Author: Ariane DeVere
Word count: 221
Characters : Sherlock, OFC
Warnings: Mild violence, drunkenness
Possibly the dumbest 221B I have ever written ...
Susan sighed as the drunk leered at her once again. On most Tuesday evenings the bar was quiet, just a few people popping in for a quick drink after work before heading home. It was unusual for a customer to be so bladdered on a Tuesday and she wished she hadn’t agreed that the manager could take the night off for his wedding anniversary.
“You’re really pretty, Su,” the drunk told her for the umpteenth time, slurring her name as he grabbed at her arm across the bar and leaned closer, huffing beery breath into her face.
“Come ’ere and giss’a kiss,” he insisted.
“Don’t be such a tit,” she told him as she struggled to pull free.
Just then, the man with the startling blue eyes, dark curly hair and long dark coat who had been sitting in the corner of the bar nursing a Scotch for the last hour stood up and walked over, murmuring quietly, “She’s not interested in you.”
The drunk released Su’s arm and stood up angrily. “Says who?” he demanded and swung the punch.
It was over in seconds. Her saviour whirled into a blur of motion and moments later the drunk was unconscious on the floor. As the other customers applauded, her rescuer turned, bowed, and winked at her.
“Just dealing with the bar-tit,Su.”
Author’s Note: It’s all right, I’ll wait ...
*cringes with embarrassment while looking at the plotbunny and asking, “What, really?!”*
And yes, it does end with a ‘b’ word ... if you squint.
And, when I ran it past verityburns, she kindly pointed out, “If anyone complains that Conan Doyle actually called it ‘Baritsu’, rather than by its proper name, the doofus, you can tell them you love him enough to overlook his mistakes - just as we forgive him John Watson’s wandering war wound and Mary Morstan’s rather relaxed attitude to her husband’s name!”