportunity the soldier seemed to come back to life again and asked her, faking interest. "Wow, a Straight Leg Scorpion? I heard those are really difficult." He ended his cheer, and turned to the boffin with a smug smirk, knowing how much it would irritate him knowing John was praising Jessika -of course, it would have the sam effect on anyone who was not him-. The detective in question rolled his eyes and huffed an exasperated breath. John counted that as a small victory.

"Yeah," She said blushing. "But, of course I have to follow the program by the letter, so I apologised to the audience at the end." She smiled proudly. As if doing something better than expected was something to be ashamed about and apologising for it after was the only thing to do to appease her guilt. If that were true, the detective would have to be saying "sorry" every time he opened his mouth. What a tedious woman she is.

"You know," John started, and the musician could see the evil clogs on his mind turning, he was one hundred percent sure this was somehow going to be directed at himself. "It is so refreshing to hear about someone who is so in touch and even does art with her body." He finished, and he hoped Sherlock would get the reference at his self-imposed state of "my body is just transport".

"I know a thing or two about dancing." He retorted. "Might sometime prove useful for a case." This was information that he had never shared before, but he was willing to do it for the sake of the cause. Winning John's admiration was one step closer for what he wanted to achieve.

"Yeah, like pacing around while murdering the violin? Most graceful." He replied while swinging one noodle in front of his face and then proceeding on throwing it to him. Noodle which hit him right across the face. Everyone in the table stared at the curly-haired man in surprise, and Molly was just failing miserably at stifling a laugh. That's what did it, he refused to become the joke of the evening. In one elegant move, he threw his napkin on the table and stood up.

His companions looked bewildered for a moment, and he was sure he saw a hint of alarm in Jessika's eyes as he started to ask the people on the adjacent tables to stand up so he could push their table a few meters over, creating a small table-free circle of clear two meters of diameter.

He then, resumed to stand at the middle of said space and executed one of the most common moves in ballet which required incredible technique and impressive balance: a perfect double Pirouette.

Some of the guest in the proximity clapped and cheered a bit, and Molly and Jessika seemed impressed enough. "That was incredible!" The pathologist stated, as Sherlock did an amused and smug bow to his impromptu audience. Gloating in the praise as it was in his show-off nature. John would have been really charmed and would have even gone as far as claiming it "Amazing" as one of the commonly impressive deductions, had he not been in the situation in which he found himself, instead all he could do was scowl and wish it to be over.

The admittedly good ballet dancer returned to their table and nonchalantly said, "That's my definition of: Artistic." He smiled innocently at the doctor, who didn't appear prepared to put up with any of his antics.

"Really? Because that's my definition of desperate." John Hamish Watson Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers knew how to use words to get chill up upon your bones, and it seemed he would not hesitate in using said skill to meet his interests.

Thankfully the world's only consulting detective was not intimidated by his blogger's tone, if anything he found it surprisingly attractive. "So is the amount of cologne you applied for Miss Jazz over here." And he signalled Jessika with his silver/green/seriously-what-colour-are-they? eyes. This clearly drove John over the edge, and made him rest his bib on the table and stand up defiantly. "Okay, that's enough." He sneered and snatched a meat impaled sword from a waiter nearby. And presented it menacingly at his flatmate.

"Be careful if you eat that, we don't want your psychosomatic limp to return." The detective muttered amused as he gazed up flirty from his seat to a clearly livid doctor. The whole table around them gasped at the challenge and turned back and forth to each one of them desperately searching for the reaction.

"Oh, I'm not planning on eating it, I'm planning on feeding it to you, Mr. I don't know the Solar System." John responded evenly, like cold fire. The two ladies were stunned, and you could hear the collective "oh!" coming out of a few mouths on the tables around them. Molly gaped amusedly at his blonde friend as if not believing he had actually said that. Sherlock's smirk quickly turned into an outraged frown, and he glared at his friend in return. He stood up and forcefully grabbed another sword from a half afraid/half impressed man. When he turned around to face John he stretched and grew to his prominent height, almost a head above his contender. The soldier, however, didn't seemed too frightened by the sight and instead welcomed it as a battlefield. This war would be one for the books.

"Get ready to enjoy what is apparently some Frango Caril Com Coco." Even in this circumstances, he couldn't help but showing off his fluent Portuguese. This appeared to infuriate the doctor even further and both of them drew their swords and were ready to take a swing at the other when someone stop them.

"Please, stop!" Molly yelled, and it seemed to do the trick as it instantly got them out of the rage-induced trance. They both turned to watch her with a mixture between annoyed resentment and reluctant gratefulness. "Don't do anything you might regret." She said in a much gentler tone, as one would use when dealing with a cross child.

They lowered their weapons and placed them in a tray nearby, John turned to look at Jessika and sternly said. "We're going home, now." His date did not seem as impress as she should, but there was a resentful tinkle in her eye when she glanced back at the curly-haired man as she sighed, like he had completely ruined the whole evening, which he might as well have; but that was the plan though, "Alright." She replied and searched for her purse as John took out his mobile, phoning the cab service surely. "Molly, see to it that this bastard at least pays for your cab." He hissed as he forcefully grabbed his date by the wrist and all but dragged her out of the venue.

Now, standing next to the pathologist with only silence and the memory of his blogger's disappointed glare -which shouldn't hurt as much as it did- to accompany him: he realised in retrospective, that making John angry with him, may not have been the best idea.