Tea for Two is a work of fiction based in the universe of the BBC series Sherlock, starring Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman. I do not own Sherlock. Technically, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle owns the character, but he's otherwise engaged.
As a fan of the original Sherlock Holmes mysteries, I couldn't help but integrate certain traditional Victorian character tropes. Let me know if you catch them.
Today...
John and Mary walked briskly up the pavement leading to 221b Baker Street, a shameless smirk on her face, and a worried frown on his. As he reached for the front door handle, she stopped his hand, pulling his gaze to her own.
"So - Mrs. Hudson really thinks they might be - well, courting?" Mary whispered conspiratorially, the corner of her mouth pulling upwards.
"Courting? Mary, honestly - " John grimaced.
"Her words, not mine, John. But what would you call it anyway, as apparently they don't actually 'go out' or, you know -"
"No, I don't know, and whatever she claims to have "deduced', I think she must be wrong. I know Sherlock, and he doesn't do - this - sort of thing. Seriously, Mary! He's got an angle, some other reason for these - meetings, and I'm going to find out what it is, before we have another Janine on our hands."
"Is it really that unbelievable that Sherlock might have simply made a new friend?"
"Yes."
"You two found each other."
"We're different - and he didn't seek that out, it just sort of happened. Besides -"
"Oh, is that what it is? Are you feeling a little jealous that there could be someone else in his life? What, you can move out and get married, but if he finds someone to have morning tea with he must be up to something nasty-"
"What? No, stop - listen, it's not just tea now and then. Mrs. Hudson says that for the past two weeks Sherlock has gone downstairs to the new tenant's flat every morning at 10 o'clock. But Sherlock doesn't...enjoy casual conversation with people. There's a method to this. He's working on this poor woman for some reason, and I'm going to find out why, and stop him."
"Well, the simplest explanation is that he fancies her, and her him."
"This is Sherlock we're talking about, Mary. He doesn't fancy people, at best, he tolerates them. Besides, Mrs. Hudson says she can often hear them -"
"Oh!" Mary giggled, "She listens in, does she?"
John glared silently. After a few moments Mary collected herself and John continued. "She can often hear them arguing."
The mischievous grin dropped from Mary's face. "Arguing? Then why would she think they are-"
"She doesn't know, Mary, she just suspects. That's why she called us in to 'investigate'."
"And how do you think he'll react to us interrupting this new morning ritual?"
"I'm sure he'll be extremely rude, but there's nothing for it. Anyway, the babysitter's only available till one, so we'd better get cracking."
She smiled, nodding her head in assent, then leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips.
"Alright. But wouldn't it be nice if Sherlock could have - something like this?" She lifted up one hand and lightly placed it on John's cheek. "He's such a good man, even if he is a terrible bastard. He deserves to be actively happy, for once, to not be merely observing humanity from the outside."
John smiled and placed his hands on his wife's waist. "It would be nice. And it's within his power, if he ever wants it. But I really don't think that's what we're dealing with right now."
They looked into each other's eyes for a moment, then Mary nodded.
"Right. Let's see what all the fuss is about then, shall we?"
She stepped out of his way, and he opened the door to the building. He sent a quick look down the stairs towards the basement flat before walking across to Sherlock's door and knocking a few times, waiting patiently. There was no answer. He knocked again, this time calling out. "Sherlock? Are you there?"
"You know he's downstairs, so why are you checking at his door? she asked.
"Well, Mrs. Hudson said they have tea every morning, but I thought she might be exaggerating." he shrugged. "Besides, it's only 10:15, and Sherlock's not necessarily known for punctuality."
"Unless it's important to him."
"Right. Well -" John looked hesitantly down the stairs.
"Let's go!" Mary said impatiently.
"Wait. First, before we barge in, let's see if I can procure an invitation." He pulled out his phone.
"But he's been ignoring your calls for the past two weeks."
"Yes, but I haven't tried open threats yet, just veiled ones. One tick -" he began to type onto the small keypad.
*I'm at your flat. Where are you?*
He sent the message off, then looked up at Mary, who was fixing him with one skeptically lifted eyebrow. He opened his mouth to defend himself, when his phone dinged.
"See?" he smiled. " S'nothing wrong with asking!" he looked at the message, and his smile quickly fell. "Ah, well, it was worth a try." He showed Mary the reply.
*Busy. Go away.*
"Wonderful. How can we make an appearance now without seeming extremely presumptuous? Before, we were just dropping by, but now that he's specifically asked you to go away-"
"My phone could have run out of batteries before I saw the reply!" John interjected, his irritation growing. Mary sighed.
"We came all the way here, and we're certainly not leaving now. Let's just blame Mrs. Hudson. She did tell us where to find him, after all."
"That could work!" John said, feeling hopeful, then added a nervous, "Maybe." He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Probably not." He sighed, clearly giving up. "Come on." He mentally steeled himself, and they made their way down to the basement.
On the left wall of the hallway leading to the flat, next to an old battered post-box, hung an intricately carved and varnished wooden name plate which read, 'Dr. A. Fairbanks'. John took a deep breath, then rapped loudly on the door and they both instinctively leaned in to listen. They heard no audible conversation, only the sound of a chair scraping against the floor inside the flat, and then heavy steps moving towards the door. A familiar, deeply resonant voice suddenly rang out from the other side, and they both jumped back to a more polite distance.
"Go away, John." Sherlock said.
They smiled at each other and Mary squeezed his hand, encouraging him.
"Hello, Sherlock!" John practically yelled through the door. "It's me and Mary! We were just passing through, and Mrs. Hudson said you might be down here -"
Mary was leaning against the wall of the hallway, trying to contain her laughter when the door opened about six inches. Sherlock's impassive face glared out at them.
"I told you, I'm busy, now leave!" he hissed, then attempted to close the door, but John's foot was already in the jam.
"Well that's what I wanted to talk with you about!" John said again, too loudly. "The baby's settled now, with a regular child-minder, and Mary and I are back at the office, so I figure - let's have a little fun! Any interesting cases to crack? Maybe one right now?" he tried to lean in and peer through the doorway past Sherlock's head, but the man didn't budge.
Sherlock sighed heavily. "I'll call you later, John. Now isn't -"
Sherlock froze mid sentence and cocked his head to the side, clearly listening to a soft voice inside the flat which John and Mary couldn't quite make out. Mary gave John a knowing wink. A few moments later, Sherlock turned back towards them, scowling openly, before opening the door wide.
"Please, come in." He said in mock-politeness.
They stepped into the flat and looked around curiously. It was decorated in a very sparse, modern fashion, completely different from the cluttered, pseudo Victorian decor of Sherlock's apartment. The kitchen was framed in chrome and dark cedar, the couch next to the fireplace streamlined black leather, and the small table set into the bay window a circular design of wood and metal with no ornamentation, only a simple white porcelain tea setting. Solid accenting colors were placed artfully around the house, keeping it from appearing too institutional - a light blue throw rug in the entryway, a violet pillow upon the couch. The most notable aspect of the room was, of course, the beautiful woman sitting at the table, who was currently gesturing for them to enter.
"Please, come in." she said without standing. "I'm very happy to meet you both. If you have time, would you join us for tea?"
They glanced at each other, then stepped inside. Mary pretended to look around appreciately at the interior, while John smiled awkwardly from Sherlock, to the woman, then back again. She was petite, and very thin, with short ash blonde hair only a few inches longer than his own, her fringe swept to the side. Her eyes were light brown, her skin very pale, and her heart-shaped face almost painfully delicate. A stray thought tickled at the back of his mind - there was something disturbing about the fragile beauty of her appearance. He frowned and looked back to Sherlock, whose arms were crossed - he stood between them and her, unmoving.
John cleared his throat. Sherlock glared.
"Sherlock? the woman said softly, "Would you care to introduce me to your friends?"
Sherlock glanced quickly over to her and his hands fell to his sides. He seemed to deflate. "Of course. John, Mary, may I introduce Dr. Annabelle Fairbanks."
He stepped back and welcomed them forward with an irritated flip of his hand. They ignored his rudeness and walked quickly to the table, smiling openly at Annabelle.
"Hello, and thank you for making Sherlock let us in." John said, shaking their hostess's hand.
"It's lovely to meet you." Mary said. "You have a beautiful home."
Sherlock groaned audibly and walked to the window, staring out despondently.
"Please sit down and have some tea, will you?" Annabelle said quietly, gesturing to the two unused spaces at the table.