The sign over the door read "Fiddler's Green" and featured a ram's skull, the horns decked with wildflowers, beneath a pair of crossed cavalry swords. Opening the door, John was met with the mixed aromas of good ale and classic pub cuisine. The bar itself was packed shoulder to shoulder, and the music that greeted them was thunderous, a Celtic Rock group enthusiastically hammering away at the far side of the room. There was a very small area in front of the stage, where several couples and a motley mix of patrons were dancing.
John quickly turned to Tessa, leaning in close so she could hear him above the musical din. "I thought you said this place is cozy."
"Oh, sorry," she replied, grimacing, "I've never been in here this late at night.". She turned toward Mrs. Hudson, concerned it was all too much for the older woman. Before she could ask, Mrs. Hudson patted her arm, smiling, and "It's all right dear. It's not the first time I've been in a place like this. Why don't we get a table?"
John and Tessa both began to scan the room, looking for a spot where the four could comfortably sit. John spied one before too long, and shouted so all three could hear, "Right over there," motioning in that direction. They followed closely behind him.
The round table was rather small, with only three chairs around it, but with no other option, they took it. John glanced about and saw a spare chair at a nearby table, asking those seated there if he could grab it. He quickly pulled it over to sit with his group. He realized he was still holding the tulips, and placed them on the table. It made an awkward centerpiece, the flowers tall enough to partially block the view of the person sitting opposite.
A server arrived within minutes, setting a mixed bowl of honey roasted nuts and cashews on the table. She took their drink order, and disappeared into the crowd. While they waited, John, Tessa and Mrs. Hudson slid off their jackets, draping them on the back of their chairs. Sherlock elected to remove only his scarf, folding it roughly and tucking it in one of the many pockets of his greatcoat.
John and Tessa were busy continuing their conversation from the walk over, when the drinks came to the table. Again, it was left to John to lead the way. He lifted his glass of Guinness Stout, "Well then, to many happy returns, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock raised his lager, remaining silent, while Tessa held up her wine stem, saying "Here, here" before taking a swallow. Mrs. Hudson beamed at the attention, then took a sip of her grasshopper, shrugging her shoulders in delight at the cool flavor. "Oh that's a good one," she said, smiling at Tessa.
About this time, the lead singer of the band announced they would be breaking for a bit, reminding the crowd they had a couple of sets left to play, and extolling them to drink up in the meantime. The temporary end of the music allowed the small talk between the three to continue more comfortably, Sherlock silently observing what he could between the plant greens. Tessa was an animated conversationalist, and had John and Mrs. Hudson laughing at times, regaling them with funny stories from rehearsals in the run up to the show, and odd experiences with overly enthusiastic audience members. Before too long, they had ordered another round of drinks.
Sherlock was still quiet, taking in the conversation. John had noticed his silence, and though it wasn't unusual behavior for his friend, he was slightly irritated with the fact that it was Sherlock that had suggested they have drinks in the first place, yet was sitting there aloof and enigmatic. John tried to think more reasonably about it; it could be worse, Sherlock could be looking as though he wanted to be anywhere but there. John found himself seriously wondering just what was going on behind Sherlock's sphinxlike gaze. When the server arrived with the drinks, there was at last a pause in the conversation. It was at this point that Sherlock finally decided to speak up.
"Well, since no one else is going to ask, I suppose it's up to me". All three looked at him, though Tessa's view was partially blocked by her flowers. Having their attention, he continued, a curious tone to his voice, "Why in heaven's name are you carrying around a potted plant, Ms. DeMauro?" Silence hung upon the little group in the aftermath of his question.
Tessa smiled, looked down a moment, then slid the pot to the side a bit so as to be able to meet Sherlock's eyes directly, "It's Tessa, please." she said, arching a brow (which John—being a red-blooded male— interpreted as clearly flirtatious). Sherlock merely nodded in acknowledgement of her request. Having the floor, she continued, "And it's a little joke at my expense, I suppose."
Sherlock looked like he had not expected such an answer; he took a beat before asking, "Oh? How so?"
Tessa seemed pleased to be speaking to him directly now, and it looked to John as though she planned to make the most of the opportunity. Her smile looked downright mischievous as she answered "A couple of the boys on crew have been teasing me, maintaining that understudies don't get any of the glory. So I told them it was up to them to do something about it. This," Tessa swept her hand theatrically to indicate the plant, "was their solution."
Sherlock half-smiled at this, which Tessa's echoed back to him with a self-deprecatory shrug of her shoulders. His gaze remained upon her, until she looked down, cleared her throat, and then took a long swallow from her glass. John could sense there was more Sherlock wanted to say, but he seemed to be biding his time. He felt compelled to introduce a new topic.
"So, Tessa," he began, "have you been back home since I saw you last?" She turned toward John, shaking her head, "No, haven't been able to afford it. Till this show, most of the theatre I've been doing has been for love and very little—if any—money. I even had to take a part-time job to pay the bills."
"That would be at the store where we saw you, a few months back?" Sherlock interjected. John noticed Sherlock's attention had intensified; knowing him as he did, it occurred to John that Sherlock may have been waiting for the subject to come up.
Tessa nodded her head, smiling ruefully, "Yes, exactly. As that sort of work goes, it's a pretty good gig. Hardly ever boring," she laughed softly, adding, "and there's many a time I have to call on my acting skills to deal with difficult customers. Oh, but if they only knew my subtext!" She lifted her wineglass in a mock toast, and drained the contents.
"So then," Sherlock went on, never breaking eye contact with her, "that would include using a dialect while serving your customers?"
Tessa's smile grew wide, "Old acting trick," she replied, "lots of the best employ it. Keeping up the dialect—not switching back and forth—helps reinforce muscle memory. Makes it easier to maintain it in performance."
Sherlock's face registered an "ah-ha" as the pieces fell into place, his curiosity now satisfied. He at last sat back, looking more relaxed than he had since they'd entered the bar. He finished his drink in a long swallow, set his glass down, and wiped his lips.
John rolled his eyes as the realization hit him; the reason Sherlock had suggested Tessa join them for drinks. He'd wanted to answer those couple of questions. Unable to deduce the answers handily, he'd set up the situation so as to obtain them anyway. John looked to his friend, shaking his head and smiling, both amazed and irritated at the lengths Sherlock had been willing to go. Not surprised though—never surprised.
Mrs. Hudson seemed to be fading a bit; the cocktails she'd consumed, combined with the lateness of the hour, had her yawning. When John noticed, he knew it was time for their little party to wind down for the evening. He flagged down the nearest server and asked him to let their waitress know they were ready to settle their bill. Tessa pulled her wallet from her handbag, but John quickly made it clear she had been their guest. He wondered, though, if Sherlock might make good and contribute towards the tab.
John needn't have been concerned; when the waitress presented the bill, Sherlock was quick to take it, handing it back to the young woman with full payment and tip. Though it astonished John, he felt it was a fair beginning, as he had fronted the money for dinner and the theatre tickets.
The bill paid, the group grabbed their jackets, heading for the door, planning to catch a cab. Mrs. Hudson had taken John's arm, leaning on him a bit as she was indeed slightly tipsy. A grin on his face, John motioned to Sherlock to look at their landlady. Sherlock sighed and chuckled warmly. He touched Tessa on the shoulder. She turned to face him, surprised.
"Your floral arrangement—don't you want to take it with you?" he asked, now sounding amused as he understood its significance.
"Oh, right," she answered, for just a moment looking like she'd prefer to say no, "of course." Sherlock headed back and carried it from to table, placing in her open hands. She thanked him, and they both followed John and Mrs. Hudson out of the door.
John gave Tessa's address to the cabbie, then turned back to the ladies. "It's fairly close," Tessa told him. "Should just take a few minutes to get there." Silence filled the cab again. Mrs. Hudson, ever the pleasant hostess, chimed in "So dear, how long have you lived here?"
"Nearly four years," Tessa told her. "I was renting a studio when I first arrived, cramped but cheap. This was Hal's place." She stole a look at John, "After the engagement, Hal insisted I move in, figuring we'd make this our starter…" Tessa trailed off, looking down at the plant in her lap. "I didn't know until later, but he'd taken out an insurance policy for just in case…..you know…" The cab was dark, but there was no doubt as to Tessa's emotions at that moment; even Sherlock could tell she was holding back tears. "Anyway," she continued gamely, "it was enough to help me keep the flat and continue some of my classes, without having to worry about the rent until just recently."
Mrs. Hudson took the girl's hand in hers. "I'm so sorry for your loss, dear. But you must be very proud of your Hal."
Tessa nodded, and met Mrs. Hudson sympathetic smile with a small smile of her own. "Oh I am, I am. Everyday I draw breath." She took a deep breath and changed the subject, "We're nearly there now."
"Mrs. Hudson, I wonder if you wouldn't mind keeping this for me." The older woman looked puzzled, until Tessa continued, "This thing will absolutely be dead within the week if I keep it. I have no skill with plants of any kind, and it would be a shame to waste it, don't you think?"
Mrs. Hudson nodded, taking the planter from Tessa. "Of course, dear, I know the perfect spot for it as well, plenty of sunshine. It'll do very nicely."
With that, the taxi pulled along the curb of a neat, three-story brownstone. "This is me," Tessa said, turning to Mrs. Hudson, "It was lovely meeting you." Mrs. Hudson gently squeezed Tessa's hand, "Dear, it was lovely meeting you. And I so enjoyed your performance!"
Tessa smiled, looking slightly embarrassed by Mrs. Hudson's enthusiastic praise, then looked up again, "You are really too kind, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you." She leaned slightly forward so as to address Sherlock, "Pleasure meeting you again, Mr. Holmes." He dipped his head at her acknowledgement.
Tessa reached for the handle, to find John already opening the door for her. She smiled very warmly at him, then got out. "I'm just so delighted you sent backstage for me, John. It was a wonderful surprise." John nodded, smiling back, "Well, I'm very glad to see how well things are working out for you. I really enjoyed the show, and I'll bet this will only lead to bigger things for you."
Tessa tilted her head slightly, trying to discern if there was more truth than flattery in his statement, finally laughing softly, "Well, next big part I get, I'll expect you to be first in line then." She gave him a light embrace and a peck on the cheek. "Please keep in touch, okay? I rarely hear from any of Hal's friends anymore, and it does my heart good to share some memories of him with people who knew him."
John could hear the sadness behind her bravado and nodded his head. "I will, Tessa, I will. You take care now." She gave a little shrug of her shoulders and walked to door, unlocking it and slipping quietly into the building. John turned to the taxi, climbing back in. "221 Baker Street, please," he told the cabbie.
John barely waited as the cab pulled away from the curb. "Sherlock," he asked, a steely note in his voice, "please tell me you didn't orchestrate that whole 'let's meet the actress, let's have some drinks' thing just to satisfy your curiosity about Tessa's working at the ASDA?" Certainly a rhetorical question, but John intended to call the detective on it.
"Why John, whatever makes you think I would do something like that?" Sherlock's reply was completely deadpan, but his involuntary smirk gave the true answer away. John shook his head, and turned to look out the window.
Several minutes passed in silence, as they wove through the light, late night traffic. Sherlock finally broke the silence, "So John, you have her number. Will you be calling her anytime soon?" He narrowed his eyes a bit, waiting for the answer. Mrs. Hudson looked towards John as well, curious for the answer herself.
John took a moment inhaling deeply, and turned to face them. "No, that um…" he paused, searching for how he wanted to answer,"…I don't really think that would be appropriate, do you?" He was not surprised to see an uncomprehending expression on Sherlock's face. Mrs. Hudson understood immediately of course. John pursed his lips, then continued, speaking directly to his friend, "She was engaged to one of my mates, Sherlock. Do I have to add he was killed in service?" Anyone else needing to have that explained would have infuriated John, but he knew Sherlock truly didn't appreciate how untenable a question it was. He softened his tone, "I could never think of her in…well…..those terms." Sherlock nodded, clearly getting John's full meaning.
One side of John's mouth moved slightly up into a crooked smile. "Besides which," he teased Sherlock, "I think she was rather keen on you." Mrs. Hudson gave a little" oh yes" of quiet agreement, turning to see Sherlock's response.
Sherlock's face registered no reaction, but for a slight tightening of the muscles in his jaw. He snorted and turned to look out the window. John and Mrs. Hudson shared a look of amusement and choose no further comment on the matter, although it did keep John smiling all the way back to their flat.
(to be continued)