Three Is Company

All of Us Undercover

"Can I get you a drink sir?" asked a rough voice above, so deep and gruff that it almost sounded falsified. John grumbled, sliding his thumb nail through a smooth indentation in the wood.
"Maybe a tonic water." He grumbled.
"Staying sober like a good boy? Always were so boring."
"What?" John whispered, finally bringing it upon himself to look up at the stranger who was addressing him. This didn't seem like normal bar talk, not even if they were both drunk already. To John's surprise it was not a stranger who approached him. Instead it was a familiar figure, a familiar shape at that. A tall man, broad in the shoulders, with such a smile that John would recognize him for miles. Even with those strange biker clothes and a pair of sunglasses tucked over his eyes in the dark.
"Greg?" John asked at last. The man chuckled, as if he realized they both had a boatload of explaining to do before either one was satisfied.
"You do know what kind of place this is, don't you?" Greg wondered, sliding casually into the other side of the booth without making eye contact. The man seemed on the brink of laughter, though perhaps he was too polite to outright mock his best friend.  
"You look stupid." John commented, eyeing the loose-fitting leather jacket with a raised eyebrow. Greg smirked, looking over his shoulder once before pulling open the jacket, revealing a shining police badge of the local force.  
"Just trying to blend in." he muttered under his breath, zipping the jacket up to hide himself and his occupation. John scoffed, wondering if Greg's 'casual' disguise was going to get him more attention than if he just wore his uniform. At first he couldn't believe his luck, the mere chances that his childhood friend would be stuck in the same nasty bar as he was! But then again, Greg's being here did not bode well for Sherlock. If the police were on the scent, if they were at last competent enough to realize that the bodies were all being taken from the same place, well surely they would be looking for regulars. And by the entrance Irene made, it was a wonder they weren't already bringing her in for questioning.  
"What's so special about this place? Trying to catch them breaking the health inspection?" John wondered with a falsified clueless. The more he could get out of Greg the better, and if the man was willing to talk then John was more than able to pass it onto Musgrave, the brains of this operation.  
"You know those murders going on? The ones that the single, lonely men are falling prey to?" Greg wondered, raising his eyebrows as if trying to scold as well as inform. "Well they're usually last seen here. Or around here, at least."  
"Oh my God." John whispered. "This little place?"  
"What, you know it? Come here often, as they say?" Greg scoffed.  
"No of course not."  
"Then why are you here?" Greg wondered with a playful tilt of his head.  
"Well just...I don't know. A break from the city?" John muttered, questioning himself even as he tried to give a solid answer. He realized only too late that he didn't have a proper alibi, at least not one that would incriminate the very man he had come to protect.  
"That's not convincing." 
"A drink." John corrected, figuring alcohol was always a sure way to get out of things.   
"You asked for a tonic water." Greg pointed out. John sighed heavily, shaking his head as if he was all out of excuses. Greg seemed to catch onto the lie, though he was using his police skills, trying to read John even if there was nothing more to display.  
"Who's that lady you came in with?"  
"A neighbor." John sighed.  
"She's uh...she's different." Greg managed. "Fits right in here I'm sure."  
"I don't know her that well." John lied. "She's friends with Martha."  
"You're either telling the most ridiculous truth or you're lying. And if you're lying, John, then I'm actually worried."  
"Why would I have to lie? What harm is there in coming to a bar?" John scoffed.  
"Because it's a gay bar, John. God, read the room!" Greg insisted, giving John a little slap on the cheek as if to wake him up from whatever trance he was in. John's face turned a deep red, at first afraid of what would be assumed, then what would be discovered. He was innocent from the most immediate claim, though if Greg had him swear on top of a Bible that he had never taken an interest in men then he would be caught in quite the corner. Well it made sense, almost. It made sense that Irene had so much luck within this crowd.  
"Greg, I swear I did not know that." John insisted, holding up his hands in stark defense.  
"Notice how there's only one woman here?"  
"I just thought that was a good thing! I thought if I went to somewhere with no women then Mary wouldn't get mad!" John defended, almost patting himself on the back for such a well constructed lie. Greg chuckled, as if he couldn't figure out if there was any truth in that.  
"I'm going to suggest getting out of here as soon as possible. There's always trouble." Greg warned.  
"I'm not here to make trouble." John defended.  
"Well you might find yourself in some, anyway! What are you going to do if someone not nearly as friendly as me comes around?" Greg wondered.  
"I'm just here to watch over Irene." John insisted. "That's all Martha wanted."  
"Oh yeah so you're undercover too?" Greg wondered. "What's her deal, anyway? She doesn't look very...feminine."  
"That's not very nice." John scolded.  
"Well I'm being honest." Greg defended. "In fact she looks vaguely familiar."  
"Stop staring." John insisted, grabbing at the collar of Greg's coat to prevent him from thinking too much on the identity of the strange caller.  
"I'm not staring." Greg lied. He cleared his throat rather awkwardly, poking at the table and raising his eyebrows in reaction to a conversation that must have been going on entirely in his head.  
"So uh...Mary knows you're here then?" Greg wondered at last.  
"Not here, exactly. But she knows I'm out." John admitted. "But with the reputation of this place, perhaps you'd better not share the details."  
"Ha! Your secret is safe with me." Greg chuckled, seemingly torn between mocking John for his mistake and asking him in his more serious voice about the exact leanings of his sexuality. Thankfully Greg decided for the third, less obvious choice of simply keeping up small talk for the remainder of the night. While there were many heavy discussions to be had, those about work and family life, the two decided to slip back into their old habits of rambling on and on about nothing in particular. It was the sort of nonsense that could only be found between two lifelong friends, a sort of language that had been built up over the years that could only be tailored to their specific niche interests. They talked about sports for most of the night, sometimes discussing the latest movies or albums that had just been released. Greg was into the harder rock, and so he had a blast talking about each of the up and coming bands that were at the moment regarded as 'Devil music'. In fact, this little outfit he had worn for the occasion of fitting in would have landed him perfectly within the AC/DC concerts of the day. John couldn't keep up so well in terms of pop culture, and eventually they had to switch gears into family life so as to disguise their pure removal from the hip new things. Greg had an awful lot to ask about children, about how to raise them, how much they cost, and if John thought they were really 'worth it'. Well of course there were many different connotations to be had, the most prominent being the extension of Greg's own family, though John didn't dare ask. Perhaps Greg was only flattering his wife's interests, and was still on the fence himself. Greg didn't seem like a father; he didn't seem like the type to settle down. The fact that he even got married seemed to be a miracle in itself. The idea was just too insane for John to process, and so for the time being he decided to ignore it. He just answered the questions, answered them as if he were discussing with a talk show host instead of his best friend. His irresponsible, shockingly immature best friend. The two might have talked for the remaining hours of the night, that is if Irene didn't start to move. For the whole of John's conversation, Irene had seemed content with sitting on her stool and getting fawned over. Men came and went, some which were greeted with more enthusiasm than others, while some seemed to be absolute strangers. While John could rest easy if Irene had chosen a local, the arrival of these strange men did not bode well. Those who did not know what to expect posed the biggest danger to themselves, considering one wrong word may very well summon the personality that brought about their death. Therefore, when Irene had slid from her barstool with a man's fingers laced between her own, John knew this was his time to act. Greg was just in the middle of a long story, something about going to the beach, when John pushed himself up from the booth and jumped onto the floor. Greg nearly shrieked, for the move was so sudden and unpredicted that it almost seemed as if John was possessed.  
"What the h*ll John?" Greg scoffed. "Jumping around like a monkey, going to scare everyone here."  
"Sorry, but a moment, please." John muttered, waving away Greg's concern as he descended upon the flirtatious couple, now strutting so close together that Irene was almost lodged within his rib cage. She looked beautiful there, so perfectly placed, with her long hair trailing down the man's chest and her head tilted wondrously onto his shoulder. John realized of course that the only thing he found attractive about Irene was her resemblance to Sherlock. He despised the dress, the makeup, and the hair. But the bone structure could not hide, that white skin could not be covered with feminine additions. Underneath it all he was still there, perhaps not only in body but in mind as well.