Love is in The Air
.
Mr. Putto sat on the park bench; his somewhat rotund body hunched over. He pulled his coat tight in order to block the February chill. He hated the cold slanting rain that forced itself down the back of his collar and trickled icy fingers of despair across his shoulders. He hated the unfeeling attitude of the people hurrying past him. Their furtive glances reaffirmed to his own mind just how far he had fallen from grace. He might as well be a worm or worse; some of the questionable refuse that collected on the feet of unwary pedestrians in backstreet alleyways.
He required sunlight and warmth to function properly. He preferred candlelight and soft fabrics. He yearned for the swirling kaleidoscope of colors that dancers made as they swayed to romantic music. He longed for the gaiety of laughter and the tinkling of champagne glasses raised in celebration.
What he had was a damp park bench and an overcast sky. Life sucked at the moment. London was hell and he was doomed to forever watch the denizens of this city trudge back and forth never realizing who or what he was.
Mr. Putto hated himself most of all. He had nowhere to go and nothing to do. He was in disgrace. He was an outcast, reduced to watching raindrops pool about his feet.
He scowled as a scruffy young man plopped himself on the park bench beside him and proceeded to occupy over half the space. The idiot seemed to be actually enjoying the weather. Not only was he stuck in this ridiculous place, but now he was forced to endure this buffoon as well.
"Good day, Putto old boy! It's been some time since I saw you last," the young man commented casually.
Mr. Putto turned his head in surprise and stared. "You know me?" he asked.
"Ah, it pains me that I have left such a shallow impression that you have forgotten me so easily; but then you always were so full of yourself that you took little notice of anyone else," the strange young man said. He wiggled his fingers in a curious way then looked at the older man expectantly.
Mr. Putto recognized the secret sign, frowned, and scrunched his nose as he stared for a moment at the impudent youth.
"Amorino?" he asked incredulously. "By the gods, is it really you? You look terrible!"
Amorino smirked. "You are one to talk! Take a look at yourself! At least I'm still young and fairly attractive. You are an old man. Do you have any teeth left?"
Mr. Putto scowled. "What do you want Amorino? I have no time for your jests. If your plan is to sit here and mock me, you best be on your way."
"Relax, Putto old boy, I'm here to help you. I understand there are those in high places that are displeased with your work. I have come to your aid in your hour of need."
"I don't know what you are talking about!" Mr. Putto spluttered.
"Oh come now," Amorino said. "There are all sorts of rumors flying around about you. You don't think getting kicked out of Olympus would go unnoticed do you? Relax, I'm here to help. Before you know it, you will be in good standing. Just put yourself in my capable hands and all will go well."
"Why do you think I need help? I can handle things on my own." Mr. Putto grumbled.
"Just look at yourself!" Amorino said. "No self-respecting spirit would be seen looking like you. Whatever possessed you to choose such a ridiculous disguise? A grumpy old man is not a good persona for our line of work. You will be lucky if you can match a garbage collector to a cat lady."
"Do you think I want to look like this?" Mr. Putto asked. "It is part of my punishment! You don't look much better yourself, you know. And I prefer to be called Mr. Putto if you don't mind. I at least was not raised in a barn. In my day the lesser ranks knew how to address their betters properly."
Amorino smirked. "In your day, everyone flew around wearing diapers. Thank the gods we at least have moved on to more sensible apparel. I rather enjoy this look, I call it 'early grunge.'"
"You look like Giorgio Armani's worst nightmare," Mr. Putto grunted.
Amorino laughed. "You may be right," he agreed companionably, "but you have to admit, I blend in with the people of this time."
Mr. Putto wrinkled his nose, and chose not to comment.
Amoirno looked sideways at his companion. "What in the world did you do to make Olympus so angry that they chose to treat you like this?"
Mr. Putto scowled, hesitated and then slumped in defeat.
"I may have miscalculated at little on my last two assignments," he admitted. "It wasn't my fault the silly girl ran off with the wrong man, or that the one before fell in love with Simon Cowell," Mr. Putto shuddered. "That was a mess! Oh the things I must endure!"
"The gods can be fickle and so can love," Amorino agreed.
"I don't think I can take much more of this," Mr. Putto said. "There is no satisfaction in my work anymore. Being a cupid is not what it used to be."
"I prefer calling myself a 'Romance Interventionist'" Amorino said. "It's classier, and the people of this age accept it readily. They are impressed by important sounding titles."
"Well, I am thinking of disappearing for a while. Maybe I'll take a nice holiday, somewhere warm near the beach perhaps," Mr. Putto said. "I hear Florida is nice this time of year."
Amorino snorted. "You, lounging on a beach? Drinking strange concoctions with silly paper umbrellas stuck in them? That's not the Putto I know!"
"There does not seem to be much love in the world these days." Mr. Putto observed sadly. "Whatever happened to good old fashioned seduction?"
Amorino snorted in agreement. "Humans nowadays seem to just fall in and out of sexual encounters. Hooking up, I think it is called. It's all very casual. That's why they need the likes of you and me. Cupids are needed more than ever. It's time to put some romance back into their dull little lives."
Mr. Putto looked at his friend. "So, you are here to help me, are you?"
"That's right."
"I think I am not the only one in trouble," Mr. Putto said shrewdly. "What did you do to incur the wrath of Olympus?"
Amorino grimaced and looked uncomfortable. "Nothing you need worry about. It was just a small misunderstanding during my last case. How I to know the man was going to kill his new wife for the insurance money? Ah, the fickleness of life, at least she loved him right up to the end."
"Our line of work has become increasingly difficult," Mr. Putto agreed. "It seems nothing has run smoothly since the end of the renaissance. Humans don't even believe in love potions these days." The two sat quietly in the rain for a few moments, each reminiscing better times.
"I've heard that there are some nowadays who are actually resistant to love," Mr. Putto said.
Amorino shrugged his shoulders. "There are ways of getting around that problem. The important thing is that I have permission to help you and in so doing I will help myself as well. Are you ready for the assignment of a lifetime?"
"What sort of case would the gods be willing to give two cupids in disgrace?" Mr. Putto asked skeptically.
"One that won't be a cake walk, that's for sure. You wouldn't want something as easy as Prince William and Kate Middleton anyway. Assignments like that are what new cupids cut their teeth on. Our case is much more challenging. It's just the thing to get you back on your feet and in good graces with the powers on high."
"We may have a small problem," Mr. Putto said. "My wings have been stripped, and my arrows confiscated."
Amorino's eyes widened. "They took your arrows and your wings? Wow, you really pissed somebody off didn't you? Well, no matter. I always keep these for a backup." He pulled a small tube containing three golden tipped darts from his pocket.
"Darts?" Mr. Putto asked scornfully. "What good are darts?"
"Oh these will get the job done nicely," Amorino assured his friend. "I made the gold tips myself. They are extra potent. These are strong enough for an elephant." He pointed to the darts as he handed the tube to Mr. Putto. "The red flights are made from phoenix feathers. How's your aim?"
"I have you know, I am a champion at darts!" Mr. Putto said as he pocketed the small weapons. "But if you are so eager to help me, why don't you just use your arrows?"
Amorino gave him a sheepish look. "It is possible that I may have misplaced them."
"They took them away from you too! Didn't they!" Mr. Putto grinned.
"Well, it's you I'll be helping and you are the dart champion, so we have nothing to worry about." Amorino had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "Ah, here comes our target now!" he said pointing to a tall slim man in a long coat. His name is Sherlock Holmes. He is a consulting detective, the only one in the world.
xXx
Mr. Putto and Amorino followed the tall detective until he disappeared behind some yellow police tape.
"Now what?" Mr. Putto asked in frustration. "They are not going to let us get anywhere near him for ages."
"Relax. I've just the thing," Amorino said. "I've been saving this up for ages. I have just enough disappearing dust to cover the both of us. No one will be able to see us for hours." He pulled a small shaker from his pocket and sprinkled the magic dust over himself and Putto. Both men disappeared. A few moments later, an officer frowned as the yellow tape securing the crime scene seemed to move up and down on its own.
Once on the other side, the two cupids walked rapidly to where they could see Holmes and several officers standing around several figures lying on the ground.
"This was a professional job," Sherlock was saying, "notice how they were lined up against the wall."
"I see that. What else can you tell me?" the impatient Chief Inspector asked.
Sherlock threw a frown in the man's direction. "There's a multitude of facts available, Lestrade." He turned back to the crumpled forms and began to rattle off details so fast it was hard to keep up with him. It seemed that the detective could tell what each man had been doing for the last twenty-four hours including what he had eaten for breakfast that morning. Mr. Putto and Amorino were very impressed.
"I know something you forgot!" A man with a weasley face who was dressed in a cleansuit crowed.
"Shut it Anderson," Inspector Lestrade said.
"No, it's okay. Go ahead," Sherlock said in his most intimidating voice. "Please do share."
"Well," Anderson said importantly. "You said they were all killed by semiautomatic rifle fire…"
Sherlock nodded.
"…and they were lined up against a wall."
"Yes."
"It's Valentine's Day!" Anderson said excitedly.
Sherlock frowned.
"It's Valentine's Day!" Anderson repeated. No one said anything. "You know," he shouted in frustration, "that makes it a St. Valentine's Day Massacre!"
Everyone stared at Anderson. Amorino snickered, but no one else seemed to see the humor.
"Okay, can we continue now?" Sherlock asked as an officer came forward and whispered something in the Inspector's ear. Inspector Lestrade pointed to two officers and said. "Perkins and Jones, Sargent Donovan needs your help with the witnesses. Gather your things and follow her."
The two officers nodded and began collecting their gear.
"What about her? She's gorgeous!" Amorino whispered, pointing at Sargent Donovan.
"I suppose," Mr. Putto agreed. Sargent Donovan was standing close enough to Sherlock Holmes for the love potion in the dart to take effect. He pulled out the tube, extracted a dart, carefully aimed and let the tiny missile fly. As it left his hand, Inspector Lestrade moved and intercepted the dart meant for Holmes.
"Ow!" Lestrade yelped, grabbing his neck. "Something bit me."
"Let me see sir," Donovan said and moved closer to the inspector in order to examine his neck.
Lestrade stared at his officer. "Sally, I've never realized it before, but you have the softest touch." Lestrade was practically purring.
"Sir, I love your silver hair. I want to feel it if I may?" Donovan asked shyly. Lestrade nodded, and the two of them began groping each other so boldly, it would put horny teenagers to shame.
Everyone stared in amazement. Sherlock Holmes rolled his eyes and turned to leave, calling over his shoulder. "I'm on my way to see Mycroft. I'll call later if he has anything to add."
Lestrade and Donovan were too busy to acknowledge the detective. Someone had started a counter and most of the officers were placing bets on how long the current kiss was going to last. Anderson looked as if he wanted to add Lestrade to the total body count for the scene.
xXx
As Mr. Putto and Amorino followed Sherlock out to the main street, a cab pulled up and a short blond haired man climbed out.
"I came as fast as I could," He called to Sherlock.
"That's John Watson, Sherlock's colleague," Amorino whispered.
"Hold that cab!" Sherlock shouted, "we need to talk with my brother."
Everyone climbed into the cab. It was a tight fit, but Mr. Putto sat in the jump seat and Amorino sat on Mr. Putto and they managed. Sherlock and John, unaware of their extra passengers, stretched their legs and got comfortable. Mr. Putto and Amorino huddled in on themselves anxiously avoiding contact.
Luckily for them, the trip was a short one. They soon arrived at Mycroft Holmes spacious Whitehall offices and followed Sherlock and John into the inner office.
"Well, brother dear, what brings you out on this lovely day?" Mycroft asked in a syrupy voice. "Here to impart some happy news? Have you and John decided to celebrate Valentine's Day officially?"
"What does that mean?" John growled.
"Pay him no mind John, he's just trying to stir us up. Shut up Mycroft."
"I'm not gay," John declared.
"How would you know?" Mycroft asked as he stared at John.
"That's enough Mycroft! We're here to find out if you know anything about the shootings on Gower Street. Sherlock demanded.
Mycroft pushed a button on his console and a side door was opened by a beautiful woman.
"Anthea, could I have the Gower Street file please?"
"Yes sir."
A few moments later, she returned with a thick file in her hands. Mr. Putto looked at Amorino. Amorino nodded. Mr. Putto dug the second dart from the tube as Anthea walked across the room. She came in line with Sherlock Holmes. Mr. Putto released the dart. At the same time other things began to happen. Anthea's heel caught on the edge of the carpet where it met the parquet floor. She stumbled, dropped the file and knocked John Watson sideways, causing him to fall face forward onto the floor. Sherlock moved sideways to steady Anthea. Mycroft Holmes gave a small gasp and slapped his hand to his neck as the dart penetrated his skin.
"Oh my, I'm so sorry," Anthea murmured embarrassedly. "I didn't mean to be so clumsy."
"No harm done. Let me help you with the papers," Sherlock said and knelt at her feet to pick up the scattered file.
"Are you all right?" A very concerned Mycroft asked as he helped John Watson to his feet. John swayed slightly and held on to Mycroft for support.
"I think I broke my nose," John said and stared up at Mycroft with wide eyes. "Do you know, I didn't realize how strong you are."
"I've been working out," Mycroft breathed.
"I can tell," John answered.
Meanwhile Mr. Putto and Amorino had escaped to the street and stood arguing over whose fault this latest catastrophe belonged to.
Inside, Sherlock finished going through the files.
"Just as I thought. This is just a gang turf war. Nothing sinister at all. Boring," he muttered to himself. "I'm ready to leave. Let's go John."
"John can't possibly leave until he has been checked out by my personal physician. He may have a concussion. Anthea, call Dr. Zimmerman and ask him to come immediately," Mycroft instructed.
"Right away sir." Anthea hurried to carry out the orders.
Sherlock turned to leave but stopped in surprise at the scene before him. Mycroft was standing extremely close to John. And John…well, John was looking as if he was enjoying the close contact very much.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes and began to deduce. A myriad of expressions crossed the consulting detective's face in a matter of moments: recognition, shock, hurt, jealousy, anger, and finally amusement.
"John, do you want to stay?" Sherlock asked.
"Oh yes, I believe I do," John said without looking away from the older Holmes face.
Sherlock glared at his older brother. "You will take care of him brother."
Mycroft understood the underlying threat perfectly. "I will be gentle, I assure you."
Sherlock took one last look at his friend and left.
xXx
Back in the cab, without John, Sherlock, Mr. Putto and Amorino had more room.
Sherlock sent a text message to Lestrade and instructed the cabby to take him to Barts, then spent the rest of the ride staring out the window.
The lab at Barts was mostly empty. Only a few students remained, cleaning their workspaces and putting away materials and supplies. Molly stood at the front of the lab, wiping down the whiteboard. She smiled as Sherlock sailed into the lab, coattails flowing out behind him. He always made an impressive entrance.
"Hello Molly, were you able to secure the samples I requested?"
Molly Hooper smiled. "Oh yes, I have them waiting for you. I've just finished here. We can pick them up and I can lock up here later."
"Now, Putto! This is your last chance. Don't screw up!" Amorino hissed.
Mr. Putto nodded. He grabbed the last dart and aimed at Sherlock's neck. The dart sailed gracefully upward, arced and began its decent. It would have been perfect if it hadn't missed the target by several centimeters. Instead of embedding in his neck, it gently brushed through Sherlock's curls and sailed across the room to land in the forearm of one of the students.
Mr. Putto growled in disgust and both men stomped from the room.
Outside Amorino glared at Mr. Putto. "You have to either have the world's worst aim, or the world's worst luck.
"Now what are we going to do?" Mr. Putto wailed. "That was the last dart."
"Were you serious about Florida?" Amorino asked. "If you are, I'm of a mind to join you. They have lots of lonely old people in Florida. It will be a piece of cake to work there."
Mr. Putto stared at Amorino for a few moments and then grinned.
"The best part is we are still invisible. Amorino crowed. We'll fly for free and not have to bother with customs!"
The two linked arms and headed to the nearest tube station.
xXx
"That's strange," Molly said. She pointed to the student couple snogging as if their lives depended on it. "I could swear that those two hated each other."
"Hmm. I've seen odd things occurring all afternoon," Sherlock said.
"Well it is Valentine's Day," Molly said as if that explained everything. She shooed the kissing couple out of the lab. "You don't expect everyone to be totally professional on Valentine's Day."
Sherlock looked at her in puzzlement. "Oh," he said as he realized what she was referring to. "Can we get those samples now?"
Molly sighed, "Yes, come along. I left them in the supply cupboard."
Sherlock followed the pathologist down the hallway and around a corner to the storage room. It was a tiny closet lined on three sides with shelves. There was just enough floor space for two people to comfortably stand if they didn't mind being cozy. Normally, Molly would go into the cupboard and hand out the needed supplies to Sherlock as he waited in the hallway. Today he crowded in behind her and shut the door.
"Sherlock!" Molly squeaked in surprise as he turned them both around in the tiny space so that Molly was now backed up against the door.
"I've had a strange feeling all day that I have been missing something," Sherlock said as he removed her pony tail elastic and nuzzled her silky hair. I've just figured out what it is." He lowered his head and captured her lips with his own.
"Are you still free to come over to my flat this evening?" Molly asked breathlessly after a while. "I plan to order Chinese if that's okay."
"Hmm," Sherlock agreed. He lowered his head and whispered in her ear. "Especially if we play Chinese buffet. You know how much I enjoy dipping duck sauce from your belly button."
"Happy Valentine's Day, Molly Hooper," he said and deepened the kiss.