An Unusual Situation

The man in room 237

"Of course, though I prefer fashionably late," Answered Sherlock cheerfully, at the same time John stiffened his back and demanded, "Who are you, then?"

The woman rolled her eyes, "I'm not just going to tell you, what do you think I am? Stupid? Now come on, you're needed in my bosses suite."  

"Okay, yeah, don't see how that would be stupid at all," John muttered, grabbing Sherlock's arm as he began to follow the woman, "Don't follow her, we don't even know who she is!"

"Don't we?" Sherlock grinned slyly, before shrugging away John's tight grip and following the woman.

John had the sudden urge to trip someone as he muttered something under his breath and met Sherlock's pace, "Alright then, who is she?" He whispered, making sure the woman couldn't hear.

"Alcoholic, four years now, she owns three dogs, two cats, and has a clingy boyfriend. She's got a bad reputation, her mother and father rarely reach out to her, and she is extremely self conscious of her appearance. She doesn't like her job, but she stays with it, possibly because she needs money, more likely because of blackmail." Sherlock spoke smoothly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to assess the life of complete strangers.

John nodded, not bothering to ask for an explanation, "Does this have something to do with-"

"Cassius? Yes, obvious." Sherlock answered, his small frame struggling up the steep steps. While even John with his pitiful short legs could skip at least three steps, Sherlock was forced to walk each one.

They walked into the building, the woman, who had been-as far as John could tell-completely oblivious to the conversation, flashed a shiny looking badge and muttered, "Two guests," to the doorman.

He eyed John and Sherlock oddly, Sherlock specifically, but shrugged and held open the clear, sparkly front doors.

Immediately the woman raced to the elevator, not giving John much time to look at his surroundings. He did catch the swinging, elaborate chandelier that was surrounded by various lighting above him, though. As he followed Sherlock into the elevator, he got one last look at the entryway. It reminded him faintly of a theater, domed ceiling, wooden arches, but it vanished from his view in seconds.

He watched the woman press the twelfth floor, and awkwardly assessed the boring, plain elevator as the woman stared at the wall.

Sherlock was-as always-texting, who knows who, and seemed perfectly content with the situation. That is, until John grew angry at Sherlock for being so comfortable and swatted his phone away.

 Glaring angrily at John, Sherlock placed his phone in his pocket, and joined in on the awkward staring-at-the-wall game.

"Well...this is awkward. There's not even elevator music. Though I suppose not many elevators have those anyway." Sherlock muttered, mostly to himself.

John glanced at Sherlock, "What are you talking about? All elevators have elevator music. It's...the elevator thing."

"The elevator thing? Honestly, John. Personally, I've only been in a handful of elevators with music. The rest are completely silent."

"That's not true, you're just not paying attention."

"Did you just accuse me of being unobservant?"

"If you two are done bickering," The woman said, interrupting John mid-sentence, "I'd like to exit the elevator now."

"Oh." Both of them said as they realized the elevator door was open, revealing two twisty looking hallways.