||★|| It doesn’t matter how well-to-do a bar is, John thinks. They all have that same stale, lingering smell. The counter tops, though somewhat clean, are still sticky and there’s always a suspect wad of dried gum stuck to the underside edge awaiting to ruin someone’s gladrags.
This particular bar really takes the biscuit though and John is already regretting his semi-intoxicated decision. Sherlock would love this. He wagers there’s a cadaver in the backroom somewhere, lipstick smeared and cocaine tongued - okay maybe he’s being hanging out with the detective too much. He snorts to himself and turns to the nearest breathing person, who happens to look like he may be responsible for a murder or two actually.
“This place’s a dive.” He offers his unrequested opinion with an uncoordinated flail of the arm, almost hitting the man beside him.