LET'S DO THIS THING

[aphelionix]

While by no means a device to get Sherlock to shut up, the telly did manage to at least make him sit in one place. (Unless he was particularly into one of the cheesy soaps on, in which case he'd jump out of his chair and yell at the actors.) He had recently gotten into another disagreement with his brother, as well, and it was a good distraction. It kept John from getting caught in the middle, holding each brother at arms length away from each others' throats.

There was the occasional text Sherlock would look at and ignore, going back to the telly. Lestrade didn't have any good cases for him. He put his phone back in his pocket, huffing with disappointment.

"John. Want some tea?" he said, making the motion to look over his shoulder, despite not looking away from the screen.

Comments

[aphelionix]

"Of course you'd think so," he groans, sometimes fondly disappointed in how simple his flatmate can be. Sherlock gets bored of browsing John's blog and switches to a local news site instead. 'A Scientific Study On The Cuteness Of Puppies' greets him on the front page. Sherlock sighs dramatically.

"It's ridiculous what people call science these days. Tea ready?"

[pugsmuggler]

"Here you are," John said, settling the mug onto the computer desk once he'd returned to the main room.

"Now what's this about science?"

[aphelionix]

"Puppies," Sherlock answered, taking his tea and sipping it carelessly. "Very good, John. Thank you.

"It's a study on how they are relaxing," he continued with a scoff. "Can you imagine? A yappy little thing, demanding attention and walks and having accidents on the carpet, being relaxing?"

[pugsmuggler]

"Well, they're cute, aren't they?" John reminded. "It's not entirely unbelievable."

John sunk back into the kitchen, grabbing his coat from backrest of the couch as he did so. "I suppose I should head out after this cup," he informed. "I'd appreciate it if you'd leave that blog post alone in the meantime."

[aphelionix]

Sherlock scrolled through more ridiculous headlines, saying things out loud now and then about each one. After tiring of each, boring thing the internet had to say, he stood, grabbing his own coat and scarf.

"Right. Well. Let's go, then."

[pugsmuggler]

John's pressed his lips into a flat line, exhaling. "I am heading out Sherlock. I didn't say we."

[aphelionix]

The scarf was already snug around Sherlock's neck, and his coat half-buttoned.

"Then how do you expect me to leave your blog post alone?"

[pugsmuggler]

John pulled in a long sigh, taking gulp from his tea before speaking again.

"Sherlock, this is important," John persisted. "I haven't had a date in months. I'm going to the pub to pick up girls, and you're going to do something else -- something that doesn't involve blowing holes in our wall. Or my blog post."

[aphelionix]

"Oh, come on," he whined, whirling in a circle before plopping down in his chair. "I can handle myself just fine in a pub! You won't even know I'm there."

Never mind that the issue wasn't whether Sherlock could handle himself - it was whether John could handle Sherlock.

[pugsmuggler]

"No," John said. "No, Sherlock. You have consistently been the reason I have not been able to get, or even keep a date. You can go to a different pub."

[aphelionix]

"What do you even need dates for?" Sherlock scoffed, not grasping the importance of intimacy of another sort. (Besides, they tended to leave soon after they met Sherlock anyway - and it was inevitable that they would.) "And what would be the point of going to another pub?"

[pugsmuggler]

"A girlfriend," John sputtered out in disbelief. "I want one. Some people like the idea of finding a significant other."

not-so-subtle-beaton-reference time

[aphelionix]

There was a rare moment of silence from Sherlock as he contemplated what John told him. He sunk deeper in his chair, curling his coat around him with a long suffering sigh.

"Fine," he gave in. "Go find yourself a girlfriend. I will sit here consumed with boredom for the rest of the evening. I hope you're happy, John."

[pugsmuggler]

"I am, actually," John said, placing his mug back on the counter. "Positively merry. Now, I'll have my cell on me. You're welcome to text me if anything important comes up."

John grabbed his scarf from the door hanger as he exited the kitchen, knotting it around his neck. "If you're bored," he began, buttoning up his coat. "You could clean up around here a bit. I'm sure Mrs. Hudson would appreciate it."

[aphelionix]

"Everything's already organized," he responded, head lolling back. (Well, organized relative to him.) Sherlock reached blindly for his violin bow, mindlessly running his fingers along it as he stared at the ceiling. "No promises on your blog post."

[pugsmuggler]

"Yes, noted," John said hurriedly, seemingly unruffled by the idea as long as it was enough to keep Sherlock out of his hair for long enough try his luck at the pub.

And with that, he was gone.

[aphelionix]

Before John even had time to call a cab, he received a text:

Bored. -SH

[pugsmuggler]

Feeling the vibration of his phone, John only gave grievous sigh. He waited to bored a cab before responding.

Not important. -JW

[aphelionix]

Incredibly important. -SH

It was, because a bored Sherlock was a dangerous Sherlock. He watched the cab drive away from the window, and from there, already had guessed three different pubs John was likely to go to. And then, by his attire (casual, not much grooming beforehand), figured it was the most casual of the three - The Blue Bloke. With a grin, he leaped up, ready for the chase.

By cab, it only took five minutes to get there. He stopped off at the corner, waiting at the edge of the building. John was probably sitting at the bar, warming up with a few drinks, eyeing the girls, deciding which he'd like to talk to or if he'd rather barhop after all. (They probably weren't much to look at, judging by the area.) Sherlock peered through the window, assessing the situation.

[pugsmuggler]

Sure enough, John was there. He was sitting by himself with an order of chips and a beer. There was a brown haired woman on the far-edge of the bar to his left, around five seats separating them-- judging by the empty glass at the counter directly beside John, she had moved there recently, likely to avoid John's advances.

[aphelionix]

Five minutes in and already being avoided. Sherlock almost pitied the poor man.

A couple more minutes passed before Sherlock found his opening. He couldn't very well go into the bar, so he needed a messenger - who better than a pretty brunette heading down the street. She hardly looked humble, but maybe that was better. She would accept a bribe to play a small part, he was sure.

"E-excuse me," Sherlock bumbled as she approached. She stopped, eyebrows raised. "C-can you do me a favor? I, um... will you give this t-to the man at the bar? I-in the sweater?"

Sherlock handed her something scribbled on a piece of paper (a number and a small heart in the corner - just for flourish), and some folded bills.

"Sure thing, sweetheart," she agreed, smiling as she pocketed the bills. Too easy. She slipped inside, welcoming herself right next to John and sliding the paper across the bar to him, and then excused herself with no explanation.

[pugsmuggler]

John’s attention was drawn to the woman as soon as she knelt near his seat at the bar, and he likely would have spared a greeting had his mouth not been stuffed with chips the moment prior to her arrival. Instead, he just looked on with surprise as she dropped the note off at his side and swaggered along out the door. He waited until she had left to look at the not, hoping dearly it didn’t say anything along the lines of “get in the car;” He’d had enough of that for one week.

“A phone number?” John mumbled to himself, half-surprised.

A girl had actually given him their phone number? He certainly didn’t recognize it. It couldn’t be Mycroft’s. But, without even any small talk? Perhaps she was busy, he thought to himself. After all, most women had more stable employment than he did. Well, he supposed there was one way to find out:

Hello. Is this the woman from The Blue Bloke? The one that just left? -JW

[aphelionix]

Sherlock grinned as the text came. The good doctor was certainly reliable.

You looked lonely.

[pugsmuggler]

What's your name? -JW

Pardon me, my name's John Watson. I'm a doctor. -JW

[aphelionix]

Good to meet you, Dr. Watson. Sorry it had to be through text. A little busy, but I couldn't resist. The name's Cheryl.