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Sherlock glared at John as his flatmate devoured another mince pie.
He had been forced to attend a ridiculous Christmas function at the Scotland Yard, and John would not let him leave. All he wanted was to get back to the flat and continue his experiment on cow saliva, but no, he had to do whatever John said they had to do.
Sometimes Sherlock wondered if he ever got his way in this relationship.
‘Why are we here, John?’ he asked again, because John had yet to give him a proper answer. John rolled his eyes, swallowed his pie and put his glass on the table.
‘I told you, Greg invited us, so I thought it’d be nice to come… Get out of the house for a bit, mingle and all that,’ he said. Sherlock did not find that to be a satisfying answer, so he just scoffed and sneered.
‘Ridiculous. We are aways out of the house!’ he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. ‘Besides, why did I have to come? I’m sure none of the “London’s finest”,’ at that Sherlock added air quotes, ‘would mind my not being here.’
John snorted this time and shook his head. ‘I told you you didn’t have you come, Sherlock. You followed me here after I left the flat!’
At that, they both fell into silence, albeit a companionable one. John watched as some of the Yarders danced and Sherlock tried to find someone who was having an affair so he could go and pick on them. It was not often that he purposefully tried to put people down for their own idiocy, but he was really growing rather bored, and that would have to do.
Then they were approached by Lestrade, whose cheeks were already a bit red as his nursed his third pint.
‘Hey, lads, I’m glad you made it,’ he told them with a grin. He and John shook hands and began to discuss some sport-related event that had taken place the week before. Sherlock could not care less, so he turned back to his observations. Donovan walked up to him with the disgusted expression she normally had.
‘What are you doing here, freak?’ she asked. Sherlock rolled his eyes, his patience with this whole ordeal wearing rather thin.
‘I do not wish to converse with you, Donovan, so please take your mindless rants elsewhere,’ he said, casually. Sherlock noticed she was about to attack him again, but he really did not want to hear it anymore. ‘Look, why don’t you go yell at someone else? You’re frustrated because Anderson brought his wife even though he said he wouldn’t, and, really, I don’t care, so go away and leave me be.’
With that, Donovan growled, but walked away. Sherlock smirked triumphantly and turned to talk to John, but he was still engaged in a sport talk with Lestrade.
Sherlock retreated to the food table and looked around, trying to find something that might interest him. He didn’t like the look of these mince pies, and the fruit cake looked rather stale. He sighed and went back to his people watching, which was growing duller and duller as he was able to deduce everyone in the room.
A few minutes later, John joined him with a smile.
‘Hey, I wondered where you went,’ he chuckled. ‘Ate anything?’
‘No, this food is preposterous,’ Sherlock told him with disdain, but John only chuckled again, amused.
‘Have you tried the eggnog? It’s actually quite good,’ John commented, moving towards the bowl that contained the yellowish white drink. Sherlock sneered at it.
‘I don’t like eggnog,’ he said. John raised an eyebrow.
‘Have you ever even had it? Ever?’
Sherlock paused, trying to remember the moment where he tried the sodding thing and hated it, so John would leave him alone, but he couldn’t remember. Might have deleted it, then. Although, now that he thought of it… ‘No.’
John smirked, then filled a small cup with the thing and handed it to Sherlock, who took it, holding it with his index finger and thumb at an arm’s length. ‘Oh, grow up, you lump, it’s just a harmless drink.’
‘Has it got alcohol in it?’ Sherlock knew that there were variations of the drink which contained some form of spirit, and he didn’t wish to be caught off-guard, since he usually had a low tolerance for alcoholic beverages.
John nodded. ‘Yes. Rum, I think, but just a little bit, you can barely even taste it. Go on, take a sip.’
So Sherlock did, smelling the contents first — a strange, eggy, salty-like smell, he couldn’t really place it — then taking a small sip. As soon as the drink hit the back of his throat, Sherlock was choking. John took the cup from his hands and patted him on the back.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked, his voice filled with concern.
‘What the hell is that? I’ve never had anything so disgusting my entire life!’ Sherlock picked up at napkin from the table and began wiping his tongue with it. ‘Are you trying to kill me, John? Is that it? How are going to afford 221b all by yourself if I’m dead?’
John laughed. ‘Oh, don’t be such a drama queen. I’m not trying to kill you, you’re just a whiny little child.’
‘I’m hardly a child, John. You are being unreasonable.’
‘Says the man who is currently wiping his tongue with a napkin because he didn’t like the taste of the eggnog,’ John said smugly. Sherlock stuck his tongue out at him, which only made John laugh more. ‘You are an idiot, Sherlock,’ he said fondly.
‘You are the one who enjoys disgusting drinks…’ Sherlock said, refusing to believe he was acting like a child.
John chuckled and patted Sherlock’s back again. ‘Come on, we’ll go to that pub you like in Charlotte Street and I’ll treat you to a drink, yeah?’
Sherlock rolled his eyes but nodded nonetheless.
They made their way out of the Scotland Yard, bickering still.