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John can’t decide if he wants to punch Sherlock right away, or let Bond do it for him.
His hands clench into fists as he watches the two men stare each other down. His jaw works, and he chews on his tongue. He wants to say something but he can’t. The tension in the air is ridiculous. He wonders if Sherlock is going to blurt something out and blow the agent’s cover completely, or if he would finally keep his claptrap shut for once. That would be a miracle.
Bond himself was looking for a reason, any reason at all to deck Sherlock. John smirks; seems everyone, even a battle hardened man like James, heard ‘punch me in the face’ when Sherlock spoke. Sherlock’s mouth opens, and John just waits for something ill-advised to come out of it.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sterling. I hope this little incident won’t hurt your clientele base.”
The incident being a major drug bust by the Met. Something Bond had been investigating, apparently.
John breathes out in relief. Thank God.
“Not a problem, Mr. Holmes.”
“Sherlock, please.” Ah. There’s the snark.
Bond tilts his head in acquiesce. “Yes. Sherlock.”
After Sherlock walks away, John comes up to James. “Thank you for not punching him.”
“I’m only biding my time.”
John shakes his head. “Berk”