Hey guys! Starting a new fic since I was watching Phantom of the Opera and I just really wanted to put our beloved Sherlock characters in that environment. Obviously I don't own anything in this story, I'm just messing around, and hopefully it doesn't suck too badly! Hope you enjoy!
Greg Lestrade and Scott Dimmock looked happily on the beautiful sight before them. The Opera Populaire, in all its splendor, and it was theirs. They had finished the paperwork a week ago, and were finally going to take a tour of their opera house.
The previous owner met them at the door, Lestrade hadn't bothered to learn his name, as the man was quiet and was soon to flee the country. It seemed a waste of time to properly learn about him. They all smiled and shook hands before entering the large ornate doors.
"We're currently in the middle of our last rehearsal for the opera Hannibal, which will premiere tonight," the previous owner explained, gesturing lazily with his arms. Lestrade could hear the music and singing already. He longed to see the stage. "I thought now would be a good time to show you the workings of the opera house."
After a brief tour of the parts of the opera house open to the public, the previous owner led Lestrade and Dimmock towards the side entrance of the stage. As he opened the door, the volume of the music seemed to increase tenfold, and Lestrade gazed into the throng of people. There were performers everywhere; ballet dancers perfecting their routine, singers preparing their voices, crew putting the final touches on the scenery, the orchestra running through the set one last time. It was a spectacle to behold and Lestrade marveled in it.
They stood for a while and watched the ballet dancers and an older woman approached them. "Ah!" The previous owner exclaimed. "Madame Hudson! I hope we aren't interrupting your rehearsal. These are the new owners, Monsieurs Lestrade and Dimmock." Madame Hudson let her head drop into a slight bow. "Madame Hudson is the ballet instructor for the opera house."
Madame Hudson bowed again and turned to her dancers. "Our dancers are the best in all of France, don't you agree Monsieurs?"
Lestrade nodded as he watched the men and women dance, lithe and graceful. Dimmock cleared his throat. "Who's the lovely redhead?" He pointed towards a petite dancer, her face was soft but determined as she focused on the routine.
"My adopted daughter, Molly Hooper. She has great talent," Madame Hudson smiled.
"And the blonde man, just there?" Lestrade asked as he watched a short but strong man lift Molly Hooper and then put her down gracefully. His face was devoid of concentration, it looked as though this routine came naturally to him, and he barely even had to think about the steps.
"John Watson, a wonderful dancer."
Dimmock started. "Watson? No relation to Gerard Watson, the famous violinist?"
Madame Hudson smiled a little wider, "his only child. Orphaned at seven, he came to live in the opera house with myself and Molly. He is a remarkable talent. Now, please Monsieurs, I must ask you to step aside,"
The previous owner led them across the stage to where a woman was humorously overdressed, and barking orders at people. "This is Sally Donovan, our star!"
The lady held out her hand, expecting Lestrade and Dimmock to kiss it, which they did a bit reluctantly. A man walked towards them and huffed loudly. "Yes, this is Anderson, our male lead."
They had turned to move away from the diva, when she threw a nasty fit. Lestrade was able to tune her out, only hearing the odd word of her rant, as he glanced back at the dancers. When Lestrade turned back to Donovan, she was storming off the stage and Dimmock was running after her. Lestrade figured he should probably help.
After a lengthy amount of groveling, Lestrade and Dimmock had convinced Donovan to stay, and had asked her to sing a piece from the third act for them.
"If my managers command," the diva grinned and stepped to center stage. The dancers and crew all stopped to watch as she began to song. Lestrade couldn't help but notice that the ladies cleaning the seats wore earplugs. As Donovan began to sing, Lestrade wished he had some earplugs of his own.
Think of me
Think of me fondly
When we've said goodbye
Remember me
Once in a while
Please promise me you'll try
When you find
That once again you long
To take your heart back and be free...
There was a loud crashing sound and in an instant one of the props fell from the ceiling and fell right on top of the singing diva. Suddenly the whole opera house was in an uproar, yelling and screaming.
"Joseph! What on earth is the meaning of this?" The previous owner yelled up to a man who was peering over the edge of a rafter above the stage. The man shook his head furiously.
"It wasn't me, Monsieur. I wasn't at my post and there's no one else here. It must have been a ghost!" He exclaimed and let out a small chuckle as the girls in the opera house let out a scream.
Donovan had gotten her feet back under her and was now screeching loudly at the previous owner. He tried to console her, "these things do happen."
"These things do happen? For the past three months, these things do happen! And did you stop them from happening? NO. And you two," she turned her gaze to Lestrade and Dimmock, "are as bad as him! 'These things do happen'. As long as these things do happen, this thing," she pointed at herself, "does not happen!" She turned on her heel and stormed off the stage.
Madame Hudson had approached Lestrade and Dimmock amongst the chaos holding a letter. She handed it to Dimmock. "A letter, Monsieurs, from the opera ghost. He welcomes you to his theatre and commands that box five must remain empty for his use. Also, he reminds you that his salary is due."
"Salary?" Lestrade frowned.
"Monsieur Lefebvre paid him 20 thousand francs a month. Perhaps you can afford more, with the countess as your patron."
"We had hoped to make that announcement public at the premiere tonight, but we have lost our star!" Dimmock raged. "We'll have to refund a full house. A full house, Lestrade!"
"There must be an understudy," Lestrade reasoned.
"Understudy? There is no understudy for Donovan!" The maestro spoke loudly.
"John Watson could sing it sir." Madame Hudson pulled the blonde forward.
"What, a chorus boy?" Lestrade scoffed.
"He has a wonderful teacher," Madame Hudson replied.
"Who?"
John Watson allowed his cheeks to color slightly. "I don't know his name."
"Let him sing for you," Madame Hudson's voice was commanding. "He has been well taught."
John Watson stood at centre stage in his costume. He was nervous, everyone in the audience was watching, even the Countess de Chagny. He closed his eyes and thought of his angel of music and began to sing.
Think of me
Think of me fondly
When we've said goodbye
Remember me
Once in a while
Please promise me you'll try
When you find
That once again you long
To take your heart back and be free
If you ever find a moment
Spare all thought for me
We never said our love was ever green
Or as unchanging as the sea
But if you can still remember
Stop and think of me
Think of all the things we've shared and seen
Don't think about the way things might have been
Think of me
Think of me waking
Silent and resigned
Imagine me
Trying to hard
To put you from my mind
Recall those days
Look back on all those times
Think of the things we'll never do
There will never be a day
When I won't think of you
The Countess de Chagny, or Mary as she preferred to be called, sat in her seat and stared down at the spectacle before her. Was that John Watson? The little boy she played with when she was only a little girl?
"Bravo!" She screamed loudly.
Long ago
It seems so long ago
How young and innocent we were
He may not remember me
But I remember him.
John heard the applause from the crowd in the brief pause before the last verse. He took a deep breath and began.
Flowers fade
The fruits of summer fade
They have their season
So do we
So please promise me that sometimes
You will think of me.
Reviews are love :)