Fighting a wave of apprehension, John reads the sign on the door as he opens it for Sarah. 'Closed for private function.' that did not bode well. Indeed, Angelo was glaring at him already; gesturing Sarah, forward he avoids a confrontation with the restaurateur by looking deep into the room for Sherlock, and seeing quite a few people he didn't expect: Mycroft for one, Anderson and Donovan for others. Sherlock is standing with Mycroft, and as soon as he catches John's eye, the faint expression of irritation and frustration vanishes. Turning from Mycroft, he zones in on John immediately.
"John! Thank god you've finally come, I wasn't sure I could stand the idiocy that emanates from all of these people a fraction of a moment longer!"
Smiling at Sherlock's antics John almost misses the gleam in Mycroft's eye, before it's tempered with a bland friendly greeting... almost.
"John, so glad you could make it after a hard day of saving the rest of us from the flu. Sherlock said you were absolutely swamped at work." Turning his bland expression away from John he greets Sarah as well. "I'm sure indispensable works were underway, hmm?"
Sarah having missed Mycroft's first comment greeting Angelo, takes a second and assesses the actual intent of the ridiculously impeccably dressed man in front of her. With a natural flair, she cocks her hip and balances her hand on it saucily, "Why do I have the feeling I'm talking to Holmes Sr, and that I don't want to agree with what ever it was I missed?"
John barks out a laugh, and remembers why he started dating Sarah in the first place: she's quick and just a bit of a fire cracker! Not for the first time he finds himself a bit sad they didn't work out. Sherlock, grinning wolfishly at her scathing comment, teasingly scolds John.
"My! How good she is at seeing through Mycroft's ploys! How could you have let this one go, John?"
Sarah blushes a bit and wraps an arm around Sherlock, "Well you could always keep me around to scare him off." Sherlock looks down at her with a confused look and Mycroft grins a tiny bit, actually grins!
"No, my dear lady," taking her hand and kissing the back, "my poor brother wouldn't know the first thing about keeping you. Not his area, you see." Straightening to see just a touch of a blush staining her cheeks. "I might have an idea or two, though..."
John stands there jaw agape, as Mycroft leads a blushing Sarah away from them, still talking to her. Sherlock watches them for a moment, then looks to John. "Well that went better than I had thought it would."
His brain suddenly running off a cliff at the thought of Mycroft and Sarah snogging, John suddenly remembers, "But wait? Doesn't Mycroft have something going on with Greg?" Sherlock snorts, "As much as you and I do, my dear blogger."
John isn't listening though; he's looking at Lestrade, who seems to be watching the chatting couple with interest. Suddenly his eyes snap over to John and he smiles in greeting.
At this point Angelo announces dinner being served, and that they should all take their seats. John is surprised to see a waiter changing a few seating cards around, positioning Sarah to his left, Mycroft to hers, and Greg one more spot further over! As John sits down beside Sherlock, he catches a mischievous smile on his flatmates face as he watches the three awkwardly sit down to John's left.
Shaking his head ruefully, John scans the table to his right. There's Mrs. Hudson, and Mrs Turner; to her right Molly, who John waves at, Donovan and then Anderson to her right, whom he ignores. Then there's Dimmock, and to his right Anthea carrying on to Lestrade; twelve in all.
In a terse whisper, "Sherlock why are Anderson and Donovan here, let alone Dimmock and Anthea?" - John leans close to hear Sherlock's response.
His eyes roll and Sherlock snorts in irritation, "The thrice damned Murder Mystery Dinner has a set number of attendants. Though I suppose I could have switched out Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dee for your Bill and Harry."
John pretends to think about his perpetually drunk sister and his army buddy in this setting for a moment, "Uhm, no."
"Just as I thought. Murray would undoubtably spend most the night regaling us with stories of your heroism, which you would not find comforting. Not that a drunk Harriet would do better; no, she'd cover your childhood years in embarrassment. These two are an unfortunate, but acceptable evil."
John nods silently in agreement as Sherlock turns away and accepts a bread basket from Angelo, putting eleven envelopes in it. He offers it to John first, clearing his throat. "Here we are people, take one and pass it on. I'll explain things when we've each got an envelope.
When the basket makes it's way back around to Sherlock empty, Anderson pipes up. "Oi! Why don't you have a bloody card? I'm not going to do something mortifying unless you do!"
Leveling him a glare, Sherlock carries on as if he hadn't spoken. "Now, as a favour to our lovely landlady, John and I are throwing a Murder Mystery Dinner at my brother's residence. Before anyone says anything, I am taking the position of the victim, so that the rest of you have half a chance of enjoying yourselves solving the murder."
As he talks, the waiters quietly arrive, serving the meals people have pre-ordered. John, who arrived too late to do so, looks down to see his favorite seafood pasta and a glass of a nice white. Sarah has a similarly nice surprise appearance of a gnocchi dish.
"In the next days you will guard the identity in your envelope carefully, and within 3-5 days, visit the address of the tailor on the business card therein to be measured. Your costumes will be dropped off 2-3 days after that. There is no negotiating that! If you agree to attend, you will wear the costume provided and turn up at the Holmes Manor appropriately. Not everyone is a character; after all someone has to solve this thing if I'm 'dead'! The party itself will be a week after the last costumes have been made, so two weeks tonight."
"Now please put the cards away and look at them at home, preferably alone!"
With that, the unlikely crew have a pleasant evening chatting about what might be in the envelopes.
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Lestrade sits in the drivers seat of his panda car, tapping his envelope on the steering column. His gaze traveling to Anderson in the back, who is already ripping his open. Donovan clears her throat and stretches her neck around to see into the back. "What did you get?" Her right hand fumbling in her pocket for her envelope. "Audience member; why on earth do I still have to go for a fitting?!"
Peering across the cab of the panda at Donovan, he waits for her to open and read hers too. "Audience too. What IS this crap?" she throws her card and envelope onto the dash and fixes Lestrade with a withering look. "What the hell is the point in this?"
The object of her current ire does not respond immediately. He calmly finds the end of the envelope he's tapped the card down into, he then travels the length of the envelope and slips the edge of his thumb nail under the opening of the adhesive strip, and pulls, using that to tear the whole end off the envelope right off.
Sally Donovan practically chews a hole through her lip in irritation as she waits for her boss to 'get on with it!' Suddenly she grabs at the envelope to tear it away, only to realise Lestrade has the card, and she just has a torn envelope in her hand. He quietly reads for a second, then nods. "Also audience."
Anderson tees off in the back with that. "What was the bloody point in inviting us if we aren't taking part in the actual fun bits? Who does Sherlock think he is? I bet he planned it this way, so we can all look like fools sitting there while they're all dressed up. God knows what this bloody high class taylor is going to land us in. I'm not going to look like a runway freak like him for a night!"
"Anderson! Shut. Up." More due to the calm, almost quiet tone in his voice, Lestrade gets his wish, as the other two just goggle at him silently.
"Number one: The point in inviting us was, I believe, to fill the numbers of a party he is throwing for his landlady. A perfectly lovely lady who should be sainted for what she puts up with from Sherlock, and the Met wandering through her house at all hours. Drug busts don't just bother Sherlock, I'll have you you know."
"Secondly, I don't believe for a second that he has ulterior reasons for inviting us to this dinner. He just wants this done. He doesn't care what we show up in, I know, for a fact, the taylor was Mycroft putting his ore in. So if you look like a 'runway freak' for the night, go out to the clubs after and you might just pull."
"Lastly, and let this one percolate for a while, if Sherlock is the victim, a 'dead' body who can not speak or interact with us, he is going to hate it. He is going to loathe every second, and on top of that, we get to solve the crime. We get to be the ones who figure it all out while he can not. Don't you think that makes it worth it?"
Silence permeates the car for a few minutes; Donovan is nodding to herself, and Anderson just looks stunned. Then they all get out and head back into New Scotland Yard for their night shift.
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Standing in the middle of his bedroom John reads, and re-reads the card. The word that sticks out is Sultan. He's going to have to dress up and behave like a sultan: this was going to be tricky. Shaking his head, he replaces the card in the envelope and grabs his cable oatmeal pullover. After stowing the envelope in his bedside table he rushes off for his appointment with the tailor.
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Bright and early the following Monday, John is greeted by Sarah in his office with an irritated expression already at home on her face.
"Should I back out again slowly and pop out to Costa?"
Sarah starts suddenly, "What, oh! No, no... Well yes, that would be lovely, but let's talk first."
Moving over to sit in his chair, John smiles. "Okay then What can I do for you?"
"Promise me, John, that this crazy dinner isn't going to go completely out of control. Promise me that ... I don't know what. John I'm scared that this is madness; aren't you?"
Thinking back to Mycroft seemingly chatting her up all night Friday (and not always alone!), John tilts his head slightly to the left and watches her fidget for a bit. "Which part; the dinner, or going out to coffee with Mycroft?"
With a choked off coughing sound, Sarah stares at him for a few seconds before any sound makes it's way out. "Uhm, well... both I guess?"
"Right!" John presses the intercom button. "Evelin? How busy are we this morning?"
A tinny voce responds, "You have one appointment in ten minutes."
"And Sarah?"
"She has three, now till 9:30."
Hanging up the phone, he sees Sarah to the door, "Okay, you go, see your patients I'll see my one and make sure Evelin doesn't book more this morning. I'll see you in your office at 9:30, and I'll bring the Costa, sound good?"
Sarah smiles easily, "Yes! Exactly what I need; thank you, John, your a great friend." With that she rushes off again.
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There's a harsh buzzing from downstairs, shortly followed by Mrs. Hudson calling up to them. "Boys! The costumes have arrived! Come get yours."
John looks over at Sherlock who seems to be staring into his microscope without recognition of the call. Sighing under his breath, John drops the paper onto the the table and heads down to get the packages.
"Oh John dear, isn't this getting exciting? I've put mine away already, but here are yours and Sherlock's. Funny, yours is bigger, but Sherlock's seems just as heavy, even though it's a third the size!"
John takes the boxes and notes that indeed the smaller one IS heavy; it might even be heavier than his. Shaking his head, John tunes back into Mrs. Hudson, who was talking this whole time. "Hmm, what was that?"
"Goodness John, I was talking about your friend Miss Sarah! I said I thought D.I. Lestrade and her make an adorable couple, don't you?"
John blinks rapidly, and thinks back to his conversation with Sarah the day before.
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Sarah blows over the top of her mocha, avoiding looking at John. Eventually she realises this only works for so long and sits back in her chair, leaving the drink to cool.
"John, I just... I just don't know what to do."
John, who was quietly watching her with his hands folded in his lap, the lid off his tea as it sits cooling on the desk, smiles helpfully. "Do about what Sarah?"
"Well, you know how those Holmes brothers think, right? You know what it's like being close to them?"
John, with an amused waggle of his hand, states indefinitely, "I wouldn't say I 'know' anything about those two, but I've survived being Sherlock's flatmate for a while now. What do you need to know?"
Sarah fixes him with a long searching look, "You seriously are trying to tell me, you are nothing more to Sherlock than a flatmate? Don't think I'm inclined to believe you!"
John stares at her in confusion for a fraction of a second; then in an effort to change the topic, repeats, "What do you need to know?"
Not noticing, or perhaps choosing not to comment on, the lack of rebuttal Sarah leans in towards him again, gathering up her drink. "Mycroft is just so confusing! Most of the time I'm sure he's just taking the piss, and then I think I see real actual emotion in his expression... I just don't know! It's not like he's anywhere as easy as Greg to read. He's so kind and considerate, just like you; I can practically read it on his face! But should that worry me too? Is he too much like you? After all we didn't work out, so does that mean Greg and I won't too? What do I do?
John looks flummoxed for a moment, then suddenly looks intrigued. "They were both chatting you up Friday night; Sherlock was right!"
Sarah flushes hotly, "Well I'm not going out with both of them. Mycroft just spent the whole night complimenting me on everything from my intelligence to my ability to put up with you and his brother! Now Greg didn't chat my ear off all night, but we are going out Wednesday for coffee, and I don't know what to think. I was so sure Mycroft was going to ask, that when Greg asked, I was looking at Mycroft as I gave my answer to him! John, they chuckled at my confusion, and Greg patiently pointed out he was the one inviting me out! I'm still embarrassed about it. What do I do?"
John blinked at her his eyes a bit wide. "Your asking me?! Sarah, you, of all people, must understand! I've failed at every relationship I've entered into since being invalided home."
"Just the normal relationships, John, which is why I think your advice will be the best for me." John fixes Sarah with a withering look, but doesn't say anything for a long moment.
"Well, thank you, John. Even just talking that whole mess out helped me a lot! I guess I just have to trust Greg won't let Mycroft do anything unseemly. I can trust Greg, can't I?"
John's frustrated look vanishes under a positive calm expression. "Yes, yes you can. I'd stake my life on it!"
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"Gracious, Mrs Hudson?! I'm pretty sure Greg barely said six words to her, how do you go from that to they'd be a good couple?"
Mrs Hudson smiles at him and gestures in the direction of her sitting room, "Come sit down and have a cup of tea with me, John." With a shrug and a glance up the stairs, he follows her into her flat.
As she bustles around with her teapot and water, Mrs Hudson watches John circumspectly, as he puts the packages down and gives Sherlock's an odd look again. Stifling a laugh, Mrs Hudson fills the cups and places spoons in the saucers; after all she knows exactly why the package is so small. "So... You were asking?"
John snaps his eyes towards her, just a fraction guiltily. "Oh yes, yes, I was confused that you had jumped to the conclusion that Sarah and Greg would make a good couple. Not that I disagree, I just... didn't think it was obvious to all and a sundry. Lestrade is a pretty subtle guy about these things."
"Mmmm. I know a few blokes like that, I think, Doctor Watson." Mrs Hudson tries, and mostly succeeds, to suppress the grin as she passes John his cup.
John just snorts and snags a biscuit too.
"No, more seriously, John, it was plain there was something going on there. Even though Mycroft was keeping Sarah's attention, every time the D.I. dropped a question into the flood of conversation, she'd respond right away!"
John's eyebrows pop up in surprise at that comment; clearly he missed a few things the other night. "You Mrs Hudson, are a very clever, observant woman."
Now her smirk wins out, and they quietly finish their tea.
"John, I... I hope you know that things can change for a person at any time in their lifetime; nothing in is written in stone."
John looks up at her over the edge of his tea cup, finishes the sip he was about to take, and places the tea cup on the tray and matches her even gaze. He can feel his face getting warmer, so he clears his throat and breaks the visual contact. "I'm aware of that, Mrs Hudson. After all I didn't set out in my Uni days to be half of an internet sensation team of crime solvers."
"Just so, John, just so." She looks down at the empty cup, "You all done? Well I guess you better get those costumes upstairs before Sherlock thinks we've done away with them."
A bit surprised at this dismissal, John just nods and pera forma kisses Mrs Hudson on the cheek as he stands. "I'll just dash then; thank you for the tea."
"Course dear," she says as she leans into the gesture, smiling. "Any time."
Just uploading this while watching the closing of the Olympic Games. Way to bloody go Britain, we kicked arse!
I wanted to thank everyone for reading, following, faving as well as reviewing. I hope I don't disappoint anyone.
Ta