Chapter Text
John stood at the bar waiting patiently for the bar tender to acknowledge him when a man came up and squeezed into the space between him and the next person.
"How much does a polar bear weigh?" a dark voice asked and John looked up surprised. He saw bright blue eyes smiling down at him and automatically returned the smile, but confused he asked, "What? I don't--" He shook his head.
"Enough to break the ice," the other man said and held out his hand. "Hi, my name is Peter."
John laughed. He was delighted. Confused, too, but mostly amused. He shook the hand.
"Is it now? Well, I'm Steve."
"Nice to meet you, Steve. May I buy you a beer?" The 'stranger', Peter, had let go of John's, Steve's, hand after he had held it a moment longer than necessary and turned around to the bar. With a twenty pounds note in his hand he waved at the bar tender who of course came over immediately. John rolled his eyes. Every time. It was so unfair.
"Two beers, please," Peter said in a voice that didn't fit in this pub. The bar tender looked at him with raised eyebrows.
"What kind of beer?" he asked. John stepped in.
"A pint of Symonds and one of London Pride, please," he ordered. While they waited for their orders to be filled, he turned to his company. The man had lost some of his confidence now that he had John’s attention.
"So, Peter. Tell me everything about you," John challenged. The other man's eyes glistened.
"Oh, I wouldn't know where to start," he said mysteriously. Their drinks arrived and were being paid for, all putting a momentary lull on their conversation, but then they carried theirs glasses over to a free table.
"Don't you want to go back to sit with your friends?" Peter asked John.
"Nah. This is more fun," John replied and sat down. And it was. He leant back in his chair and took a sip of his pint, grinning and feeling utterly relaxed. His eyes swept over the man sitting opposite him, who hadn't even taken off his coat yet and looked uncomfortable the way he was perched on the edge of his chair.
"So, you come here often?" John asked flirtily. At the surprised look on his opponent's face he laughed again. "You really don't know where to go from here, do you?" he asked and took another sip.
"No," the other man confessed. "I found that line online and thought you might like it. It didn't say how to go on once you've established contact."
"Usually you just go with what feels comfortable. But seeing as you don't do 'comfortable', yeah I see your problem." The other man smirked a little and tried his cider. He looked pleased with the taste and surprised that John should have chosen it for him.
"What?" John answered the question raised by his eyebrows. "You like Granny Smiths. Was not a far leap." He leant forwards again and put his pint on the table.
"So. First things first, take off that damn coat. You look ridiculous in it."
"I don't," Sherlock, because John thought they were back in their own realm now and it was safe to think of him in his own name, pouted but took off the garment.
"Secondly, you might want to try to relax a bit. Don't look so tense. Lean back, spread your legs, show some dominance." Sherlock did that, too, but looked dubious.
"People like that?"
"We like confidence."
"And this implies confidence?”
“It implies that you’re confident I would like to touch your penis, yeah.” Sherlock choked on his cider and John took a self-satisfied sip of his own pint. He started to really enjoy this night.
“So, is this for a case then?” he asked after Sherlock had stopped coughing.
“Something like that,” Sherlock evaded vaguely. John let his eyes roam over him, from the top of his head to the tips of his shoes. Sherlock was visibly fighting the instinct of crossing his legs under his scrutiny and John enjoyed that too. It was fun, having their roles reversed.
He didn’t say anything for a long while until Sherlock gave in and at least closed his legs, at which point John’s face broke into a grin.
“Relax, you’re doing fine,” he said leaning forward in his seat. Sherlock looked at him miserably.
“Really?” he asked without hope.
“Sure. You’ve already won,” John assured kindly but with still a lot of humour in his tone.
“How so?”
“Well, at the end of the night I’ll be going home with you, won’t I?” he joked. Sherlock searched his face for evidence that he was being made fun of, but John’s grin was honest and so he returned it. He visibly relaxed in his chair and took another sip.
“And now tell me who else won’t be going home alone tonight,” John prompted and Sherlock fell into his deduction mode as he pointed out the people who had been successful, and more interestingly, the ones who hadn’t and why. John tried to remember a night in a pub when he had had more fun than this, but he came up short. Sherlock, if he wanted to, could be perfectly entertaining and charming, and tonight he wanted to. When they went home after last call, John’s face hurt from laughing so much.