How to Play a Game Called Murder

Chapter 17: Sentiments and Shots

That evening, Molly came down the stairs, and tossed a “Hi Sherlock, bye Sherlock” carelessly in his direction. He was sprawled out in his chair, legs hanging over one arm of the seat. He looked over his shoulder at her, doing a double take at her flirty dress and ballet flats. Checking the clock, he saw that it was half past seven.

He pursed his lips and directed his annoyed glare at his computer screen. “Another date?” He didn’t remember her mentioning one and he didn’t smell any perfume when she entered the room as he usually would if she was going out with Daniel.

She shook her head while shrugging on her coat and tying her scarf. “No, not tonight.”

“What then? You are dressed for a pub.” He interrogated, turning to face her, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

“Well, yes, John and Greg and I are going to one just down the street. We used to go together all the time but it’s been a while.”

Sherlock frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion and hurt. “And I’m not invited?”

She paused, a glove halfway on and gave him a dubious glance.

“We didn’t think you’d want to go. And anyway, John said you vowed to never drink again after his stag night.” She cast him a wry smile, telling him that she knew exactly how that night had turned out.

Unable to resist a challenge and not exactly liking the idea of a drunken Molly with the detective inspector, he narrowed his eyes and stood, abandoning his laptop.

“I think I will go. Can’t have you stumbling home by yourself late at night.” He crossed over to her and began pulling on his own coat.

“I wouldn’t be alone!” she protested. “Greg would bring me home… Or John.” She added hastily at the positively violent expression on Sherlock’s face when she mentioned Lestrade.

He shook his head and she sighed, resigned, throwing her hands up in the air.

“Fine, whatever. But if you ruin our night, I’m going to kill you. And it won’t be fake this time.”

He make a face at her no nonsense tone, but nodded his acceptance of her terms, then cocked his head to the side, his eyes focusing on her with a calculating look.

“Wait, I’ll be right back.” He took his coat back off and went to his room, speedily changing his clothes to something he knew she approved of.

He returned a few ticks later and was rewarded with a slight color in her cheeks before she turned away. He slipped his coat on and trailed behind her.

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They walked to the pub, as it was only a few blocks from Baker Street.

Upon entering, they found the other two participants already there and elbows deep in a pint. Both men grinned at them, John winking at Sherlock. Greg nodded at him but looked a bit disappointed he was there.

Not making a move on my pathologist tonight, detective inspector.

Molly beamed at the two men and they pushed a beer towards her as she slipped into the booth in the seat across from them. Sherlock was left to get his own beer.

“Sorry mate.” John clapped him on the shoulder when he got back from the bar. “Would’ve gotten you a pint if we knew you were coming.”

Lestrade nodded his agreement. “What’s got you out tonight, Sherlock? Not your usual haunt.”

Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly, his eyes darting to Molly. “Even I need fresh air sometimes.”

Molly threw him a cynical glance but proceeded to basically ignore him, (annoying Sherlock to the extreme,) and chat animatedly with the other two men. Sherlock sipped his beer, not paying attention to the conversation.