Sherlock was pacing. Up and down and up and down and up and down. John followed his incessant progress, thinking he would probably end up with a crick in his neck but enjoying it far too much to interfere.
"I mean it was ghastly, John! What in the world could she have been thinking?!"
John looked at his friend frankly with no sympathy whatsoever.
"She met him through you, you know."
Sherlock turned a ferocious gaze on him.
"That is not a satisfactory explanation. Or justification. Or whatever you meant it to be," he bit out.
John shrugged.
"And she wasn't even the least bit apologetic about it!"
John frowned a little.
"Sherlock, thanks to you, I don't think she knows what being apologetic even looks like!"
His friend glared daggers, his lips pursing themselves into a thin line.
"You're not being helpful."
John, in his turn, didn't look the slightest bit apologetic either.
"I don't intend to be. I'm just wringing as much entertainment out of this as I can, which, by your usual standards is quite a lot!"
He stood, adjusting his jacket.
"And now, provided you have no objections to it, I'm off to a date of my own."
He was walking out of the door when Sherlock's question made him pause.
"Am I overreacting about this, John?"
John glanced over his shoulder.
"You're her father, Sherlock. You're supposed to be overreacting when you catch your daughter snogging street ruffians under dark bridges at night!"
The knock that sounded on the door was dull and sullen. In perfect accordance with the young man who followed it.
Sherlock was waiting for him, sitting imperiously on his accustomed chair, his fingers steepled in front of his face, trying to look as intimidating as possible.
Raz shifted and fidgeted uncomfortably, but didn't sit down. Nor was he offered a seat. Sherlock continued to regard him dispassionately.
"Look, I just wanted to say I done nothing wrong, 'right?"
"Did."
"What?"
"I did nothing wrong. Nevertheless, I disagree."
Raz looked thoroughly discomfited.
"She came to me, you know. She was flirting with me too."
"She's sixteen."
Raz scratched the back of his neck.
"You talked to her?"
"I shall."
"Look, Sherlock... "
"Mr. Holmes."
"What?"
"That's Mr. Holmes to you, young man."
Raz scowled this time.
"Right. Mr. Holmes. Well, I'm sorry you had to see that the other night, but with all due respect, I don't think Jackie would like you telling her who she should be with."
Sherlock's eyes flashed menacingly.
"Another point we disagree on. As her father I believe I have every right to express concern regarding my daughter's choices."
Raz's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Especially when those choices involve someone like me, isn't that right, Mr. Holmes?"
He didn't bother to disguise his sarcastic stressing of the "Mr."
Sherlock didn't miss it, but allowed it to slide off, giving instead a humourless tight-lipped smile.
Raz continued.
"So you have no qualms about coming to us for exclusive information when it suits your conveniences and purposes, but the moment we start stepping too close for comfort, you feel it necessary to step in and act all uppity?"
Sherlock wasn't smiling any more.
"I trust I have always compensated suitably for the services I employ?"
Raz sized him up for a moment.
"Oh quite suitably, Mr. Holmes. Very suitably indeed."
He paused for a second, before turning to take his leave.
"It's a'right, Mr. Holmes. I understand the concerns of people like you when it comes to people like me. For their daughters. But I'd advise you to have a word with her first." Sherlock stirred.
"You needn't worry yourself about my making my feelings expressly clear to my daughter."
Raz stopped on his way out of the sitting room.
"I wonder how this works between you and her exactly? You act the part of the absentee father alright but believe you still reserve the right to tell her what to do? The Jackie I know isn't likely to take too kindly to that!"
Sherlock got to his feet.
"But you don't know my daughter and I'll thank you not to encourage this.. brief dalliance any further."
Raz raised his hands in mock placation.
"Oh I'll keep my distance from her, sir! The daughter of the great Mr. Sherlock Holmes! Your concerns have been noted. But I wonder if you really know her either, as you say you do, tha's all."
And with that he was gone, leaving Sherlock feeling in equal parts confused and furious.
John came home the next morning to find the entire apartment clouded in blue-grey smoke. Sherlock was back on a bender.
He coughed as he walked in, batting the air in vain to dispel the haze.
His flatmate was stretched out prone on the sofa, an unlit cigarette dangling on his lips.
"So I take it last night didn't go so well?" he enquired by way of greeting.
"We had a screaming match, then she stomped her foot and left."
John raised his eyebrows.
"You let her go?"
Sherlock turned his fatigued gaze on him.
"They exhaust me, John."
John couldn't stifle his grin.
"I talked to the boy. He called me a snob. Or a prat. Something along those lines. I tried talking to Jackie. She went into a hysterical fit, started shouting at me that she's almost an adult and she doesn't need to be treated like a child, that she knows precisely what she's doing. She's sixteen, for goodness sake, John!"
He flopped his arm down wearily over his face. Still wearing his smirk, John walked over to open the windows.
"Is this my punishment?" he asked a moment later.
"Is this her retribution on me?"
John took his seat in his chair and folded his hands in his lap.
"She's sixteen, Sherlock. She's going to fight with you and yell at you and stomp her feet at you. That's what teenagers do. But it doesn't mean she doesn't need you. To overreact. To tick her off when she's wrong. Sometimes, to say no, absolutely not. That's what fathers do."
Sherlock raised his arm and looked at him with pleading eyes.
"But it's so exhausting, John! Give me a murder any day."
John smiled affectionately.
"Welcome to fatherhood, Sherlock."
Sherlock groaned.