Disclaimer: They're making me say it again, but I don't own Sherlock in any way!
Hello again! This chapter is a bit longer than before, but I just couldn't stop once I started writing! I want to thank all of those who have read this story so far, and especially my new followers/favouriters: Simple Sensation, FrauGumilyova, Little miss Austen, vatroncale, MFGhoulscout and WiselyChosen. I wish I could hug you all! Reviews/comments are always appreciated, both good and bad! Anyhow, stay awesome! :)
Chapter 4
As soon as he'd stepped through the door Sherlock was in front of him, tugging on his jacket, an almost electric glow to him. "John, go change your clothes quickly. We are going out." The man seemed eager and very impatient, and seemed completely oblivious to why John wasn't running full speed into his bedroom to find clothes.
"Sherlock, what are you talking about? I'm not going anywhere, I have worked all day and I'm tired as hell." John was feeling a bit annoyed, he was too worn out right now to deal with Sherlock's many impulses. But Sherlock clearly wasn't listening to him. "Oh come on John, hurry! It's for a case, and this particular bar might be the final clue." Sherlock stated, as he started to shove John in front of him, heading towards the bedroom. "Then why don't you just go there by yourself Sherlock? I am really not in the mood for going out!" But John could have spoken to a wall and it would have paid more attention to his words. Sherlock had started to rip out John's clothes, leaving an impressive pile on the floor, mumbling about "…the perfect outfit..." John really, really didn't want to go anywhere but he couldn't help admire the other man and the way he always got so caught up in the game. Maybe he could come, just for a while and then leave early? It was Friday after all, and he didn't need to go to work tomorrow. And when Sherlock straightened himself, having finally found the perfect clothes for John and smiling that amazing smile of his, John couldn't help but smile back a little, holding out his arms to receive the clothes.
He went to the bathroom to change, and even though it was a shirt he hadn't worn for ages and didn't really like, he thought it looked rather good together with the pants and the cardigan Sherlock had picked out for him. That man really had an eye for clothes, he thought as he exited the bathroom, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Sherlock coming out of his bedroom at the same time. He had changed his clothes too. He was wearing black slim-fitted jeans (jeans?), and that purple shirt that John had always liked. He'd rolled up the sleeves a bit and left two buttons unbuttoned which exposed that long neck of his. He looked…gorgeous, John thought. Still in a completely heterosexual kind of way of course. He coughed a little, straightened himself and said briskly "Alright then, shall we go?"
Sherlock managed to get a cab within seconds, another talent of his that John could never understand. Once inside the car, John thought he might ask about the case. He had worked a lot during the last week, due to an epidemic of flu going around, so he hadn't been involved with this case at all, which was very rare. But when he asked, Sherlock looked seemed to think it over and then said "Sorry John, but I think it would be best for this particular part that you don't know anything." He didn't look sad at all though, he was actually smirking a bit. John was annoyed at this, "Why did you even want me to come then? If you're not going to tell me anything? I could be home, watching telly and drinking tea." John pouted a little, like a petulant child. But he wasn't used to be held outside of a case, and he didn't like it. "Well I couldn't go to a bar all by myself a Friday night now, could I? Who knows what might happen?" Sherlock said, amused at John's reaction. But they didn't have time to discuss it any further, as the cab drove up in front of a fancy looking bar.
John stared at the stairs leading up to big glass-doors with four guards outside. Not having the energy to be annoyed at Sherlock, he said "Bloody hell, what is this place Sherlock?" Sherlock paid the cabby and answered, "It's an elite club, sort of. It's where all the upper-class, businessmen, rich heirs and that sort of people meet. I think Mycroft used to go here, unsurprisingly." John chuckled at the last comment, and followed Sherlock up the stairs. From somewhere in his pocket, Sherlock produced what seemed to be a member-card, no doubt pick-pocketed from Mycroft at some point. The guards greeted them both, and they stepped inside the glass-doors.
There were a lot of people inside, being a Friday night. The music wasn't loud, it seemed like the first room was more of a sitting lounge. At a table near the door sat four stern-looking men in suits, having a fierce discussion of what sounded like whether or not England should develop their own nuclear power. At another table were two older women, with sparkling jewels and big fur-coats. It seemed like this club was open to anyone with enough money to buy a smaller town. John followed Sherlock to the second room, where the music was significantly louder as it contained a large dance-floor. Sherlock led the way to the bar, sitting himself down on a stool, gesturing towards the bartender and ordering two drinks. "Are you drinking Sherlock?" John asked surprised. "Of course not, but I can't just sit here watching other people drink. I think that would be what they call creepy."
They sat at the bar, John sipping on his drink and, eventually Sherlock's as well. The detective let his eyes wander through the crowd, searching for something or someone, but John didn't bother to ask any questions, knowing that Sherlock wouldn't answer them. The DJ started playing Rihanna's song Umbrella, and suddenly John started to chuckle. "What?" Sherlock asked, looking surprised at the sudden noise.
"Oh I was just thinking of Mycroft. You know, if he should ever use a pick-up line he should sing this song. 'You can stand under my umbrella'."
Sherlock laughed at this. "Yeah, I wonder if that was what he used on Lestrade." John stopped his chuckling "What do you mean, Lestrade? What are you talking about?" Sherlock looked clearly amused. "Oh you seriously haven't noticed? I think they've been shagging for quite some time now. Although I didn't notice myself until about two weeks ago." John just stared at him, mouth hanging open and looking completely puzzled. "Wait a minute. Are you saying that your brother is hooking up with Greg? Seriously?" John couldn't believe his ears. Sherlock looked smug "Haven't you noticed how Lestrade winces slightly when he is about to sit down? Or how he always blushes at the mention of my brother? Or how Mycroft always seem to defend Lestrade, even though they are not supposed to know each other that well? Seriously John, that wasn't even a hard deduction to make, even you could have done that same conclusion!"
John still couldn't believe what he was hearing. But Sherlock was never wrong, and come to think of it, he could see some of the signs mentioned. He thought he'd feel more reluctant at the idea, but all he could do was feel happy for them both. He knew that both men had been lonely a long time, and if they made each other happy, John certainly was not going to be the one to argue. Another feeling, which strongly resembled awe, was demanding John's attention, but he strongly defeated it. No he was not jealous, he was completely fine! Taking the last of Sherlock's drink, he turned around to talk to the detective, only to find the stool empty. Oh great, now Sherlock was gone and John was stuck in a bloody upper-class club all by himself.
Sherlock's stool became occupied rather quickly though, as a beautiful woman sat down next to John, smiling widely at him. "Hello gorgeous!" She said flirty, leaning in towards him. "What are you doing here, all by yourself? Need someone to take care of you maybe?" John opened his mouth, but before he could answer he felt a hand on his shoulder and a deep voice above him "I am terribly sorry, but I am afraid that he is already taken." The woman made a sad-face but said politely "Congratulations then, you've made quite the catch!" And with a wink in John's direction she was off.
"What the hell was that Sherlock?" John exclaimed as Sherlock released the pressure on his shoulder, though his hand remained there. "Oh believe me John, you wouldn't want her anyway. Single, depressed, mom of three children. Desperate to find a rich man to marry who can provide for her. She managed to sneak in here because of a main coincidence, and being desperate she goes for anything that walks on two legs."
"Thank you for that compliment." John said sarcastically. But on some level he couldn't even be annoyed at Sherlock. He'd felt almost too good when Sherlock proclaimed him taken. Almost as if they were together. The thought made John feel things that were not good, and he knew he was out on dangerous territory. Sherlock certainly didn't make it better when he leaned down and whispered in John's ear "I think we should leave. I've just hand-cuffed one of the biggest drug-dealers in London to a toilet." John could barely focus on the words as Sherlock's warm breath touched his ear, but nodded. He took Sherlock's offered hand and they made their way through the crowd, John trying to clear his mind of inappropriate thoughts.
As soon as they were outside he repeated what he'd just heard. "You just hand-cuffed a drug-dealer to a toilet on one of London's high-class clubs? How did you even manage to get him in there in the first place?" John was disbelieving but Sherlock said in a low voice "I can be pretty convincing actually. If you just know what to offer, you can get anyone almost anywhere, and this particular man seemed more than a bit interested to…get to know me better. I just played along, and got him where I wanted. I've called Lestrade and they're on their way to collect him now. We don't have to stay, so I say we get home now. After all, you didn't even want to come in the first place, so now let's get you home to your precious tea and telly."
He turned around to stop a cab and John, still processing the information that Sherlock had somewhat seduced London's most dangerous drug-dealer, promising god knows what, just stared at him. Following Sherlock into the now awaiting car, he contemplated when this had become his regular Friday nights.