"I don't want to be here."
"God."
"What?"
"I told you a hundred times, you didn't have to come."
"Well I didn't know then that I didn't want to go."
"You're a child."
"What's the point of this? I solve murders for a living. I don't want to do it in my down time too."
"The point, Sherlock, is to have fun and... yes you do, you said so yesterday."
Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were standing in the foyer of a large fancy house. Mike Stamford and his wife were parading around, dressed in late 1880's fashion talking to the other guests.
"Costumes." Sherlock sounded close to tears. "They're not going to make us wear costumes are they?"
"Don't know. That's usually how these things go, isn't it?"
Mike spotted the new pair and ambled over. "Sherlock, John. Glad you could make it. Sorry about this theme, murder mystery. Just what you need after a long day of solving crimes eh? It's what the missus wanted though."
John shook Mike's hand with a shrug. "It's fine. We don't mind, do we Sherlock?" Sherlock began to open his mouth. "See, don't mind at all. Oh look, drinks."
Mike toddled all behind them as John half dragged Sherlock towards the buffet area. "I'll be playing the victim." Mike informed them. "Stab wound. I know, everyone's very broken up about it." He began pointing out the other guests much to Sherlock's frustration. "That's my wife, Amy; next to her, we've got her old college friend, Lucy Donald; over there is Sergeant Palmer, apparently he's the one to look out for. A real rising star. Do you remember the Paul Fletcher case? That was him; talking to him are Mr and Mrs. Leroy, neighbours of mine; Their son Brent; Molly Hooper, who you're familiar with; Dr. Donna Bennett, new to the hospital, thought inviting her would make her feel welcome; Edward Milton; his brother Will; and of course you both know Greg, Sally and Sylvia."
Sherlock blinked. "Who's Sylvia?"
"Anderson." Replied John.
"Oh. Interesting."
Amy smiled over at her husband. "If that's everyone, Mike, we should get started." Mike nodded and slipped into the background while Amy addressed the rest of the group. "As you already know, the victim is Mike aka Mr. Andrews. Mike's loophole for getting out of actually participating. He was found late last night by his wife, now grieving widow, with a single stab wound to the chest. In the small town they live in," She paused for dramatic effect. "Everyone is a suspect.
Mike reappeared with a black silk bag which he passed to his wife. "Now, if everyone'll take a slip of paper from this bag, it has a name, and short description on it. That's who you'll be playing. Remember to stay in character, we have costumes to go along with each- are you alright Sherlock? You look like you're in pain."
John rolled his eyes. "He's fine. Go on."
"Um well that's it, I suppose. Just have fun, don't overdo it on the drinks, and remember... there's a murderer amongst us. Who know who'll be next."
The first to pick was Lestrade. "Oh look at that. I got Inspector Murdoch, of the local police. First on scene after the incident, and- oh has been known to make eyes at Mrs. Andrews. Sorry about that Mike."
Mike shrugged, holding out a plastic police badge for him. "I won't hold it against you. Sherlock, your turn."
With an eye roll that would put any teenager to shame, Sherlock took his slip. "Mr. Thomas Jones. Local millionaire. Well known hunter, was seen arguing with the victim the night he was murdered."
Out from the box, the badge had come from, appeared Sherlock's old foe. A deerstalker. Before Sherlock had time to protest, the hat was stuffed onto his head. Any and all of the detective's further complaints were ignored.
"You next, Molly."
Molly smiled with a slight blush as everyone watched her pull out her card. "Oh, I got a man! Should I-"
Mike shook his head. "That's the card you're stuck with I'm afraid, Molly."
With a simple nod, Molly accepted this. "Alright, well then I got Alexander Stewart. The town's schoolteacher, he was courting Mr. Andrews daughter. Much to the victims disapproval." Molly's final sentence was followed by a series 'ooo's from the other guests.
After Molly came Lucy and Sergeant Palmer, adding a maid and a grocer to the party before the bag was finally turned towards John.
"Let's see now, I got M- erm." It was in that moment of rereading his card that John realized there really was no God.
Everyone shuffled awkwardly as John continued to glare silently at his card. Lestrade frowned. "Come on then John! Don't leave us in suspense. Who'd you pull?"
"Ah nobody. I'm going to draw again."
"No no." Mike smacked his hand away. "Those aren't the rules and you know it. The card you pick is the card you keep."
"Well I.. it's not...I..." John, with the hope for some kind of sudden distraction that would automatically disband the party looked pleading towards Sherlock, who only further proved his 'There is no God' theory by being too busy trying to pawn his hat off onto Lestrade to notice his friend. "Fine. I'm... um... Margaret.. Jones, Mr. Jones' wife."
It took several minutes for the hoots of laughter to die down enough for someone to pass John a pair of dainty white gloves, and a large flowery hat. John shoved the hat over his head with a look that just dared anyone to comment on it. The last of the guests took their cards, Anderson looking a little less smug now that he had his own bonnet perched on his head.
"Now what do we do?" Sherlock moaned as everyone dispersed.
"Now we look for clues."
"Clues?"
"Yes you know. Clues to catch the criminal."
"Why? We already know who the culprit is."
"No we don't."
"Yes we do, it's-"
"No we don't. And you're not allowed to say who it is until at least two people have tried."
"But that's no fair! I know who did it!"
"Don't care, keep it to yourself."
"But-"
"No."
Sherlock took in a sharp breath. "Fine." He stalked away towards Lestrade to pout.
Molly appeared at John's side. "Is everything alright?"
"Yeah, everything's fine. Sherlock's just being... well Sherlock. How are you, Molly? Didn't expect to see you here on your own."
"Oh I'm not actually. I came with, um.. Greg."
"With Gr- oh. Oh! That's good. That's good. So you and he are..."
"Together yeah. Just something we're trying out."
"Good that's.. good. You and him that's... good. I'm going to stop saying good now because I think I've overused it, but really that's great for you, Molly."
Molly smiled at him. "So have you found any clues yet?"
"No, too busy with Sherlock damage control. You?"
"Not yet, I suppose we should keep looking shouldn't we, John or... is it Margaret now?"
"That's Mrs. Jones to you, Mr. Stewart.
*When they first arrived upstairs, they found Dr. Bennett and Sergeant Palmer in the midst of a conversation.
"I was bringing Mr. Andrews his daily groceries when I saw Mr. Jones leaving in a great 'uff like you wouldn't believe, ma'am."
"Uh huh. So uh.. did, I don't know, did Mr. Jones say he was going to come back and murder him?"
"No ma'am, but I tell ya, Mr. Andrews looked a fright when I next saw him. I'd have gone straight to the police if I'd known what was going to 'appen."
"Right thanks. You've been very... helpful."
"Anytime ma'am."
Dr. Bennett pushed passed John, and Molly with a roll of her eyes.
"Wow, you were really in character." Molly told him.
"You think? That's great!" At their surprised expression Sergeant Palmer added, "My real passion's always lied in the theatre."
"Oh. I thought you were supposed to be some kind of big shot at the Yard."
"I'm a great detective no doubt about that, but once you've solved one crime you've solved them all. You know what I mean?"
Perhaps living with Sherlock had given him somewhat of a different outlook on the whole business, but no, he really didn't know what the sergeant meant.
"Anyways I'm going to be leaving the Yard soon. I got a part in a travelling act, it's gonna be huge! Oh! All this talk about crime reminds me, I should go solve this one. G'day milady." Sergeant Palmer leaned forward to place a kiss on John's hand. John whipped it out of the way just in time.
"Best not, mate."
Palmer thought this over. "Fair enough." He gave them a half bow and dashed away. John simply shook his head at Molly's bewildered expression.
The next hour was spent uncovering small clues like a woman's shoe, and piece of blue fabric, as well as one awkward encounter involving a closet, Mr. Andrew's daughter, and a palaeontologist. Not long after that raised voices could be heard from the main room. John groaned. It didn't take a genius to know who was involved.
"... And I'm telling you, it's not me!"
"Come on, "A well known huntsman, seen arguing with the victim," and look! We found bullet casings in the hallway!"
Anderson and Sherlock were standing a foot away from each other in Mike's dining room. The forensic specialist was brandishing a small cardboard box marked, "bullets," at the consultant, who's teeth could be heard grinding from the doorway.
"Those were obviously put there to mislead you."
"What do you know?"
"What do I- the victim was stabbed, Anderson, not shot. Even a newborn could have figured that one out. Though I suppose that comparison is giving you too much credit isn't it? Ashley."
"It's a family name!
"Alright. Come on children, stop bickering." John piped up, at the same time Lestrade threw up a restraining arm to keep Anderson from throttling Sherlock. "Mike, was Sherlock the killer?"
"'Fraid not, no."
"There. You see, arguing over nothing."
"He started it."
"Sherlock."
"Sorry, might I interrupt?" Mrs. Leroy asked.
Lestrade gave her a thankful grin. "By all means, please do."
"I haven't seen Brent around for a while, and I'm afraid he might have gotten himself lost."
Mr. Leroy groaned. "For crying out loud, woman. He's a grown man, I'm sure he can manage a three story house!"
"Hey now that you mention it, I don't see Ed anywhere either." Will added.
As if on cue two dual screams rang out. Brent raced into the room with Edward hot on his heels. "Murder! There's been a murder!"
Lestrade snorted. "We already know that guys. Stiff's over there having a pint."
"No! It's- it's Sergeant Palmer! He's d- dead!"