A/N: Disclaimer.
Late chapter is late, sorry guys - my housemates just left on Friday for warmer places over spring break, so I spent lots of time with them and less time writing this week. Anyways, hope you enjoy! This scene wound up taking a lot more space than was intended, oops?
Chapter 4: The Pursuit
Sherlock swept out onto Baker Street on Tuesday morning with a vibrancy that had been absent since his last good murder, a great many months ago. He paused to get a whiff of the morning London air, absently cataloguing the familiar scents as he peered up and down the street. Motor oil, the ink of newsprint from the morning paper delivery, various baked goods from Speedy's café – smells as if the special today is a cheese tart of some kind. John will be disappointed, those are his favorite.
However it was not the smells that were of interest this morning, but the view; mid-morning on a Tuesday was certainly not the peak hour of traffic for Baker Street, so the detective's perfunctory glance around was actually quite informative.
His eyes slid over the apartment blocks across the way, noting signs of damage and strain on the doorframe. Looks like someone's had a domestic again and tried to take it out on the door. The blue car idling in front of the flat a few blocks down – must be going on holiday to the country, with all of that equipment on the luggage rack – drew the attention of the entire street when the man behind the wheel started laying on the horn. Sherlock continued to observe as the family in question noisily streamed out of the flat, piling into the car with last minute items in hand, and drove off.
But most of interest…
There, he thought, pinpointing one of Mycroft's 'nondescript' black cars parked just behind the space the family had occupied. They're only nondescript when noticing them doesn't automatically indicate you've got a watcher, Sherlock snorted.
Nothing for it then, the tube will have to do, he decided, hitching his duffel bag a little higher on his shoulder and abruptly striding off towards the nearest station.
It was barely audible, but Sherlock had his ears trained, waiting for the soft slam of a car door indicating the man had decided to follow afoot. At least this one's got some brains, he thought. The last one had been determined to stay in his car the whole time, really tripped up when I made for the tube, he smirked, pleased.
Upon descending into the depths of the tube station, he made for the most rapidly moving lane – lane one hasn't even got his card out yet, two's weighed down with several large bags, three's out of order, ahhh the businessman in lane four; late for work this morning? Perfect. He swiped his oyster card just after the man in question and found himself a bit of wall to lean against while waiting for the train.
The vantage point gave him a clear view from his peripherals of the man following him: dark hair and eyes, moderately priced suit, though not as high end as the ones Mycroft usually employs. He was wearing an earpiece, into which he was now frantically muttering. Bit nervous, this one. Thirty seconds without a visual and he's already panicking to his superiors.
When the motion out of the corner of his eye diminished into the mundane task of pulling out a paper to read, Sherlock figured the man had caught sight of him again. Play along till the train arrives? John suggested, with an air of exasperation.
Sherlock nodded decisively, and occupied himself with counting the various ways this tube station had broken the health inspector's code. It wasn't exactly a fun game, since he was in and out of this particular station fairly regularly and had a passing knowledge of it all already, but it engaged the five minutes necessary without giving the man much to report back.
When the train arrived, Sherlock headed immediately for the door to the carriage in the direction furthest from the stalker, towards the front area. The man following him slipped into the carriage just behind his in an effort to remain unnoticed; fool move, Sherlock thought, because it gave him plenty of time to swap clothing. He ducked behind a rather large man – must be over two meters at least – who had been forced by the sudden influx of people to lunge for the support pole to avoid falling into the middle-aged woman seated in front of him. Sherlock started peeling off his outer coat as soon as the doors shut, while the man was distracted apologizing to the woman. His fingers quickly ran down the buttons of his shirt in a practiced motion, a vague frown on his face as he tried to plan his next move.
As he was untucking his shirt, he belatedly realized the murmuring wasn't the usual purposeless chatter of a crowd waiting for their stop; rather he happened to be the focus of it and what looked to be several gawping looks, most likely for undressing on the tube, John commented in a blasé manner.
The detective scoffed at one blatant offender, "Oh relax, would you? I've just got a stain on my shirt and need to swap it before work."
His words appeased most of his audience, so he quickly stripped the shirt off to reveal his undershirt –
"That's no' coming off too, is it?" Asked one older man still giving him the stink eye.
And that's why taking a cab would have been better – the smarter ones don't ask questions. Damn Mycroft.
Sherlock just sneered at the man and reached into the duffel at his feet for a British-flag patterned t-shirt, one he'd picked up off a street vendor for eight quid a few days ago. He drew it out with a flourish in the man's direction for good measure, before pulling it over his head. A hasty glance behind him showed he was still safely ensconced behind the large pole-clinger, so he extracted the matching baseball cap and donned it quickly.
"Your boss ought to fire you for coming in in that," the old man grumbled, still peeved.
Sherlock ignored him and stuffed his previous garb into the bag, counting down the stops until he could get off. As luck would have it, the large man hopped off a few stops early; Sherlock spied from under the brim of his cap as the stalker belatedly realized that the object obstructing his view of his target through the compartment windows was gone, and yet he still could not see Sherlock's coat. The panicked glance out the closing doors, the frantic lunge past the crowd, and the way he broke into a run after emerging from his carriage all told Sherlock that he'd succeeded in losing his tail.
Excellent, he smirked. You're a bad man, John laughed. Mycroft will have a fit.
I do look ridiculous, the old man was right, he thought after catching a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a shop window.
Because the deerstalker is so much better? John asked sarcastically. And there're photographs of that one. Enjoy your anonymity.
After ditching his stalker, Sherlock only had to wait a few stops before arriving at his destination. A leisurely stroll out of the tube for a few blocks led him here, where brightly colored posters decorated the massive gates in front of him, all loudly proclaiming, "Welcome to the London Zoo!"
The detective breezed through the ticket counter and bag check with the masses, giving the map in his hand a cursory glance. The home was schedule to have dropped off their children at 9:45, just before the zoo opened; it was half-ten now, so Sherlock would have to do a bit of searching to find the boy in the crowd.
Or let him come to me…
There were several picnic areas sprinkled throughout the park according to the map, some isolated near particularly interesting exhibits, but the majority clustered around the Terrace Restaurant; Lunch was 'included' on the event schedule, so best bet is that restaurant – the other places are kiosks at best as stated by the website. They've got small children with them who get hungry quickly, and will want to avoid most of the crush to keep from losing anyone – so probably a table or two reserved for an early lunch on the outskirts? That gives me about half an hour to get in place, he estimated roughly.
Sherlock began walking down the most direct path towards the canteen, made easier by the lively animal-themed signs helpfully providing directions at every possible intersection.
He soon came out to a large, open patio, covered in wrought iron chairs and tables laden with the stains of an outdoor life – there were signs they had been spottily scrubbed recently, but Sherlock noticed people leaning around the larger dabs of pigeon excrement. The crowd was paltry at the moment, a few families having a late morning tea before beginning the excitement. The smells of cooking from the kitchen indicated the restaurant expected business would soon pick up though; Sherlock began perusing the outskirts, looking for any kind of reservation sign on the larger tables.
Nothing in place yet, and twenty minutes left. Perhaps the staff just hasn't laid them out yet? No, they'd risk the tables filling up; wouldn't want to do that to such a large group of prospective clients.
Check upstairs? John proposed, drawing Sherlock's attention to the glass-lined terrace a floor up. Of course, the "Terrace Restaurant?" Stupid, Sherlock, they'd want the best view, he chided himself.
A set of outdoor stairs to the right quickly brought him to the second level; a sweeping glance revealed roughly the same number of occupants as below, though there are two longer tables over at the edge there, and a woman who looks as if she's waiting – book in front of her, but she keeps glancing around, searching for her party. Maybe they're inside getting food?
It was an educated deduction, but the only way to be sure was to slip inside and confirm for himself.
The interior was similar to a higher-end restaurant, clearly refurbished more recently than the outdoor furniture. A glass paneled expanse to the right provided more space for eating. To the left was a darker hallway that presumably led to the other set of stairs. Sherlock passed both the female and male loos before coming to the mouth of the steps, but the hallway extended a bit beyond that.
Second set of kitchens? John guessed.
No, I don't think so, Sherlock responded as he took a step down the hallway. A sign on the first door declared it the "Elephant room."
Of course! Party rooms – what better way to keep the children corralled than to lock them all in a room for lunch? If not the elephant room, then the next one down –
The orange placard on the second door enthusiastically proclaimed itself the "Tiger room;" just below was a white piece of paper with the typed notification that the room was reserved for the "St. James' party."
Bingo.
Slight hang up though, Sherlock – you can't exactly lie in wait in the room. Sherlock waved his hands in a dismissive manner at John's voice of practicality. It was no bother that he couldn't begin his observation at lunch, he'd just needed confirmation of the boy's whereabouts without having to traipse across the entire park to find him. With that issue settled, Sherlock headed back outside to a small table pressed up against the glass railing of the second level eating area, prepared to hold vigil until the boy arrived.
A server came by shortly to inquire as to what he needed; Sherlock requested tea and the morning paper. He didn't have a book to occupy himself like the other woman waiting, so he took a page from his morning stalker and gave himself something commonplace to do.
It wasn't long before Sherlock spied a group of around forty children trooping up to the restaurant, herded by eight volunteers. Closer inspection showed that everyone had some sort of a nametag, this time in the shape of different animals and colors. No, only eight different animals, and each animal has its own colors – a grouping system, then, to tie some of the children with the adults.
His eyes caught sight of the boy, somewhere in the back of the herd. A green turtle marked his chest, which Sherlock matched to a middle-aged woman in a sundress near the front of the pack. That's who I'll need to be keeping a look out for.
The boy appeared happy, a light on his face that had certainly been absent the first day they met at the playground. The look of wonder from the concert was back, eyes big as he tried to intake everything about his surroundings. Sherlock observed from above until the boy disappeared into the restaurant below him, and settled in to wait once more.
When he had seen the trip to the zoo listed as an activity, the detective had known this would be a much different encounter from the concert: the zoo was an enormous, open area with a constant flux of visitors in and out. At the home, the boy had had the advantage of a closed environment, controlled entry, and familiarity with around fifty percent of the people present, not to mention that those fifty percent were easily identifiable due to the height differences between them and the ones he was unfamiliar with.
It would be a waste of time to situate himself somewhere in the zoo and wait for the boy to notice him. Considering the boy's likely elevated excitement level, the difficulty of searching through such a large crowd, and the fact that he might not be expecting Sherlock (it had been not even four days from the concert, and the only data the boy had to extract from had been the week he'd waited previously), the likelihood of finding a passive Sherlock was next to none.
So Sherlock decided to approach this meeting completely differently and go on the offensive a bit. His ensemble would help with blending into the background: he'd specifically chosen nondescript tourist clothing that would camouflage key identifying features, such as his hair, and a camera lens from the duffel would do much to hide his face – As my wedding proved, John sighed, put out – although the model chosen was notable for its rather loud shutter noise.
All of this boiled down to one fact: Sherlock wasn't playing fair this time.
Let's see how he does with a follower.
Roughly an hour after the children had trooped in, they stampeded out of the restaurant with barely contained excitement. Sherlock had maintained his post at the railing, watching as the park filled up, tea stone cold and untouched beside him.
Time to begin.
He reached into the duffel resting by his chair and drew out his camera, starting to take photos of the area around him. And if the boy and his turtle group featured heavily in some of the latter shots, no one was around to call him out for it.
There they were, separated into eight single file lines, each with an adult at the head.
Click.
A zoomed in shot displayed the practically vibrating children calling out where they wanted to go first.
Click.
The woman with the orange mouse, calmly holding counsel with the other adults, most likely about when and where to meet up.
Click.
Finally, the boy, equally excited but mouth shut, merely shifting side to side repeatedly.
Click.
And with that, they were off, splitting into groups on the three paths that led back to the zoo proper. Bill settled some time ago, Sherlock quickly grabbed his bag and hopped down the outside stairs onto the leftmost path, the one the turtles and purple cats had taken. A sign declared it the way to the penguins, parrots, and the "Butterfly Paradise," much to the elation of the five little girls that comprised the purple cats.
Sherlock maintained a good distance between himself and the two groups at first, content to start slow. He busied himself snapping photos of the general surroundings periodically, pausing at the penguin exhibit with the ebb and flow of the bevy of families separating him from the children.
In the butterfly conservatory he took the chance to draw closer to the boy. The purple cats' monitor had enlisted the services of the turtles' woman to help contain the little girls, who were charging after the butterflies in the hopes of attracting their attention.
"Girls, girls! You mustn't chase after them like that, they're fragile!" The cat woman cried, hastening after three of her charges. The children were halfway off the path already, attempting to hunt down several Danaus plexippus.
You could just call them 'Monarch butterflies' like everyone else, John murmured in fond exasperation.
Everything has a proper name, Sherlock returned snippily, distracted with taking a shot of the cautious face of the boy; he'd paused several feet away from his group and seemed intently focused on something Sherlock couldn't see.
Says the man who can't even remember Lestrade's first name? John countered. Sherlock could imagine the incredulous look on his face, akin to the one he'd worn after finding out Sherlock had deleted information about the solar system.
Do shut up, I'm working.
"No you don't, dearie," came the admonishing voice of the turtle woman as she grasped a fourth little girl about the waist, preventing a pounce onto a Papilio machaon.
Yellow swallowtail, John whispered, just to be contrary.
Sherlock ignored him, clicking away. He moved a few steps nearer, trying to figure out what on earth the boy was concentrating on so hard. Camera still lifted to his face, he finally caught sight of the Aphantopus hyperantus delicately resting on the back of the boy's slightly out-reached hand.
It's just a Ringlet, they're all over the place around here, John voiced, surprised.
Sherlock noted the look of care on the boy's face, as if greeting an old friend. A hint of that wonder was back, which Sherlock found rather remarkable. Instead of chasing after the more brightly colored butterflies as his peers had done, the boy was entirely wrapped up with a plain brown one he probably saw everyday in the summer. Only one eye on each wing, nothing particularly fascinating about the pattern, so why does he seem so entranced?
Click.
Wrapped up in his thoughts, the detective had absently pressed the shutter; the noise startled the Ringlet into taking off for a tree.
Sherlock reached for something to say in the face of the boy's disappointment. "Ah, sorry mate; made for a great shot though?" he offered.
The boy merely affected a ghost of a smile, not bothering to properly look at the man who had interrupted him. Sherlock seized his chance and made off towards the exit before the boy began to pay closer attention. They had the entire day in front of them, and he didn't want to spoil the game just yet.
He loitered near the flamingoes, just outside of the conservatory. He'd wanted to regain a little ground between them, but several different paths conjoined here, and he wasn't certain which direction they'd take. The big cats, the bugs, or the monkeys? If it was just the boys, I'd put money on the bug house, but that purple cat monitor looked as if she wanted to stay latched onto the turtle woman for help; the girls probably won't even be willing to step foot in the bug area.
He heard the wail of the purple cat woman before anything else. "Girls, please, wait just a moment! We need to figure out where we want to go next!"
"The lions!" One of the girls shrieked, quickly drawing approving noises from the rest of her group.
It might have been decided then, but a little blond turtle caught sight of the sign displaying pictures of the arachnids in the bug house and demanded to go there next. He immediately clamped onto another turtle and started towing him in that direction before being halted by the monitor. Sherlock noted his boy looking back and forth between the two groups, green eyes somewhat distressed.
The girls, just like Sherlock predicted, absolutely refused to visit the bug area. Sherlock caught a nice shot of the somewhat queasy look on the cat woman's face; apparently not much for bugs herself.
But the turtle woman was apparently made of sterner stuff, because she gently suggested the purple cats go to see the lions, while she took the turtles through the bug house, then the monkeys, then on towards the cats.
"It's all one big loop, you see," she told the purple cat woman, with a soft pat on her hand. "We'll meet you on the other side,"
"But I want to see the monkeys too," one little cat with pigtails objected.
The first girl, the one who had sparked the outcry for lions, wrinkled her nose at that. "No you don't," she said bossily, "they'll get all over your hair and pick at you for bugs!" She demonstrated, attacking the other girl's pigtails.
"Kelly stop it, leave Madison alone!" The cat woman chided.
The turtle woman broke in then, "And look Madison, the map says there are spider monkeys and macaques in a separate exhibit right next door to the lions, too. I'm sure Miss Pamela will take you to see them while you're waiting for us."
Miss Pamela just nodded and told the girls to, "Come along now! It's not far, and I think they've got a feeding show for the tigers in fifteen minutes."
Sherlock snapped a few more pictures of the flamingoes to bide his time before following the turtles into the bug house. He slowly perused the exhibit, hiding behind a family with a particularly obnoxious ten year old. Sherlock was counting all the different poisonous bugs on display and the effects their toxins had on the human body to block out the annoying family, while keeping an eye on his turtle.
The boy didn't seem to feel one way or another about the various insects on display; he wasn't overly enthusiastic the way the blond had been, who was now zooming back and forth across the hall, nose pressed up against the glass, or even vaguely apprehensive, like some of the adults present who tended to keep away from the walls. Food for thought.
They soon reached the exit of the house and headed for the "Meet the Monkeys" area, pausing briefly to exclaim over the anteaters – "What the devil are those?" came the blond's sidekick. He was quickly scolded for language by the turtle monitor, before she read off the information plaque and ushered them onwards. Probably wants to meet up with the purple cat woman sooner rather than later.
Sherlock was clicking away again - the boy's eyes had gone wide, and he lingered near the anteaters, gaze sliding around the bushy tail, the lumbering stride, the long, thin face.
One last click had the boy whirling to glimpse Sherlock standing a good five meters away, camera still in place. He had a peculiar look on his face, trying to work something out. Sherlock just twisted a bit to get a different angle of the animal behind the boy, ignoring him completely.
The child remained only a moment longer, and then scampered off before his group had the chance to notice he was missing.
He's beginning to see, Sherlock thought to himself.
The monkeys had been amusing; they held no qualms about jumping around on the visitors, much to the delight of the children. But they were certainly not shy about letting people know when they'd had enough – a particularly unfortunate man had ended up with a face full of fruit for getting a little too close to an antisocial one in the hopes of a good picture.
Nearly lost your camera there, too, John laughed. Sherlock gave a wry smile at that: one had been exceedingly fascinated with the ties attached to the zipper of his duffel bag, still thrown over his shoulder. The detective had been caught unawares, as the monkey approached from above while he was taking photos at the outskirts. A sudden weight on his shoulders unbalanced the shot and nearly caused Sherlock to drop his camera.
What the –
You seem to have acquired a new friend, John snickered. The detective arched his neck, craning around to see what on earth had happened. When it became apparent a monkey was nibbling on his zipper, he gave himself a shake, trying to dislodge it, to no avail.
Where's Lestrade and his camera phone when you need it? John was nearly beside himself in Sherlock's head now, to Sherlock's growing annoyance. He briefly contemplated ripping the creature off – NOT GOOD, Sherlock, really not good! John yelled, sobering. There're children around, one in particular you're trying to impress, remember?
I'm not trying to impress him, John, I'm evaluating him. There's a difference, he responded. Nevertheless John's voice had done the job and he calmly crouched to set his camera down before beginning to undo the tie on the zipper that had enthralled the creature so much. Once he had it loose, the monkey eagerly grabbed it and scurried away up a tree. The detective had stood up after him, picking up his camera once more to take a shot of the monkey, only to hear quiet giggles of the boy behind him.
It seems you cannot remain unnoticed on the outskirts after all.
Sherlock turned and snapped a blatant photo of the boy laughing at him, a faint smirk evident just below the camera. The boy's giggles slowed and he gave the detective that considering look again, but Sherlock just sauntered off under the pretext of framing another shot, camera still in front of his face.
He had left the monkey area ahead of the children, eager to avoid anymore incidents. I'm not a climbing frame, he sniffed. I hope you teach your child that, John. I'll not have it clambering all over me.
Mental John didn't dignify that with a response, although Sherlock did get the impression of rolled eyes somewhere in there.
Sherlock followed the signs to the lions' exhibit, to head off the reunion between the turtles and cats. He found no sign of the little girls and briefly wondered if they'd finally escaped their monitor after all, until he caught sight of an entirely too calm Miss Pamela for that to be the case. Further scrutiny – there, that's one of the pigtails – showed the little girls had pressed themselves as close to the bars as possible, in front of several larger children and adults.
It was just as he was deciding whether to draw nearer or find somewhere more obscure to linger that his phone began to ring from within his trouser pocket. A quick glance at the screen revealed it was his brother, probably calling to check up on me after this morning. Sherlock knew if he didn't answer it a whole slew of problems could crop up, so despite how little he wanted to talk to his brother just then, he ran his thumb across the screen and pulled his phone towards his ear.
"Yes, brother dear? I'm working," he drawled, trying to convey the depths of his annoyance in his voice alone. He'd perfected the sulking act long ago because he knew it peeved Mycroft the most; it was less effective across the phone, but exasperation and indignation were an art form to the Holmes' brothers.
"What on earth are you doing at a zoo, Sherlock?" Mycroft demanded from the other end.
"Data for a case," Sherlock stated, careful to maintain the air of irritation, but not draw Mycroft's interest too much. He began to pace on the edge of the path a bit, leaving the way clear for passerby.
"Something you couldn't locate online?" Sherlock could hear the eyebrow raise, the quiet dig for answers.
"A question of texture," he responded, before going on the offensive. "And do stop sending your newest minions to follow me, Mycroft, it's getting entirely too troublesome to avoid them," he sneered.
"Problems, brother dear?" Mycroft taunted back.
"Hardly," he said, voice full of scorn. "I'm not someone you can conveniently lob your raw recruits on, Mycroft, so that they can gain experience before being tossed out into the big, bad world." His eyes narrowed as he stared down a light pole nearby, emphasizing the end of his sentence.
"Stop having me followed, or at least be a little more subtle about it: I just might break one of your new toys," he threatened obliquely, before his brother had a chance to respond. He took the moment of silence on the other end as acquiescence and hung up, shoving his phone back into his pocket. A beeping noise informed him he'd received a text, but he chose to ignore it for the moment.
He turned back towards the lions, bringing the camera back up to his face. A quick flick of the zoom feature helped him to locate the purple cat monitor again, only to see she'd been joined at the fence line by the turtles when he had his back turned. Must've come up the path when I wasn't paying attention, he thought.
He searched for the boy next, finding him against the fence as well, hand wrapped loosely around the bars as he stared not at the cats, but in the detective's direction with a vague frown.
He has noticed me then. But he still looks troubled, can't decide if it's just paranoia – after all, there is something of a natural progression between the exhibits; I've seen that girl in the green blouse on eight separate occasions to the hour, not to mention that obnoxious family that was with us until catching sight of the washrooms across the way. Let's see what he does with it.
Though the girls were still quite enthralled with the giant cats, the boys were soon eager to be off again. Miss Pamela, seeming to have grown a spine in the time they'd been separated, succeeded in pulling her charges away from the lions with the promise of a petting zoo, and headed off in that direction. The turtles were decidedly not content to pet sheep, and thus went their own way once more.
They meandered through the llamas, alpacas and camels, exclaimed over the komodo dragons, and gleefully mimicked the wallabies, hopping all over the place for a good several minutes.
The boy had taken to walking behind the group a ways; his gaze still displayed awe over the animals, but he seemed to be on the lookout as well. Sherlock had felt eyes on him more than once, though he still kept up the pretense of photographing the animals.
"Harry? Do keep up, dear," the monitor chided gently.
"…Sorry Miss Dana," he chirruped back after a moment more.
"Are you tired? We're almost back to the entrance, headed back to the home in a bit," she offered kindly.
"No," the boy shook his head, "I'm fine," was all the response he gave her. And yet he continues to separate himself from the group…
He's trying to draw my attention, Sherlock realized belatedly. It had been subtle, but as the detective paused to evaluate his photos, he noted that less and less of the pictures had included the entire turtle group; the most recent shots were just focused on the boy, with a few background images here and there when Sherlock was trying to maintain his cover.
Clever child, Sherlock mused.
"Now boys," the voice of the monitor broke in from up ahead, "we've only got half an hour left before the bus will be back to pick us up."
Complaints instantly cropped up, whining about staying longer. "Boys, boys! Listen up, lads. I'm letting you decide what you want to do last – the entrances to both the aquarium and the reptile house are just here. I'm going to be sitting on that bench right over there," she pointed to a bench resting beneath a nearby tree, with a clear view of both exits, "and I'll wait for you. Come find me immediately after you're done, or you'll be grounded for the next month," she warned.
The boys were vibrating again – do all children do that? Sherlock wondered abstractly – and quickly bolted off, three for the reptile house, but his boy and one other, a younger child who looked fearfully in the direction of the reptiles, walked towards the aquarium. Sherlock was somewhat relieved to note that it was neither the blond nor his partner, the most boisterous of the lot; after a moment, the green-eyed boy reached out and took the hand of the younger child, leading him inside.
Bit irresponsible of her, isn't it? John asked in a mild tone.
Not really, Sherlock thought back absently as he dutifully slipped into the aquarium. There's only one way in and out of these buildings, and despite how excited they were, the boys are showing signs of fatigue – they'll be wanting to leave soon as it is.
Her bench is also an excellent vantage point; money is it was designed that way for this express purpose.
A sign nearby requested that no photography be employed inside due to the flash upsetting the fish, so Sherlock let the camera dangle loosely from his left hand. He'd waited long enough outside that the boys were already a room ahead, so he leisurely strolled through the exhibits, brushing up on his tropical fish knowledge.
The next room bore the rather ominous title, "Secrets of the Deep;" images of the Melanocetus johnsonii – alright, the humpback anglerfish, he thought, heading off John's scoff – decorated the walls, including various factoids about those organisms that dwelled below the epipelagic zone.
Rather ugly, isn't it? John commented in response to the seemingly disproportional fish, its bulbous head entirely full of giant teeth.
What do fish care for beauty? Sherlock disparaged back. It's efficient – an innocent-looking lure to draw in its prey, something that's evolved completely naturally? That's elegance.
He prowled around the room as John fell silent, taking the time to read the blurbs of interest. This was information he had little use for, as it discussed the goings-on of the deepest parts of the ocean; if Sherlock had ever known any of it, he'd deleted it long ago and probably would again shortly, but it passed the time for now and was mildly diverting.
Having perused everything of note here, he moved on to the next room. It held several tanks set into the walls with more text about their contents, along with several pillars permitting a three-hundred-sixty degree view of jellyfish, leafy sea dragons, king crabs, and clownfish.
Several people clustered around the pillars and the various exhibits; a few rested on the low benches provided in the middle of the room, including the boy, who was staring straight at Sherlock. He gestured towards the spot next to him in invitation. Sherlock considered his options and joined the boy, keeping his eyes focused on the room around them.
"And where's your young charge?" he inquired politely, in reference to the younger child from earlier.
"Joshua's trying to get a look at the jellyfish," the boy replied, gesturing towards one of the pillars. He took control of the situation then, stating baldly, "You've been taking pictures of me."
"Have I?" Sherlock asked, watching one of the crabs scuttle about its home. The boy hadn't made it clear yet that he understood it was Sherlock, so Sherlock pretended ignorance. "I suppose you've been in a few of my shots, yes, but that's hardly my fault – you were in the way of the animals."
"Let me see them," the boy demanded, surprising Sherlock into looking at him at last.
From this close, without the camera in the way, the boy was able to finally get a good peek at his eyes. He searched them for a moment, before letting out a quiet exhale.
"Oh good, it is you," he confirmed, relaxing.
Always the eyes that give me away, Sherlock thought.
They are pretty distinctive, John agreed at the back of his mind. The papers have called you piercing before, because of them.
"Very good," the detective said aloud, when it became apparent the boy was waiting for some sort of response. "That's twice now, once more to go."
The boy merely nodded, a somber look coming over him for a moment. He visibly pushed it away, before asking courteously, "How did you like the zoo?"
"It was a…novel experience," Sherlock conceded, a faint smile easing onto his face.
The boy began to grin, a slow, bright look. "Monkeys not your favorite?" He teased lightly, giving Sherlock a sidelong glance.
Sherlock just snorted. "I think you could say he got the better of me."
The boy nodded again, a happier motion than before. "I've never been to the zoo, either," he confessed.
Sherlock had guessed as much from the awestruck looks occupying half of his camera memory, but remained silent, letting the boy share what he wanted.
"It was pretty amazing," the boy added. "I think I'd like to come back someday. The animals all seem pretty happy here; it was…nice."
Sherlock wondered at that last sentence; the boy seemed to be referencing something else, but without more data Sherlock couldn't extrapolate what, and he could tell pushing now would be detrimental. While he might not know much about people, he did know how to get information out of a witness: now was not the time to go about digging.
So instead he opened his mouth to impart some trivial comment about the lions, when they were interrupted by who he belatedly recognized to be Joshua.
"Harry? I'm done with the jellyfish," he announced, questioningly glancing over at Sherlock.
The boy stood up and took Joshua's hand again, as Sherlock looked at his watch.
"You'd best be off – your thirty minutes are nearly up," he told them, remaining seated.
"Are you coming?" Harry asked, pausing as Joshua tried to tug him along in alarm at the news.
"Think I'll have a look at the sharks," Sherlock shook his head, pointing along the wall behind him.
"See you later, then," the boy dipped his head, allowing Joshua to lead him back towards the entrance.
"Until next time," Sherlock commented at his back. He reclined for a minute more, processing the events of the day. Quite interesting, all told. He really did get up and have a look at the sharks then, partially out of curiosity but also to give the children time to regroup. Now that he'd been 'caught,' it was no longer imperative he observe their movements.
The sharks were rather chilling, with that dead-eyed stare penetrating through the tempered glass. They were ensconced behind a huge panel occupying the entirety of the back wall; some zoo employee was trussed up in divers' gear cleaning in the background. Sherlock observed for a few minutes before turning again to the other exhibits in the room, less interested in the sharks than he had initially thought.
That's been long enough, he decided after roaming the entire room. At least fifteen minutes. He made his way back outside, sunlight bright after the coolly lit aquarium. A quick glance confirmed the turtles were no longer occupying the nearby bench, so he headed towards the exit; it wasn't far from the aquarium, as they'd done quite the loop of the park today.
Sherlock caught a glimpse of a school bus pulling out as he stepped through the exit; a hand waved at him from one of the back windows, and he found himself giving a quick gesture back.
Shaking his head slightly in surprise, he turned to hail a cab back to Baker Street. As he was getting in the car, he pulled out his phone to read the text from earlier:
Be sure not to bring home any more pets, dear brother. It seems that one was enough, don't you think? – MH.
A/N: To all the anonymous/guest reviewers out there, I can't say thank you personally, but please know that your feedback is greatly appreciated and loved! It makes me stupid happy to hear people are enjoying this. I got a review on Friday asking where the chapter was, which both made me laugh and did a good job to kick my butt into writing gear. To everyone else who has kindly left words for this story/followed/favorited, thank you very much!
Anyways, as I said up top, sorry this didn't get out on Friday, although in my defense it is still the weekend :D. Aside from the housemate craziness, this chapter was sitting at 1500 words for days, refusing to be written. And then it turned into this mammoth. Originally we were supposed to fit both visits two and three in this chapter and be done with the game, but that obviously didn't happen. Hope this was entertaining enough!
On the London Zoo, I've never actually been myself, but I did base the path they travel on a true map of the zoo. You can google it if you're interested in following along, although I think they've got a 2011 version up, so the Terrace Restaurant is currently labeled as the Oasis Cafe on there. [It does exist though - google it too!]
On a side note to satisfy my curiosity, how many of you saw 'zoo' or 'reptile house' and immediately thought - Here comes the parseltongue/magic? And how many are disappointed it didn't end up happening? XD. We'll get there eventually, promise.
Much love,
Kris
