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It’s for a case, Sherlock kept telling himself as he sat across the pub, watching John carefully. He was chatting up a busty blonde at a private corner table, his hand on hers, no doubt feeling a little tipsy. They had her cornered; all Sherlock needed was one little confession and they could take her down to Scotland Yard. But the idea of John having to take her home tonight, maybe even sleeping with her. No, he didn’t want to think about it. The bartender snapped him back to reality, a teasing grin on his ruddy old face.
“Fancy that lady over there, d’ya?” The bartender pointed his rag in the direction of John’s table and Sherlock turned and shrugged.
“Not exactly,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible over the din in the pub. The bartender just shook his head and moved on. At the same time, John slid out of the booth and held a hand out to the woman. She took his hand, stumbled a bit in her ridiculously high heels. She laughed and John placed his hand on the small of her back. With that, they exited the pub and Sherlock felt like he might vomit.
***
The next morning was not any better. Sherlock was hungover, even after the small amount of alcohol he had consumed. He cursed his lack of tolerance to alcohol as he stumbled into the sitting rooms, eyes photosensitive and head pounding. John was already sitting in his chair, reading his paper. He didn’t look up.
“Morning,” John muttered as he grabbed his mug and took a sip. He’d already made tea, then. Sherlock didn’t reply, walking into the kitchen himself. He went to pour his own mug when he realised that there was already one prepared for him. John was feeling guilty. Sherlock returned to the sitting room and flopped down on the couch, spilling lukewarm tea into his lap. Several minutes passed before Sherlock decided to breach the subject.
“You slept with her.” It wasn’t a question. John didn’t answer. Even more suspicious. “You can tell me if you did, John. It was for a case. I won’t be angry and I certainly do not consider this infidelity.” His stomach was churning now and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the hangover or because he was actually jealous. John still didn’t say anything, feigning deafness.
Close to half an hour passed with no answer from John and Sherlock tossing restlessly on the sofa. Then, very slowly and quietly, John opened his mouth and spoke.
“You’re wrong, you know,” he said softly, eyes on Sherlock, “I didn’t sleep with her. I didn’t even kiss her.” Sherlock snorted and shook his head.
“I don’t believe that,” Sherlock said with an edge, eyes narrowed. He was surprised when John lowered his paper and looked at him sincerely.
“I’m not lying. Why are you so upset about it?” John smirked and cleared his throat, “Are you jealous?”
That elicited a very loud “No!” from Sherlock as he stood and stormed out of the room.
***
They were laying in bed that night when it finally came out.
“I was jealous,” Sherlock admitted, sighing, “And I’m sorry that I accused you. I know you didn’t sleep with that woman…” He was cut off by John’s hearty laugh.
“Wow, I made Sherlock Holmes jealous? Lucky me.” He ruffled Sherlock’s hair and laughed again. Sherlock just groaned and glared at John.
“Did you get the confession?”
“Oh yeah. By the time we got in the cab, she was so drunk she came right out with it. Took her down to the Yard myself.”
Sherlock just smirked and wrapped his arms around John’s middle. Case closed.