Happy St. Patrick's Day, everyone!
It's only mid-afternoon, but the pub is already filled with raucous partiers wearing a motley assortment of ridiculous green hats and shirts. John sees Greg sitting at the bar, catches his eye, and waves.
"John, hey. I wasn't sure you'd be able to escape the missus for this one." the DI blurts out before noticing a familiar tall, slim silhouette picking his way through the crowd, a look of complete and utter disdain crossing his distinctive features.
"Spoke too soon then, did I?" Greg asks, his eyes crinkling with mirth.
John just laughs. "I'm pretty shocked that I managed to convince him, myself."
Greg turns to the bartender and gestures for three beers. John manages to catch her eye in time to change one of the orders to a vodka tonic to keep Sherlock quiet.
When the drinks arrive, they're all a lurid shade of kelly green. Sherlock eyes them with distaste, shoving his back in John's general direction.
"This is absurd, John. We're not even Irish. What do I care about the spread of Christianity and a dead saint? What do any of these people care? And why is my cocktail such an unappetizing colour?"
"Honestly, Sherlock, will you just shut up and relax, for once? It's just an excuse to get a bit rowdy and drink revoltingly dyed beer."