prettyvk:

tea-n-brains replied to your post:drabble call

Johnlock/mystrade/fifa

Sherlock isn’t quite sure why he agreed anymore. Or rather, yes, he knows; at some point he’s bound to develop some minimum of immunity to John turning on the charm… right?

Bad enough he’s being forced to watch a football game, but to do so, of all places, in a pub? And with not only Lestrade but also Mycroft for companions? No sexual favor is worth that kind of torture.

And it’s only been twenty minutes. Although it is rather satisfying to watch Mycroft be even more uncomfortable and out of place than Sherlock feels. Every so often, he starts to raise his glass to his lips, but then he gets a whiff of the wine and grimaces. He has yet to take a sip.

As the entirety of the pub erupts in disgusted groans, Sherlock looks up at the screen again. He’s obviously missed something. Judging from the exclamations around him, the referee did… something. Or didn’t do something. The players in white – is that England? – are apparently arguing with him about something. Out comes a little red rectangle, and the groaning in the pub redoubles.

“They bought that guy!” Lestrade exclaims. “No other explanation!!”

John agrees heartily, and the two of them, along with the rest of the room, continues to verbally abuse a man who stands on a football field on the other side of the world. Sherlock looks at Mycroft, desperate for confirmation that yes, this is all very stupid, but Mycroft has pulled his phone out and is typing furiously. It’d be useless to try to have a phone conversation in here.

“That bored?” Lestrade asks, leaning closer to him. “If you want to leave…”

“No, I said I’d come and I’ll stay until the end. Let me just forward this to the FIFA… Here we go. That should do it.” With a satisfied smirk, he pockets his phone again.

“What did you just do?” John asks, sounding equal parts amused and wary.

“I just sent a copy of the latest statement from that referee’s Swiss bank account to the committee in charge of referees’ assignations. It seems he did indeed receive a bribe.”

Both Lestrade and John stare at him. Honestly, they should have stopped being impressed by this kind of tricks a long time ago. What a show off…

After half-time, the referee doesn’t come back. Apparently, he took ill very suddenly. Unheard of, but the game must go on. Or something.

His replacement, according to the general mood, seems to be an improvement. England even ends up winning. Mycroft is insufferably smug for the rest of the evening. Next time Sherlock is definitely staying home.