Mike and Molly listened to his tale of what had happened the previous night and both were beside themselves with shock and wonder. And much to John's relief, Stamford could place a name to the mysterious Mr. Holmes, and his brother which was an added bonus.
"The Holmes are a very wealthy and influential English family, they made their money in government and Mycroft, the older one is following in his father's footsteps by taking some high position next year." He explained to John. "Sherlock is better known as a London detective, he's been in line with Scotland Yard. Solved this big Jewelry thief case… which I believe is how he met the Adlers."
John cocked his head. "Adlers?"
"Oh yes, Sherlock's engaged to the heir of a gemstone empire." Mike's eyes lit up, Molly seemed mesmerized, folding her hands over her stomach. "She's got to be worth at least one million dollars." He gushed.
Molly giggled, John's friend frowned at her. "I'm sorry, it's just… you know an awful lot about these families. I just picture you reading the gossip section of the papers like a housewife."
The thought of Mike hunched over a newspaper, eager to hear the news about what scandal has struck what household that week made John chuckle and soon both him and Molly were howling away, much to Stamford's displeasure. He stood abruptly while they were wiping their eyes. "Right then, if you two are done I'm going to go have a walk around the deck." He scowled.
John stood too, looking to Molly who shook her head. "Sorry, no, I'm not feeling up to it today. The baby's been bouncing around quite a lot and I don't think that I should be walking around."
The two men nodded understandingly, leaving her alone in the room to head up to fresh air.
Sherlock sipped his tea, looking anywhere but at Irene, who was directly in front of him. His brother and the Adlers had left them to eat together in his fiancées private quarters and the Holmes couldn't recall another time he had felt so uncomfortable. The Woman (That is what he had taken to calling her now, it seemed fitting. He had never met another female that could've thoroughly mucked up his plans better than she did. That deserved some kind of recognition, and Mycroft had severely accosted him the time he had called her She-Demon.) crossed her legs delicately and took a bite of her coffee cake, eyes flickering up to him. "You don't think that Doctor Watson will actually come to dinner tonight do you?" she asked.
"I think he will," Sherlock said, if only for the sake of disagreeing with her. "He's a very honest man and will show when invited. It'd be rude not to after all."
Irene nodded slowly. "Yes, I suppose so." She tilted her head to the side and reached across the table to stroke his face, smirking as he winced when she came in contact with the cut. "We'll have to postpone the wedding if that doesn't heal. I won't have you looking like you just stumbled out of a bar fight when I walk down the aisle."
Sherlock moved away from her reach. "Then remind me to get mugged more often, perhaps we could move it back to never." He replied coldly.
His fiancée straightened, eyes going frosty. "Money is money my dear, and it's a resource your family needs. Don't forget that." Her tone was sharp. Then a smile crept back into her features. "Now, we have an appointment to go walk around the ship with your brother and a few others aboard the ship." She murmured, standing up and walking around and bending down so their faces were level. "Do try and behave yourself." She cooed, kissing his good cheek gently before slinking off to get dressed.
Sherlock fought the urge to throw his teacup at her head.
It wasn't nearly as cold as it had been last night and John was happy to be out in the sunshine. He was looking over the playing children as he strolled side by side with Mike, chatting amiably about their plans for America.
"The clinic is going to be huge," Stamford said. "State-of-the-art technology and maybe even a mortuary for pathologists."
John chuckled. "You're describing to me St. Bart's Mike. Don't forget that it's only just a clinic."
Mike waved his hand passively. "You need to think a little bigger John, I mean, we'll expand eventually!" the excitement in his eyes wasn't hard to miss.
The other doctor nodded thoughtfully. "Yes I suppose." He murmured.
They walked in silence for a while, looking over at the sea and the other people milling about before John's friend spoke again. "Are you going to go to dinner with them tonight?" burning curiosity wasn't hard to see behind the question.
Watson shrugged. "I don't really think they want me there. I saw the look that his older brother gave me, I don't belong there."
Mike snorted. "You should just show up and shock them all, what would you wear?" he said, looking at his friend.
"Probably just my formal military uniform." John replied.
Stamford looked surprised. "You brought it with you? Good God John, burn it or something."
"Of course I brought it with me!" the soldier stated, indignant. "Its respectful to wear it to events, it shows that you served."
Mike gave him a stern look. "You've been trying to forget you served for five months now." He clucked. "I don't know why you cling so tightly to something that causes you such pain."
John looked at his friend, shrugged. "I feel like it's dishonorable to all those who didn't' make it." He murmured, limping along.
"I think the fact that you insist on hurting yourself in their name is the most dishonorable thing of all." Stamford said quietly. John's shoulder started throbbing.
Sherlock stood stiffly with Irene on his arm, smiling when necessary as Mycroft introduced him to some of his friends. "Sherlock and Irene, may I introduce you to Bruce Ismay, head of White Star Line." The older Holmes said proudly.
"Charmed," the detective said, shaking his hand.
Irene's eyes looked over him, as though appraising. "Pleasure to meet you Mr. Ismay." She purred.
"I must say the same of you Miss Adler." He replied back, kissing her hand. "Sherlock you are a very lucky man indeed." The man said, winking.
"Yes, Irene simply illuminates my life." He said thickly. The group began walking along, only stopping once for Mr. Ismay to say hello to some passengers and ask them about the service.
Mycroft immediately struck up conversation about Titanic and the building of the ship, speaking animatedly on the subject; Sherlock tuned them out and instead took to reading the expression s and body language of those walking around on deck.
That's when he saw him, walking with a plump man of about forty-five, both looking rather serious as they made their rounds one level below. Sherlock stopped, jerking Irene and making her quite cross in the process.
"Sherlock what-?"
"I'll be right back, excuse my absence to Mycroft and Brad Eskcay-."
"Bruce Ismay!" she started to correct him but he was already walking the other way, his hands in his pockets. He stepped over a group of children and stumbled to the staircase, quickly descending and following the doctor and his companion.
They seemed to be having a heated debate about something; John looked rather flustered judging by the coloring on his face. Sherlock decided that now was the best time to intervene. "Doctor Watson!" he said, not meaning to sound as breathless as he did.
Both men turned and looked quite taken aback to see him there. "What are you doing here?" Watson asked, eyes narrowing. "Come to tell me to get off of your side of the deck or something?"
Sherlock let that one slide, he had been a tosser yesterday. "No, not at all, I was actually asking after that dinner invitation. Will be you be joining us tonight?"
The doctor's eyes widened and his gaze shifted to his friend. "I'll come and find you later." He said, the plump man nodded, looking back at Sherlock before waddling away down the deck alone.
John crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the tall man before him. "Alright why do you want me to come?" he asked seriously.
Sherlock blinked. "Pardon?" he asked.
"Why do you want me there with your lot at dinner? It's obvious I don't belong there nor am I welcome." The doctor said slowly as if talking to a mentally handicapped person. The detective didn't appear to like that too much but didn't say anything.
The man before him jammed his hands into his pockets further, feeling for a cigarette. "On the contrary, you saved my life doctor, everyone is eager to see the man capable of such a feat." He murmured around the cylindrical object wedged in his mouth as he plucked a lighter from his coat breastpocket.
"You don't have to call me that you know, John works just fine." The doctor said, rubbing the back of his neck as he limped along.
This stopped the taller man; he nearly choked on the smoke he was inhaling. "Er, right, John. Then I suppose you may call me Sherlock." He said.
People were beginning to stare, as it was indeed an odd sight, a First Class socialite (or, presumed socialite. Sherlock wasn't much for social events but often found himself dragged along anyways) chatting amiably with a Third Class nobody. John looked down at the deck as they stood there, wondering what else there was to say.
Sherlock nudged his cane with his foot. "Afghanistan or Iraq?" he asked conversationally.
John's head snapped up, his expression guarded. "How did you know that?" he said lowly.
The detective smirked. "It's my job, I worked with Scotland Yard… I read people the way you might read a book."
"Yes but how did you know I was home from Afghanistan?" John asked, eyes round.
The taller man motioned for them to continue walking the way he had originally, the doctor warily complied. "I actually thought more along the lines of Iraq so I suppose I didn't deduce you correctly. It's your tan lines and the psychosomatic limp that got me. Obviously you served due to your slightly overgrown military haircut and paranoia, and there's only one place you would've been in active combat, the Middle East. So I thought I'd ask which country." He continued on conversationally. John peered at him, waiting for him to say something along the lines of "Just kidding, I heard you talking to your friend." But it never came, in fact, Sherlock just continued to stroll along happily puffing on his cigarette.
"My limp isn't psychosomatic." He muttered.
The detective raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever stopped to wonder why you limp, yet your injury is clearly in your shoulder, not your leg?" he asked. The doctor opened his mouth to reply but couldn't find anything to counter that argument and Sherlock's smirk grew. "Will you come to dinner then?" he questioned.
John looked at his unexpected companion and shrugged. "If it means so much to those First Class gits up there then I suppose…"
Sherlock smiled at him, putting his cigarette out and flicking it over the railing. "Fantastic," he said, turning around and striding off back the way they had come. The doctor watched his progress then turned, apparently unsure of what to say. "I never really had the opportunity to say thank you personally however." He called.
John waved it away. "You're already getting me dinner," he said back, cracking a good natured smile. "I'll see your lot tonight."
The Holmes opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, and then decided to simply nod and walk back off to rejoin the First Class gits. The doctor leaned heavily on his cane and breathed out loudly, wondering just what he had agreed to.