Sherlock's sitting expectantly on the couch when John comes down the stairs. He's got a container of leftover lo mein in his lap, and a pile of dvds is laid out on the coffee table.
John cringes. "Oh, fuck, Sherlock. We had a movie night planned, didn't we?"
Sherlock raises an eyebrow, gesturing at the pile of movies, as if to say I thought that was obvious.
"I'm sorry, I've got a date. Jeanette called, she asked if I was willing to give it another go."
Sherlock's face falls, nearly imperceptibly, before he gets his features under control.
"That's.. fine, John. More than fine. I didn't really want to watch these movies anyway, I was only doing it for your benefit. I've got some mould cultures to attend to. Maybe I can call Lestrade and see if he inevitably needs my assistance." Realising that he's rambling, Sherlock shuts up.
"I could... I could call and postpone it. Tell her you need me."
Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Considering her ridiculous reasons for leaving the first time, I don't recommend that. Go on then, have fun." He scowls and flops over on the sofa. Sherlock's been abandoned, let down, ignored, and intentionally overlooked many times through his life, but this is the first time in recent memory he's felt well and truly betrayed.