I really need a drink...

[perfectlysteady]

"Most people blunder around this city and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield..."

Life seeing the true face of London can be an adventure. Sometimes, however, at the end of the day all one really wants to see is a stiff drink...

Two People Walk Into a Bar
A Glimpse into the

Comments

[perfectlysteady]

[Sherlock has refused to leave the flat for days (at least five now), and John's had enough. The smell of formaldehyde can only be tolerated for so long before a person needs some air--even a doctor.

The evening's cold out, but he's not put on his parka--he doesn't care for them much these days. No, instead he's put on a more tailored coat that he feels a bit ill-at-ease in.

Still, he thinks he's at least moderately convincing in his show of confidence as he walks into a club. The flashing lights and cloud wafting through from the fog machine and the vibration of the music seemed so foreign now--he remembered a time when drinking with friends in a pub or nightclub felt normal--now it was at best passé and foreign, especially since he'd met Sherlock at the end this past January, and he was on his own.

He takes a seat and orders a beer--not very adventurous, but at least he's out and breathing... relatively... fresh air. Though, looking down into the frozen mug, he wonders if this outside world business was for him anymore...]

[shutupimagenius]

"John." [Sherlock calls from his place hovering over the table, watching over his various experiments with steadily waning interest. He reluctantly tears his gaze away, wondering why John wasn't there yet.]

"Oh honestly, what-" [He begins as he moves to the sitting room, his sentence dropping off with an irritated sigh. Where was he, damn it? He remembered John complaining about the unpleasant odor given off by his experiments, and then mentioning something about a particular club. He must have left after that, when Sherlock had been completely invested in his work. He slumped his shoulders, growling as he pulled on his coat and scarf and whisked downstairs. He was in the sort of mood where he needed to talk at someone, considering he'd run through his stock of body parts to experiment with.]

[He was scowling the moment he set foot into the club. 'Really, John, here of all places?' he couldn't help but think as he pushed through the crowd. He spotted him easily and slid onto the seat next to him, arms crossed and fixing him

[perfectlysteady]

[John has managed to finish two beers by the time Sherlock arrives. He is just entranced enough with watching the very last few drops of amber liquid circle around the bottom of the mug as he idly moves it that when Sherlock speaks to him, he looks up at him with a start. Five days, five days of pleading with Sherlock to just step outside, and when he'd finally had enough, he can't be alone for ten minutes.

His eyes focus on Sherlock's and he sighs a bit, making a sort of face that might be a grimace and might be a weary smile.]

"Sherlock, I've been trying to get you to converse or leave the flat for four and a half days at the very least. All my efforts are completely vain and yet you manage to find me here when I've not been gone half an hour..."

[He ignores Sherlock's demands that they leave and a bit eagerly accepts another beer, grateful for the warm relaxation it provides--it makes it easier to ignore the fact that he knows this place is a bit too young for him and actually isn't very interesting at all. He can't keep up

[shutupimagenius]

[Sherlock frowns, already uncomfortable in his own skin in this environment. He really doesn't like the stares he's getting.]

"There was no point in leaving until I had to track you down. And there is especially no point in coming here ever"

[He bristles, looking absolutely affronted when John ignores him. He narrows his eyes to glower at him, grumbling wordlessly when John insisted they stay out for a half an hour. He looks at his watch.]

"Half an hour and that's it." [He concedes, only because he was just bored enough. He finally turns to face the bar, arms crossed and thoroughly determined not to enjoy himself.]

"I'll consider myself lucky if I do." [He mutters, though he finds himself inwardly amused at John's playfully teasing demeanor. He will never tell him, of course. He was sure that then John would defy his wishes all the time just to prove that he could bend the great Sherlock Holmes to his will with nothing but some well-placed words and a smirk.]

[jumperclad]

[The pub's smallish, a bit dingy. In the corner is a TV showing an Arsenal game with six-odd people watching and shouting at intervals. The bartender, who looks more than a bit tipsy, gives him the wrong brand of beer. It could be worse though, so John doesn't complain, and the sofa he settles on is comfy enough. If nothing else, it's a respite from the harsh lights and screaming toddlers at work...]

[di_lestrade]

[Lestrade's had a long day at work--routine stuff, but straddling the line between routine tedium and finding something that his consulting detective could and would helped him sort out was something of a regular but dull feat. Every day that he didn't have to send for Sherlock Holmes was another day that his people respected him a bit more, and it usually meant that the city seemed a bit safer, at least for the moment. Still, it was damned slow and boring.]

[He steps off into a small pub on his way home from work, tense and not sure whether he's waiting for the phone to ring or dreading that it might. He doesn't come in here often, but it's on his way home and he desperately needs a drink. He downs the small glass quickly and clears his throat at the sharp taste and slight burn, and he's prepared to pay and leave when he notices something--someone--familiar in the corner of his eye. He approaches the sofa and stands before John, putting his left hand down into his coat's pocket and extending the other to shake his hand.]"What brings

[jumperclad]

[John blinks up at the DI for a moment before remembering that Scotland Yard's not too far off. He gives himself a mental kick for the lapse, and shakes the proferred hand.]

"Nothing in particular- I work just round the corner. GP's office. The babies can get a bit much, you know?"

[di_lestrade]

[Lestrade shrugs and tilts his head a bit in wordless agreement. He smirks a bit and glances at the television set for a moment, thoughtfully, not really thinking about the game at all. He turns his gaze back to John and smiles a bit more as he takes a seat by him, a comfortable distance away, sitting on the edge in case he senses that John doesn't want his company. For all the time he spends with Sherlock, Lestrade realizes that he doesn't really know much about John at all.]

"Kids, yeah. Bit of a handful. My wife's been on about it more and more often as we're getting older..."

[He trails off and makes a face somewhere between a sheepish grin and a grimace, suddenly realizing he could do with another drink. He doesn't move yet to get one, though.]

"...one child's quite enough for me, I think. And you live with him. How's that going?"

[dearjohnwatson]

[It wasn't entirely unusual for John to have a pub stop on his way home from the clinic. But to do it more than three times a week, well some might call him out on it. A doctor? With a drinking problem? Poppycock. As it is he mostly goes alone, which he's positive Sherlock wouldn't appreciate after the whole ... bomb ... thing. But he does it anyway

[ssawyer81]

[Sarah's quite liking her job at the moment- she's mostly seeing pensioners and the odd hypochondriac- but she's noticed John's mood progressively getting fouler all week, so when the office closes she spies him heading for the pub again, she follows. Waits outside for a moment, of course (she really doesn't want to make it look like she's stalking him), then heads indoors and settles herself on the barstool next to him.]

Hey. You alright?

[dearjohnwatson]

[The very moment he heard the bar stool move next to him, he turns slightly with his eyes closed to tell Sherlock to go back home, he's tired, he'll be there soon. He didn't need a ride home, an escort or whatever. He'll be home after he finishes this pint, but the sound of the voice caught him before he could see it was, indeed, not Sherlock.]

[He sputters a little into his drink.] "Oh-- um, Sarah. He-Hello."

[Giving a slightly tense smile at that, he swiped a hand down over his lips to make sure he wasn't still sporting a Guinny 'stache and once more glanced at her, trying to be as cordial as he could. Sarah hadn't done anything wrong, but it had been a rough day. And to make matters worse, he still had to deal with whatever was waiting for him at home. It made nights out at the bar more frequent, if only to delay the inevitable.]

"I'm fine. Just fine. Enjoying a cold one, watching bad sports telly," [He hadn't once looked up at those screens until just then, realizing it wasn't even sports, but news.] "... Or, the news. Care to

[ssawyer81]

[Her lip quirks at the slip- John must be tired if he was this unobservant (Sherlock's been rubbing off on him lately, and no wonder with the monopoly on his time he's claimed). She refrains from laughing, though. Doesn't look like it'd be welcome.] That'd be lovely, thanks.

[di_lestrade]

[Lestrade has had a similarly stressful day, having found the body of the girl in question before she'd been taken to the morgue. Then he'd had to deal with Sherlock's investigational methods as they tried to find out a probably cause of death. She was entirely too young... which was likely the reason he showed up at the same bar when he did, after work.

He walks up to the bar and orders a pint of bitter, eyes losing focus as he waits until they focus on Molly. He's not sure who she is but he knows he's seen her before and he's trying to place it. He takes a seat a bit closer to her and clears his throat, trying to look friendly, though it's a bit of chore given the day he's had and the kind of day it looks like she's been having as well. Still, it's only polite and he's curious.]

Do I know you?

[di_lestrade]

"Lestrade." [He corrects her gently as he shakes her hand in turn, quite good at that and knocking on doors--two more generally applicable skills acquired in the course of his job.]

"Oh, right. Molly, isn't it? Julia Andrews--too young. I certainly admire you for it--someone's got to work in the mortuary, but I don't know how you manage it. You're so young yourself."