A/N: I'm soooo sorry for not updating sooner. Please, forgive me! This chapter isn't very long, but I hope it'll make up for the fact that I haven't written in a while (I'll probably have to grovel a lot). This chapter is a continuation of the last chapter, so I'm afraid there isn't any Moriarty. Sorry.
Some notes on reviews:
Fuchsia Grasshopper: Pretty much lol. The stuff with Jim is coming soon. What does it taste like, I wonder. I hope you can forgive me.
foxchick1: Thanks. I really loved writing that chapter. Murdoch isn't mine, like I said in my a/n last chapter. Lucky for you, though, he makes an appearance in this chapter, too!
Bill Ray: Here's your chapter! Now you can stop bothering me.
TeamTHEFT: Yeah, I didn't originally plan for Sean to end up the way he did. The characters have minds of their own sometimes, huh? And I'm sorry. No Moriarty yet.
Katmadwoman77: Thanks! Sorry I haven't updated in a while (like, forever). Kat's awesome, and the Doctor makes more appearances later on!
TheMimeThatTalks: Thank you for enlightening me on that fact. I really didn't know, and I'll make sure not to make that mistake again.
Alright, the long (really long) awaited chapter is finally here!
At the Bar
"You guys should really come out to the bar with me," Murdoch insists, shrugging on his jacket. It's been two days since the incident with Sean. John, Sherlock, Murdoch and I are all in the boys' flat. "It's my last night in London, and I could really use a drink."
"Sure," John agrees, moving to get up from his chair. "I know just the place: There's this pub a few blocks away called The Beehive. The drinks are good, the atmosphere is better." I look back and forth between the two of them before glancing at Sherlock. He's looking at his computer, but he's not really paying attention to it. He's focused on John and Murdoch. He's slightly tense.
"Joining us, Kat?" John asks as he puts on his coat. I look up at him and glance at Murdoch before nodding.
"Yeah, just let me get my coat," I respond. I glance at Sherlock again. "Sherlock?" "Hmm?" he hums, looking up at me as I stand from my chair.
"Would you like to join us?" I request. I can see he's going to refuse.
"I don't-" he starts, but Murdoch interrupts him. I head towards the door, letting Murdoch and John convince Sherlock.
"Oh, come on, Sherlock. When are you going to get this chance again?" Murdoch questions, grabbing Sherlock's coat and tossing at him as I walk out the door and up the stairs. "I really insist."
Five minutes later finds the four of us in a taxi on the way to the bar. John and Murdoch are telling me stories about people they both know. Two names in particular come up: Charlie and Liz. Sherlock looks out the window, tense and uncomfortable.
"Relax, Sherlock," I project without looking at him. I see him glance at me from the corner of my eye. "Nothing bad is going to happen. We're just having drinks with friends." I see him nod slightly. We reach the bar moments later, grab a booth—John and I across from Sherlock and Murdoch, John and Murdoch on the outside—and order drinks. I order something non-alcoholic, knowing that the three of them drunk is something I'll want to remember. Murdoch narrows his eyes at me before shaking his head.
"So what do you think of London, Murdoch?" I ask, grinning. I've heard this spiel before. John snorts next to me.
"Besides the fact there's no light beer, baseball, Coney dogs, or Jack Daniels, London's fine," he answers, taking a swig of whiskey. "And the fact it actually manages to be colder than Detroit." John and I laugh, and Murdoch smiles.
"Why are you headed back so soon?" John asks, taking a drink of his beer. "You could stay a bit longer." Murdoch shakes his head.
"Can't," he states. "Opening day is day after tomorrow." I nod, smiling.
"Who are they playing?" I ask, taking a sip. Sherlock and John both look at me in confusion.
"Cleveland," Murdoch responds. I laugh.
"Those Indians are going down." Murdoch laughs with me.
"Care to tell me what the final score will be?" he jokes. I shake my head.
"And ruin the game?" I retort, shaking my head. "Nah. I won't tell you the Tigers win five to two." Murdoch groans and I grin.
"What are you two talking about?" Sherlock asks, slurring slightly. With nothing else to do, he's taken to actually drinking the beer John ordered for him. Aw, bless, he can't hold his liquor.
"Baseball, of course," Murdoch answers, before groaning again. The Sex Pistols are playing on the jukebox. "That is another thing I don't like about London." John grins and Murdoch turns to him. "FYI, the Sex Pistols are the Spice Girls with cheap guitars." John frowns at Murdoch, who continues. "Completely manufactured in a studio." Now John is glaring, but he can't come up with an argument. I smirk as Murdoch gestures to his t-shirt. "The Ramones are much better." I laugh at the scowl John throws at Murdoch. John takes a deep breath and sighs.
We talk and drink for a couple more hours, until the three of them are properly drunk. I have my phone out, taking video. Murdoch gets up and puts the Ramones on the jukebox, three songs in a row, and sits back down. He and Sherlock drum their fingers on the table along to the song while John sits with his arms crossed, scowling. Before long, Murdoch starts playing the air guitar. John takes that as his cue to leave and gets up to use the bathroom. I watch him go, making note of how, even though he's pretty drunk, he can still walk. Three drunks walk past him, and one bumps into him, nearly knocking him over. The man starts to get aggressive with John as Blitzkrieg Bop starts to play.
"Murdoch," I whisper, turning towards the table. I know how he loves a good bar fight. Murdoch looks at me and I point over my shoulder at John.
"This looks like fun," he says, grinning. Getting up, he cracks his knuckles. At the same time, one of the drunks throws a punch at John. John blocks the punch with amazing coordination, considering how many drinks he's had. He jabs his open hand into the drunk's throat, sending him to the floor. One of the other drunks is brandishing a pool cue and walking towards John. Murdoch plucks the cue from the man's hand and breaks it over his head, knocking him out. The third man runs towards Murdoch, who punches him in the stomach before throwing him over the bar.
"Time to go," he calls, and I grab all the coats before walking up to the bar. Murdoch heads back to the booth and grabs a drunk Sherlock, slinging him over his should like a ragdoll. I pull my wallet from my pocket and smile at the bartender.
"How much?" I ask. The bartender frowns at me before pulling up our tab. I hand him some notes and he gives me my change. "And how much for the pool cue that my lovely friend broke?" He gives me an amount, which I pay, and I head to the door, pausing for a moment to help a now-slightly-staggering John. We meet Murdoch and Sherlock at the edge of the street, where Murdoch hails a taxi.
"221B Baker St, please," Murdoch tells the cabbie, before placing Sherlock in the cab. I glance at John, who has an arm thrown over my shoulder.
"Can you make sure Sherlock gets to bed alright?" I ask, and he nods, pulling away from me and heading to the cab. He gets in and throws a drunken salute as Murdoch closes the door. I walk up to the cabbie's window and hand him about £30, knowing it's more than enough. I step back onto the curb and watch the taxi leave.
"You want another round?" Murdoch asks from next to me. I don't answer for a moment. "C'mon, for old times' sake." I laugh.
"I can remember the last time we had a drink together," I reply, looking up at him seriously before grinning. "I had a milkshake." He laughs.
"That is still one of the best movies of all time," he responds. "C'mon, my treat." I nod.
"Yeah, it better be, considering I just paid the tab at the last place, and had to pay for a broken pool cue," I retort, mock-glaring at him. He laughs again before I join in. We start walking towards another pub.
"You know," Murdoch remarks as we cross the street, "when it's just you and me, you can lose the accent." I glance up at him before facing forward again.
"Yeah, I know," I respond, switching to my American accent.
"So you didn't want them knowing you know me?" Murdoch scolds jokingly. I shrug.
"It's bad enough I'm psychic, but you want to add 'good friends with professional hitman' to my resume?" I grumble. "I think not."
"Hey, I'm retired, thank you," he argues. I laugh and nod.
"Sure you are, Murdoch," I mollify sarcastically.
We walk into the pub and take a couple of seats at the bar. I look at the drink menu before deciding. Murdoch orders a beer. "I'll have the mango-strawberry daiquiri, please." The bartender nods.
"Mango?!" Murdoch interjects. I glance over at him, prepared.
"Yeah, mango," I respond. "You got a problem with that?" The bartender places my drink in front of me. I take a sip. It's delicious. From the corner of my eye, I see Murdoch shake his head in disappointment.
"You," he starts, pointing a finger at me. "You are a disgrace to all Ireland." I laugh.
"Good thing I'm only part Irish, then," I counter. I take another sip.
"No, really," he continues. "I wouldn't be surprised if a green Cadillac cruised by right now. I can just hear them now. 'What was she drinking? Was it mango? It better not have been mango.'" I laugh, and he smiles. We sit in silence for a while. I finish my drink, and stick my tongue out at Murdoch before ordering a whiskey. He laughs.
"Besides," I add, and Murdoch turns to me. "We're in England. I doubt there are any green Cadillacs to go cruising around here." Murdoch laughs.
"You got me there," he replies, turning back to his drink. We sit in silence again. I take another sip of my drink, feeling warm. Murdoch turns to me again. "So, are we going to talk about what happened?" I set my elbows on the bar, lean forward, and steeple my hands in front of my face.
"I'd really rather not," I mumble.
"Kat," Murdoch scolds before sighing. "Look, I know this is hard for you right now, and it's going to stick with you for a long time, but it will get better." I glance at him.
"Trust me, I know more than anyone how 'time heals all wounds'," I respond. "And yeah, it will get better. For now. But how long does that last? Why does it seem like every time I'm happy, the rug gets pulled out from under me." Murdoch shakes his head.
"I don't know, Kat," he answers. "I don't know." We sit in silence again for a few minutes.
"Where were you for Kim's wedding?" I ask. Murdoch glances at me, thrown by the new topic.
"You know I wasn't invited," he responds, looking down at his drink. I nod.
"I know," I reply. "I also know you were there, so…" I trail off. Murdoch takes a deep breath.
"I couldn't stay away," he mumbles. I nod again, and he looks at me. "Why do you ask?" I shrug my shoulders.
"I wanted to know what you thought of the groom," I admit, and Murdoch looks at me blankly. "Professionally speaking, of course," I add. Murdoch nods before thinking.
"I think he's got a secret and a temper," he decides. I nod and look at my glass, thinking. "You wanted confirmation, didn't you." He says this as a statement, not a question. I glance at him before nodding again.
"I just," I start, trying to organize my thoughts. "I don't think he's good for her. I'm afraid he's going to lose his temper and… and hurt her."
"I won't let that happen," Murdoch growls. I look up at him before smiling.
"I know," I agree before yawning. "And I think I'm done for the night." Murdoch looks at me amusedly, pulling out his wallet.
"Lightweight," he mutters under his breath. I glare at him.
"At least I'm better than Sherlock," I respond. Murdoch laughs.
"You got that right!"