2.
"No, John, I'd really rather not go to your surgery's Christmas party," Sherlock said, cradling his violin in his lap and plucking the strings absentmindedly.
"Why on Earth not? You don't hate Sarah and she'd like to see you again."
"Of course she wouldn't," Sherlock retorted sharply and gave the D string a particularly unpleasant twang. John shook his head. "Why, why does she?"
"Because I'm her friend and you're my flatmate, you dolt," John said. "Now, I've already told her you're coming so there's no way you can get out of it."
Sherlock immediately brought his impromptu pizzicato to a close and proceeded to panic internally. Oh no he's serious and he really intends to drag me along and I hate large groups of people I don't know or that I do know for that matter and parties are too noisy and full of stupid people partaking in mindless behaviour I really have no time for and what if I'm forced to socialise with idiots I have nothing to talk about with and...
"Sherlock," John's voice permeated Sherlock's mental flailing. "Please. I know you're unhappy with situations like this but it would mean a lot to me if you came."
Well, when he puts it that way...
"No." Sherlock responded stubbornly, setting the violin down so it was resting against his chair and folding his arms.
An hour later the pair found themselves in the back of a taxi bound for the surgery.
"You tricked me," Sherlock grumbled, pouting.
"If the greatest mind in London is fooled by his flatmate kidnapping a sandwich bag and holding it in the taxi just out of arm's reach, it's hardly my fault. You're an idiot, you know that?" Sherlock's scowl deepened. "What's in the bag, anyway?"
"Gall bladders. Early birthday present from Molly, because she already promised me half a dozen kneecaps for Christmas," Sherlock responded promptly. Sherlock was certain he heard a short stream of uttered profanities and the taxi lurched, as though the driver had missed a gear and brought the clutch up too quickly. He and John shared a grin as the taxi driver shot them an appalled look in the mirror.
"I'm not really sure why they're holding the party at the surgery," John said, switching to a safer subject so as not to give the taxi driver any more excuses to throw them out.
"Obvious," Sherlock replied. "The surgery is trying to save money, hence why they're not hiring a hall, and there must not be enough people attending to warrant needing a space larger than the empty waiting room."
"I know that," John said. "It just feels strange having a social event in the place where I work. That's all."
Sherlock frowned. "I don't understand."
"I wouldn't expect you to, your office is the entire bloody city," John said. As Sherlock's left eyebrow flew up, the taxi pulled in alongside the pavement outside the surgery. Sherlock tried to remain in the taxi, intending to order the cabbie to take him right back to Baker Street, but as soon as it became obvious John wasn't going to let him he scrambled out quickly and left John to pay the fare. After all, John was the one who wanted to be here in the first place.
"Let's get this over with then," Sherlock said grumpily, as the pair walked (or, in Sherlock's case, dragged his heels) into the building.
As soon as they were spotted, a gaggle of girls (two nurses, a GP and a receptionist, judging by their nails and jewellery) engulfed John and Sherlock was effectively shunted to the corner of the waiting room where all of the chairs had been relocated to. Sherlock found he was absolutely fine with this arrangement, as he certainly had no desire to make any sort of disastrous attempt at conversation with a load of drunk doctors.
Sherlock simply sat in the corner, wishing it wasn't so loud and making deductions about the other partygoers (Glasses the GP's wife's mother has just died and the funeral's next week, Ginger the nurse is working overtime and taking care of a new baby, good luck to her, she looks about ready to drop dead from exhaustion, and tipsy Frizzy in admin is married but has a very loose definition of the word "marriage"). As soon as Sherlock thought the latter, Frizzy evidently noticed that the antisocial alien in the corner was watching her and sauntered over, drink in hand and a big smile on her face.
"All right, handsome?" she giggled, sitting down next to Sherlock, who wrinkled his nose in disgust and thought 'BEGGAR OFF YOU SILLY BINT' as loudly as he could.
"Does your husband know you're trying to pull strangers?" Sherlock enquired coldly as Frizzy's smile faltered, only to be replaced by some infuriating expression Sherlock couldn't quite describe.
"I don't think I've seen you around here before. You accompanying somebody?" Frizzy persisted. Sherlock frowned, eager for this woman to go away.
"Yes, as a matter of fact," Sherlock retorted. "I am accompanying John Watson." Frizzy's smile completely disappeared. Good, you realise I am unattainable. I don't even care that you have come to the wrong conclusion.
"Oh, I wasn't aware he was..."
"Oh, he's not, as he vehemently protests at every opportunity," Sherlock said icily. "John Watson is my partner in that we work together, when he's not here at least, and we share a flat." He is also my best friend and the only person here worth talking to. Now please leave me alone before I get too tempted to shatter your glass and stab you with it myself.
"That's nice. Hey, do you want me to get him for you? You look lonely over here on your own," she said, an uncertain smile creeping back onto her face.
YES yes go and fetch him I want John he always says the right thing and gives me company unlike the rest of you moronic cretins. "If you wouldn't mind," Sherlock said, giving Frizzy an insincere smile. She hurried off into the crowd and returned a minute later with John.
"Is everything okay, Sherlock?" John asked, as Frizzy melted back into the swarm.
"No," Sherlock replied sulkily. "I'm miserable. I hate places like this where people I don't know try to talk to me when I just don't want them to and they won't get the message and leave me alone." John tilted his head and frowned slightly. "Please just stay with me, John? We can discuss anything you want, I just don't want to have to converse with a load of idiots I really don't care about. Please don't just abandon me among these strangers, you did drag me here, after all..."
Sherlock could see John's features softening as he realised that Sherlock wasn't just manipulating him for the sake of it - he genuinely did have a problem with situations like this.
"You know what?" John said, smiling reassuringly at Sherlock. "I can do that." He sat down in the seat that had previously been occupied by Frizzy.
"Okay, what would you like to talk about?" Sherlock asked.
"Why don't you deduce as much as you can about these people and I can tell you if you're right. Assuming it's information I'm privy to, of course," John suggested.
Sherlock clapped his hands together and instantly embarked on the lecture he'd been itching to give since walking in through the door. As he spoke, and John nodded encouragingly at Sherlock's deductions, the consulting detective recognised a sensation he wasn't inordinately familiar with: gratitude. He was grateful to John Watson for bearing with him when nobody else would.