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SUMMARY:
"Years after the Woman was last seen in Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson receive anonymous tickets to fly to New York at the service of a mysterious singer who wants to hire them for a case."
Summary written word-for-word from Tumblr ( .com).
NOTES:
I recommend you watch "Gypsy West End 2015: Let Me Entertain You (Gypsy Strip Tease)" in YouTube with that exact name. It's where I got the lines written here.
Bolded words are actual lines in the musical.
Bolded and Italicised are actual lyrics of the song.
Inspired by a GIFset made by .com in
loveholic198 . tumblr post / 155989553839 / nine-years-after-the-woman-was-last-seen-in-baker
—oOo—
John and Sherlock walk away from yet, another finished adventure which involved a train station (John will always question why train stations where ever made if it keeps making his life miserable), a group of ninjas, fighting with using nothing but a chair and a bottle of water, and some tuna. John still has no idea how they had ended up in such a predicament.
"D'you think George's going to appreciate our little present?" Sherlock asks him, smirking as they walk through the Underground.
"George?" John asks. Just as Sherlock opens his mouth to reply, John sighs. "It's Greg, and I don't think he shares the same sense of humour as us."
Sherlock rolls his eyes. "I don't understand why people can be so boring."
John's lip twitches upward at the small conclusion that he is not part of the boring class of people.
"People aren't all boring, you know," John tries and fails.
"Yes, they are," Sherlock argues.
"Yeah... Yes, they are," John replies, a small laughter coming out of his mouth.
At that moment, a vibration makes itself known to him in his pocket. He takes out his phone to see what had alarmed it.
"Sherlock?" John starts as they continue to walk out.
"Hmm?" Sherlock answers.
"There's an email for us... from my blog," John informs him, quickly reading the content of the message.
Sherlock, on the other hand, rolls his eyes at the fact that people love John's blog so much but don't appreciate his actual blog... especially the essay on the two-hundred and forty-three types of Tobacco Ash.
"What is it?" Sherlock asks in annoyance since John hasn't talked for five minutes already.
"A client sent us tickets to New York for a show," John says, finally looking up from his phone to look at Sherlock.
"A show?" Sherlock asks.
"Well, a musical, actually."
Sherlock hums. "A Broadway musical, I'm hoping?"
"Hopin—you listen to... showtunes?" John asks in surprise.
"It's hardly a surprise to you, isn't it?" Sherlock comments.
"Yes, well, sometimes I forget how much of a public school boy you are," John replies. Before Sherlock gives a snarky clever comeback, John continues. "The musical's called Gypsy, apparently. I haven't watched that before."
Sherlock hums. "I do like Patti Lupone's version of Rose in the 2008 Revival of that musical—brilliant voice power."
John continues to stare at him.
"What?" Sherlock asks.
"Nothing."
"What's the date of our tickets?"
"Let me see... hmm... it's tomorrow..." John whispers. "It's tomorrow," he says louder.
"Interesting. Did she say her name?" Sherlock suddenly asks.
"Who?" John asks.
"The client," Sherlock explains with a huff.
"'She'?" John questions with confusion, looking back at the email to check if there was any indication that the client is female.
"Obviously."
John sighs, rolls his eyes, and mutters, "Obviously," before clearing his throat. "Er, no, she didn't write her name."
"Interesting."
"Why is it interesting?"
"Because the main characters of this musical are mostly female. An identifying male lead wouldn't bother giving us a ticket for a show. He would have wanted us to get the job done. Most definitely, if the actor would give tickets as a token of appreciation, it would be given after we had sold this case. No, this is an invitation—a small gift or encouragement, depending on the actress. In the balance of probability, an identifying male client—no matter how famous—would send money as a form of incentive. Money is often the incentive between two male participants. Hence, female client."
"That's not really saying why it is interesting."
"An identifying female theatre performer playing a minor character would not bother giving us a ticket either. She wouldn't give tickets to men who would see the main leads—main female leads—their full attention. Performers love it when all eyes are on them—when all the attention is placed on them—"
"Like you?" John asks but Sherlock either ignores him or didn't hear him. John suspects the latter.
"—and so, in giving us tickets to a show where she is performing, one could only conclude that she has one of the biggest roles in the musical. So why not bother us with her name? Why not tell us who she is? She is one of the stars of the musicals. Why hide her identity if she will reveal it anyway?"
"Maybe she's like you," John replies.
Sherlock pauses mid-deduction to stare at John—looking around to realise that they are already walking on the streets of London instead of going through the Underground. "Like me?" he asks.
"Yeah," he says, nodding, "a tad bit too dramatic." Sherlock glares at John briefly. "I don't judge her—she's a theatre performer. Drama is in her nature."
"Are you having a joke?" Sherlock asks.
"Not at all," John replies sarcastically.
Sherlock sighs exasperatedly and rolls his eyes, continuing walking. "What else did she say about the case?" Sherlock asks.
"Nothing."
Sherlock nods. "As I suspected—vague. She'll tell us her case when we get there. The tickets are not an incentive. They are an assurance."
"Assurance of what?"
"That we are expected to be there. It's a demand—not a request."
John looks at Sherlock—who has not noticed that he has his game-face on. "We're going to New York, then?" John asks.
"Most definitely."
—oOo—
"Have you watched a musical in Broadway before?" John asks as both he and Sherlock settle down on their seats amongst the Orchestra Seats in front of the stage provided by their client. They are actually sitting on the very centre of the Orchestra Seat—much to John's excitement since he has never watched a musical or play this close before.
They have arrived just this morning. John had to convince the hotel that he and Sherlock definitely do not need just one bed in one room...
"Surprisingly enough, no," Sherlock replies, still reading whatever it is he is reading in his phone, held in his right hand.
"Oh?" John asks.
"It was always London Theatre or any theatre in England. I didn't have time to watch a Broadway musical when I went to Florida," Sherlock replies.
John nods. "Ahhh, yes, the Mr. Hudson case."
Sherlock smirks at the memory. "Yes," he answers vaguely.
"Is that why you're so giddy right now?" John asks, looking at Sherlock's fidgeting left hand, and his shaking leg. He had also noticed Sherlock humming the whole time which he assumes is the music in this musical.
"'Giddy'?" Sherlock asks, all the fidgeting stopping since he has focused on glaring at John.
"Well, you're like a little boy about to be given ice cream he craves so much," John tells him.
"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock scoffs. John sniggers as Sherlock practically jumps up in excitement when the orchestra starts playing the Overture.
—oOo—
TWENTY-SEVEN MINUTES LATER
Much to John's surprise, Sherlock doesn't comment about the child actors or all of the actors—much less, the plot of the whole musical. That is, until, he turns his head to see Sherlock frowning at the stage.
"Sherlock?" John whispers as they watch the whole sequence with the children dancing on stage.
Thankfully, the song is loud enough and the audience are quite engaged with the little girl dancing in the middle of the stage, with some other children as back-up. Even John has to admit that children these days are growing more and more talented each day.
"John?" Sherlock replies.
"Do you think the actress playing Rose is the one asking for us?"
"No," Sherlock replies, just as the said old actress enters the stage for a few seconds.
"Why not?"
"Not once has she acknowledged or gave any sign that she knows we are here."
"Maybe it's just her, not breaking in character."
"There were plenty of times when she had looked at the audience. It is easy enough to pretend to look at us as any other audiences but she never did. If she really gave us the tickets, she would be aware of where we are sitting. No, I believe our client will be showing up later and soon."
"But I thought you said she'd be a lead?"
"Some leads show up late. This musical is about Gypsy Rose Lee—a burlesque entertainer—and her mother. There is a high amount of chance that the client is either the namesake of this musical—Louise or Gypsy Rose Lee, or her sister, June."
"Who do you think is more likely?" John asks.
Sherlock chuckles. "We'll find out very soon," he says, just as the lights on stage flicker on and off frequently—giving John a mild headache—but he noticed that the small child actress had changed into a much older actress.
Taking Sherlock's advice, John observes the older June actress. She is facing the centre of the stage—just where Sherlock and John are—but she is looking at the general audience and not specifically at them.
Conclusion: She isn't the client.
The lights turn off.
This ends the dance sequence. The audience applaud—so does John, but not Sherlock, who is still scowling.
The lights turn on.
An alarm clock on stage goes off and an actress turns it off. John observes closely.
"Sh—Sher—Sherlock?" John stammers quietly upon seeing the actress on stage, considering the silence in the theatre.
John turns to see Sherlock—frozen with his mouth hanging open, his eyes wide, and completely still as he stares at the actress.
"Is—is she our client?" John whispers. The old woman beside him shushes him pointedly but John ignores her, not caring about anything else except what the hell is going on.
Sherlock's mouth closes and he swallows, an odd sort of fire appearing in Sherlock's eyes as he continues to look at the stage. John pays no mind at the continuing dialogue, but focuses on his best friend.
"Yes," Sherlock finally replies in a breathless manner.
"Is—is that...?"
"Irene Adler," Sherlock says in a breathless whisper.
"Did you kn—?" John was about to ask but Sherlock beats him to it.
"No," Sherlock says in a lower tone.
"Sh—she looks so..."
"Different?"
"Innocent."
Sherlock hums as Irene Adler starts to sing on stage.
Both men watch in wonder as Irene Adler, the dominatrix, becomes her character—Louise, wears baggy clothing, acts awkwardly, talks with a childish voice, and goes around without confidence. John feels like he is in an entirely new universe. His own brain cannot comprehend that this is, in fact, the Irene Adler—the same person who met them in her birthday suit.
Then again, that's what makes a good actress, isn't it? It completely removes the actor and replaces him or her with the character. Looking at Louise, right now, he can't see any traces of Irene Adler in her. It's amazing... but...
John has also noticed that Irene Adler had not looked in their general direction yet... but she could only be the client, right?
—oOo—
FORTY-NINE MINUTES LATER
While some of the audience leave their seats to go to the loo, John turns his head to look at a still wide-eyed Sherlock.
"Sherlock?" John starts.
This seems to snap the detective back to reality, since he finally blinks and leans back on his seat, slightly looking down and clasping his hands together. Sherlock emits a heavy sigh, pursing his lips.
"So, how did it happen?" John asks.
"What?"
"How is she alive?"
Sherlock doesn't answer. Of course, only he could have saved her.
"Are you okay?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Because she's there, on stage... I'm guessing you haven't seen each other in a long time."
"Why would you guess that?"
"Because you're so surprised to see her again."
Sherlock turns to look at John at that point, and looks away again. John smiles to himself slightly.
"So, what do you think?" he asks Sherlock.
"Of what?"
"The musical."
"I've already watched it before."
"Not with her in it."
Sherlock hums in reply, nodding. His eyes, then, suddenly glazes over with something as he whispers, "She has the voice of an angel, John [1]."
"What?" John snaps up at that admission, tilting his head at his friend, who had jump up at his own words, and trying to look away.
"Nothing."
"No, Sherlock, what was that?" John asks amusedly as the detective starts fidgeting on his seat, trying to look away.
"I'm going to—er—"
Sherlock stands up and leaves the theatre. John laughs in his seat and doesn't comment at the fact that Sherlock arrived fifteen minutes later—precisely when the lights turn off again and the musical starts—giving John no time to comment anything.
—oOo—
THIRTY-FOUR MINUTES LATER
"Mama... I'm pretty... I'm a pretty girl, mama," Irene Adler states in a very childish and innocent voice that still makes both Baker Street boys wonder. Sherlock wouldn't admit it, of course, to anyone, but he can't help but feel immense wonder at how precisely she can act innocently when she is the devil.
But here, she is an innocent teen, wearing a pink conservative gown.
They watch as awkward Louise stands in the middle of the stage—looking at the audience, almost in fear and apprehension. John nearly scoffs in bewilderment. He looks at Sherlock who is as still as a statue the whole time with eyes fixated on the woman on the stage—who is still not looking at them.
She starts to sing in that innocent voice again,
"Let me... entertain you...
Let me... make you smile..."
"Sing out, Louise!"
"Let me do a few tricks...
Some old and then some new tricks...
I'm very versatile...
And if you're real good...
I'll make you feel good...
I want your spirits to climb...
So let me... entertain you...
And we'll have a real good time, yes sir...
We'll... have... a real good time..."
The two boys watch as Irene Adler walk through the stage as awkwardly as possible but not overly awkward that it would look unnatural. She looks very much the awkward lanky teenager. John had wanted to applaud her about a hundred times from the past ten minutes alone.
"Do something!"
"Dip! Dip!"
There she is—Irene Adler—dipping frequently in the most gangly awkward teenage fashion.
"Take something off."
"Mama?" Irene Adler asks in that innocent voice John cannot get over with.
"Glove! Give 'em a glove!"
John smiles as Irene Adler awkwardly and horribly remove her glove—even using her teeth. He has to admit that Irene Adler truly is a genius when it comes to acting. How can't she? She is a master manipulator.
"Say something."
"Hello, everybody. My name is Gypsy Rose Lee... What's yours? Sir?"
Still. Irene Adler had not looked at them. It would have been the perfect opportunity—she is directly looking at another gentleman in the audience. If she truly is the client, then why isn't she looking at them?
Louise, who had dropped her glove, bends over to take it from the floor. John tries not to make out anything from this but he swears he had felt Sherlock jump a tiny bit from his seat whilst someone whistles at the bent-over actress. Finally, she stands up again.
"Mister Conductor? If you please?
Let me... entertain you...
And we'll have a real good time, yes, sir...
We'll... have... a real good time..."
She truly is a remarkable actress. She should have taken a career in acting instead of being a dominatrix... Then again, a mind like hers wouldn't settle in by being a mere actress. She wants control.
She leaves the stage, and after a few moments, comes out, wearing a new glittering silver long-sleeved gown.
"Let me... entertain you...
Let me... make you smile...
I'm beginning to like this."
John Watson tries to conceal the fact that he had just thought that Irene Adler was cute... because Irene Adler is not cute.
"Oh, I like that. I think I'll do that again."
Nope, definitely not cute... but this is Louise, not Irene Adler.
"My mother... who got me into this business... always told me make 'em beg for more... and then don't give it to 'em... But I'm not my mother..." John smirks. There she is, Irene Adler, slowly removing her gown on stage, but not showing any of her skin since her back is to the audience. "So, if you beg for more..." And she wraps herself again... "I'll give it to you..."
And we'll... have... a real good..."
With her back facing the audience, she shows off a small area of her shoulders. She comes out of the stage again after a few moments, wearing a green gown and a ginormous hat.
"Let me do a few tricks..."
John's brows rise up at the sudden low voice of Irene Adler, and the raised chin he knows only she could pull off. Gypsy Rose Lee—somehow, it feels like he had just watched the progress of how the Irene Adler was made as well.
"Some old and then some new tricks...
I'm very versatile...
What are you waiting, fellas? I'm sorry I had to have dinner with the Henry Fords. God, I couldn't wait to get home and take my clothes off!... Well?... I'm hoooomeee..."
Hiding her body with that massive hat, she removes her whole gown with one small move... She's emerging—the Irene Adler.
"And we'll... have... a real good..."
She leaves once more, and after a few moments, and a few short dances from the ensemble, the curtains opens up to see her in a green sequinned outfit, a cut up her leg, with a poise only someone as elegant as her can truly pull off.
"Pack up your apples, girls... and back to the trees..."
Here, John and Sherlock blink at how low her voice had sounded, and how different her acting had become from the innocent geeky teen to this... confident woman... to this—
"Bonsoir, messieurs... et messieurs..."
—Irene Adler.
There it is. The way she curled her tone, and the way she had looked at the audience—directly at Sherlock—finally confirms John had been thinking and what Sherlock had already concluded an hour ago.
Irene Adler is their client and she is telling them that she is back.
"Je m'appelle Gypsy Rose Lee—" She continues on saying things in French as John turns to look at an unusually stoic Sherlock, staring back at Irene Adler.
She continues on with her monologue and dances her way on the stage—making John appreciate the many skills of Irene Adler. No wonder she is such a seductress. She can make you beg for anything just from walking with her hips and shoulders moving like water—gracefully flowing.
She turns around and looks at John, this time. "Some man accused me of being an ecdysiast." Her eyes move towards Sherlock once more. "Do you know what that means?"
She walks along the stage sideways, moving her hips, smirking at Sherlock. Sherlock smirks back and raises a brow. John turns to look at Sherlock.
"Oh, he does?" Sherlock rolls his eyes at this. "Oh, don't be embarrassed. I like men with curly hair." [2]
She turns once more and glides along the stage—showing off her back, her legs, her everything.
"Don't worry, fellas, I know you're up there!" she says, pointing up. "Well, there, you know what ecdysiast means... An ecdysiast is one who sheds its skin... In vulgar parlance, a stripper... but fellas, at these prices? I'm an ecdysiast..."
She moves closer to the front of the stage, and in a stronger voice, she starts to sing.
"So if you're real good...
I'll make you feel good...
I want your spirits to climb...
So let me... entertain you...
And we'll have a real good time, yes sir...
We'll... have... a real good... time..."
And at the end of that song, she shows off the familiar 32-24-34, as the lights turn off. Not for the first time, Sherlock claps for Irene Adler, but this time, he is clapping louder than usual. John smirks at his friend. Oh, he is sooo obvious.
—oOo—
SEVENTEEN MINUTES LATER
The show finally ends... and John claps loudly at everyone's performance... but most definitely, for the dominatrix that had proven she has more talents up her sleeve than mere domination—acting, singing, dancing. She's amazing. No wonder people fall on their knees before her.
He turns to look at Sherlock who is clapping.
The audience (except Sherlock) stands up as the cast bows—a standing ovation and they deserve it.
And the moment Irene Adler emerges from behind the minor characters, Sherlock finally stands up. Irene Adler bows and looks at Sherlock in the audience—directly in front of where she is—and she smirks.
Irene Adler has returned.
—oOo—
[1] Line from the Granada Series of Sherlock Holmes: A Scandal in Bohemia.
Actual lines were: "She had just begun to sing... She has the voice of an angel, Watson."
[2] Actual lines were: "Oh, don't be embarrassed. I like men without hair."