The event was to be charming and enchanting. The only difference was that this time they decided to have the Yard Christmas party in July.
"Silly and frivolous as the event is," Sherlock said to John, "having the occasion in the summer only compounds the tediousness of the occasion." The justification given by Lestrade and John was that having the event at the renovated manor house was new and creative, as the last few parties were becoming exceptionally boring, repetitive and devoid of attendance.
John was thrilled about the idea. He kept going on about how fun it would be to stay in an old estate home with Mary. Convincing Sherlock to attend was a chore, and John's last attempt was almost a loss. However, a last ditch argument citing the fact that Lestrade would be there for the weekend and none of the other inspectors world work with Sherlock, leaving him to a very boring weekend.
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The manor house was renovated to maintain the decor of the era in which it was originally constructed, around the early eighteenth century. The entryway, the sitting rooms, the dining room, the Great Hall, the library, the drawing room, and the numerous guest rooms were all elaborate and impressive. The estate boasted a blooming and grand garden. The grounds were expansive with lush green grass fields tucked up neatly against the edge of the forest. Small benches were hidden behind lavender and honeysuckle bushes, placed decoratively beneath ancient oak trees planted centuries ago.
Although pricy, the headcount for the event was upwards of one hundred attendees. This, of course did not appeal to Sherlock, who silently thought to himself he could easily find solace in the library. Perhaps Mary and John would be too engaged with the activities below that they would forget about Sherlock, leaving him to the peace and quiet of his room; along with the wifi password and his laptop.
The afternoon of the guest's arrival was buzzing with the sound of excited couples, footmen running here and there, and worst of all Christmas carols. The weather has been warm and muggy, with the evening rain showers the only relief from the heat. Sherlock rolled his eyes as he, John, and Mary walked through the grand entrance and followed subtle signs to the reception.
"Hello, one room under Wa..." John began to the concierge.
Brushing past John, Sherlock interjected, "Two king suits, for Holmes." John and Mary turned to Sherlock, silently stunned. "Please do close your mouths, you look like mute choir children. The giving and receiving of gifts is standard cultural protocol, yes? Well Merry Christmas, and all that."
"Sherlock!" Mary hugged him with loving enthusiasm. "Thanks a million! I knew you were sentimental deep down the dusty hallways of your mind palace!"
"Yes, yes." Sherlock said with exacerbation, rolling his eyes as he patted Mary's back. John did however see the pleased smirk that surfaced on Sherlock's face before Mary broke the embrace.
The bell boy, having loaded their bags and dress bags on a trolley, bowed and said, "Sirs, Madam. If you'll please follow me."
Sherlock followed behind the two lovers noticing how Mary slipped her arm comfortably into John's. He suddenly felt in the pit of his stomach the unfamiliar feeling of loneliness. It had been showing its ugly head more often now that John was spending more of his non-working hours with Mary. Sherlock found himself pestering Lestrade for more cases, even those lower than a seven. He was also soliciting Dr. Molly Hooper for any spare or interesting organs and limbs she may come upon. He had even established a workstation in her lab to conduct experiments in the interim between cases.
He began finding Molly's company gravitating and their conversations stimulating. She was now used to his presence, and found herself at peace with his direct criticism and aloof manner. He had noticed she was more engaging when he talked aloud, prompting curious perspectives and sometimes innocent but off color humor.
He knew she would be attending this weekend. He also knew she had been without a partner now for several months... Sherlock realized he had let his mind wonder without purpose or direction. The frequency in which this was happening was becoming maddening; it was unrestrained and distracting. And yet, he couldn't help but notice the pattern; when his thought process derailed, it was almost always instigated by the petite pathologist.
I haven't posted in ages, but I'm feeling the creative bug lately! It's pretty light and fluffy, but I felt seeing as summer is almost over, I better get this one down on paper before the next season inspires another story.