John chuckled uncomfortably. “No thank you, Sir. I'm alright.”
The man smiled, leaning over the table and looking at John, who leant away, fake smile forced onto his face. This man was creepy.
“Well, I've got a number, if you want to catch up again soon, Beautiful.”
John nodded fakely. “Maybe…” he whispered. He just wished this man would leave. He had been watching John all night, and a few minutes after John had decided to sit at a table, this man was all over praising him and trying to get into John's pants.
He was creepy. He had brown eyes that held a permanent lust, a long beard, long, greasy white hair, and he was about sixty years old. Too old for John. Too creepy for John, too.
“At least let me by you a drink.” The man offered. John, who had heard enough stories about perverts drugging people with drinks and then bringing them away, shook his head.
“I'm alright, thanks--”
He was cut off when he felt a body push into the booth right beside him, sides and legs touching instantly. He looked over, and there was the most beautiful man smiling dumbly at him.
It was his best friend, Sherlock Holmes.
“Is this man givin’ you a problem, Love?” Sherlock mumbled, clearly drunk. Well, they were at a bar. That's what they got for trying to mingle with Harry.
“Uhm--” John's face was red with Sherlock calling him a couple's nickname. “Yeah… sort of.” He looked down. Sherlock wrapped an arm around John's shoulder and leant in. John couldn't react before Sherlock's lips touched the corner of his.
“Actually, he's taken,” Sherlock whispered, looking at the man across from John, who huffed.
“Oh, alright.” He stood up and walked away.
Sherlock looked down at John. “I’m just-- I'm sorry, you looked really uncomfortable with him, and I wanted to get you out of that situation…” Sherlock whispered.
John laughed softly, cupping Sherlock's cheeks. “You saved me.” He leant in, kissing Sherlock passionately.
Sherlock was stunned for a moment, but quickly, he set his hands on John's waist and kissed him back.