CHAPTER IV:

WHAT WE HIDE

The Wild Bunch had increased their personal fortunes and those Euros had a strong Irish perfume. Even Johnny Boy could sense the strange air when the gang opened the bags full of money. And being the good man he was, he filled the Louis Vuitton bag with Mr. Holmes's twenty percent of the money.

"I told you not to be late, John."

When John Watson arrived at the Italian restaurant at Northumberland Street, he met his new business partner sitting in a prime spot in front of the window. The place surprised John. It was modest, not cheap, but it wasn't posh either. Just cosy and it was strangely deserted. But the consulting accountant wasn't alone. Besides him was the pretty and shy assistant Molly Hooper. He was whispering something into her ear when John arrived and she left the place before the thief could say "good night".

"I wasn't sure if this was the place, it doesn't look like the restaurant Sherlock Holmes would frequent." John spoke coolly, and sat in front of Sherlock, with his back to the window.

"Be clever. Why would I meet you in a top and private restaurant where most of my acquaintances and colleagues can see us?" Said Sherlock Holmes while the thief just smiled at him.

"Touché."

The blonde thief moved the expensive and also heavy bag to Holmes's feet, and the dark haired man smiled.

"It's a little bit heavier than it looks on a calculator, isn't it? You posh people like this stuff, don't you?" John asked playfully.

"Didn't expect less of you, John. I see you didn't think much of the black eye."

"I would like to have obliged."

"But from a professional point of view, just didn't seem natural."

If it were the Olympics of Flirting, both men could have won all the Gold Medals, because John was determinate to get something more than a shake of hands from Sherlock Holmes. He didn't care if the man was married. And the consulting accountant had a proposal to make.

"My wife is giving a party this Friday. Most of the high British society will be attending." Sherlock Holmes said, while quickly typing on his BlackBerry, hardly looking at the screen. His grey eyes were fixated on the window behind Watson.

"Do you want me to attend?" That's all Johnny Boy could say. Because he understood that, somehow, Holmes was inviting him.

"Irene took my skull. And I can't walk around people with my skull," Sherlock, the invincible and talented consulting accountant, replied.

"A skull? So I'm simply filling in for your skull?"

"Bring your friends with you. Make it look casual. I'll have more job offers for you." This time, the beautiful assistant Molly appeared and handed her employer his long dark coat, which he took with a quiet "thank you".

"I said I was going to turn down your jobs, Mister Holmes," John said, also standing up, ready to leave.

"You won't turn down any of my offers, John."

John laughed sarcastically. "Or what? Oh, does your powerful wife Irene Adler have another file? Photographs of us? Are you going to send us to prison using your wife's power? I thought you were an independent man, Holmes. But here I see poor Molly handing your coat, taking your mobile from your trousers and allowing you to touch her whenever you want and wherever you want. I won't accept your jobs."

Sherlock Holmes laughed. He laughed and it echoed on the deserted restaurant. His assistant looked surprised at John and this only told him he must have been the first man talking at the consulting accountant like that.

"You, a man who had assisted on the medical camps of Afghanistan to accomplish a five-years sentence after a stupid Bank assault, had come back in London only to find out your sister's drinking problems had gotten worst, and the gang you had led had become rusty, unemployed and almost living with stupid and useless jobs. John Watson, don't bring Irene Adler to our conversations if you want to continue stealing Bison skulls from the British museum. I'm offering you millions of Euros-"

"So what? You keep doing that thing, that trick. But in the end, you are the one who hides behind his wife's skirts." John replied calmly but he knew he had touched a nerve. Because the taller man with the grey eyes and the sharp and high cheekbones stepped forwards until they faces were merely inches away.

"It's not a trick. I observe things that people like you, idiots, don't, because you merely see. I use my brain unlike many others. Do you want to know, Mister Watson, what I'm observing now? Shall I say it? You're an honest man, a good man. You hate this life and what it does to your sister and your friends. You don't want to live on the dark side any more."

"Is that all?" asked Johnny Boy, trying to walk backwards only to meet the window behind him.

"Oh, there's more. There is something you hide behind that mask of the macho, of the straight and virile man. Meet me next Friday and bring your Wild Bunch with you."

The dark haired man left the place and behind him ran his assistant on high heels. And John Watson knew he was fucked up.


"You promised it, mate! You know we don't like that posh pup."

The next day, the head of the Wild Bunch was sitting with Lestrade and Harry inside Speedy's. It was hard to enjoy a warm cuppa when the main subject was Sherlock Holmes, and your mate and your right hand and also sister are against you.

"I know. But he can help us, Greg. His wife is very powerful and I bet on my life she can get us the files we need to stop Harry's court case. And we need to find out who the fucking informer is."

Harry sighed deeply and loudly. It was something John hated and she knew it. "I don't like that bloke either, Johnny. But if he has some information I'll plan a good job. I'll fucking prepare it all myself if you need it. I'm facing a five. A five fucking years thanks for that fucking informer. Tell that posh pup we will do it."
With the corrupt DI of Scotland Yard's and Harry's approvals John decided he was going to work for Sherlock Holmes one more time.

"Are you gonna tell Sally and Anderson?" asked Greg, getting ready to go back to the Yard.

"I don't give a fuck about them. This is my gang after all and if they want to belong to us, they will do what I say."

"Getting bossy, aren't we?" From out of the blue, Molly Hooper appeared on the cafe, making an extremely loud noise with her high and expensive heels on the white and clean floor of Speedy's. Lestrade took off his dark glasses as soon as he saw her. Harry's green eyes scanned the feminine figure in front of their table thoroughly and looked down to her tight dark dress. Her blonde hair was up on a tight and perfect pony tail and the subtle make-up was perfect for her.

"Morning. I'm here for Mr. Holmes, he couldn't make it. He sends you this, Mr. Watson." Despite the fact Molly sounded confident her face didn't match her words. She was blushing and her ears were as red as her cheeks.

"Holmes sent me this?" Finally, after seconds that lasted like hours to Molly, John asked her when he received the blue package. She nodded and her phone rang as soon as her hands were free.

"I'm sorry, he needs me now. He also said you can find his address inside the package. Good bye, Mister Watson." Greg, the womanizer of the gang, followed her outside and helped her to get into her dark car and closed the door.

John opened the package and soon his blue eyes met a blue-stripped jumper with an envelope.

'666 Belgravia Street. 10 p.m.
Wear
this.
SH'

"Harry... I think we have a party to attend and a new job to do."