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"I hope this club is as good as Molly says it is." John said animatedly, as Sherlock paid the cab driver.
"I still can't believe you persuaded me to go to a nightclub, John. Of all places. They're dangerous, riddled with city scum, drunkards and potential rapists."
John's face fell at the latter part, feeling a little less enthusiastic about entering the club. He briefly remembered Molly mentioning "some creepy woman" that had been following her all night, trying to talk to her and eventually disappearing because Molly had alerted security. However, with its large space and flash decor, the club itself was one of "the" places to be, apparently. The pair had been so busy lately, John just wanted time for Sherlock to let his hair down.
Having said that, was a nightcub the best place to do so?
"I should have taken him to a violin recital." John thought, sighing.
"Are we going in, or what?" Sherlock asked agitatedly. The bass from the club's music was thumping in John's guts. Was it the music? Or was it nerves?
"O-of course," John replied, clearing his throat.
He was determined to have fun. And by God, Sherlock was going to have fun too.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
45 minutes later, John had had enough.
Sherlock hadn't joined in with the erratic, hairbrained dancing, but he had entertained in the interest of the bar. Not just the bar, either.
"Name's Georrrrrge!" slurred a tall, muscly man with floppy black hair. He had been eyeing up Sherlock (much to John's annoyance) for 20 minutes prior to now, when he had shimmyed over, half-cut, John suspected.
"Sherlock!" Sherlock yelled over the music.
"Fancy a daaaaaaance?"
John stepped in between the two men. "I don't think that's a good idea." George pushed John smoothly away with a swift arm movement, and grabbed Sherlock's arm.
"C'mon daaaaarlin', let's 'ave a dance eh?"
"No thank you." Sherlock said politely with a smile. He gently tried to pull away, but George clung on.
"No, you ARE dancing with me, you pretentious git!" George jerked Sherlock forward violently, causing him to stumble and almost fall flat on his face.
John's next move was like a gun-shot.
"LET GO OF HIM!" He swung around the side of George, punching him straight in the face. George cried out in pain, releasing Sherlock, who quickly darted out of the way.
"You bastard!" George spat, lunging at John, who used his army knowledge to appease the situation.
Next thing anyone knew, George was on the floor nursing a broken nose and a bloody lip.
"Are you alright?" John asked Sherlock, straightening his jacket as they made a swift exit.
"I'm fine, thank you." Sherlock replied, grinning.
"What are you smirking at?" John laughed.
"You."
"Me?"
"I don't believe I stuttered, John, yes, you."
"What about me?"
Sherlock didn't reply. He simply patted John on the back.
The pair were halfway home in the cab when Sherlock finally broke the silence.
"Thank you, John."
"You're bloody welcome!" John chuckled, and for a few brief seconds, their eyes met.
There was more silence, until John had paid the cabbie and both men were on their way up the steps of 221B.
"I wonder if Molly knows it was a gay club that she was attending." Sherlock said, putting his key in the door.
"What?!" John choked on air.
"That club. Molly recommended it to you did she not?"
"Yeah she did..."
"It's a gay club." Sherlock turned to smile at John, before disappearing inside the flat.
"How did you know that?" John stood on the steps by himself, absolutely gobsmacked. "Sherlock?!" He called out once more before following his companion inside.