Chapter 6 1-6-10
"Good morning John." Sherlock walked out of his bedroom.
"Oh good morning." John grabbed the television remote and turned it off. "So where is the birthday girl?"
"Still sleeping; we did stay up late last night."
John raised an eyebrow; he himself had been up late writing.
"You celebrated her birthday a little early 'eh?" He asked, stepping into the kitchen.
"Yes I suppose." Sherlock poured himself a cup of coffee.
"Well good for you." John said, giving his friend a wolfish grin.
Sherlock smiled back.
"Good morning chaps." Emma yawned and ran a hand through her messy hair.
"Oh listen to that; you sound more English every day." John smiled and poured her a cup of coffee.
"Thanks." She took a sip and licked her lips. "Has anyone made breakfast yet?"
"I was just about to start; what do we want?" Sherlock asked, turning to the stove.
"Whatever we've got I suppose." Emmaline shrugged and took another sip of coffee.
Sherlock reached down and pulled something out of the oven.
"Well, we do have this delicious cake that John slaved over early this morning."
"Oh my god! You didn't!" Emma turned to John and gave him a hug, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Thank you." She kissed his cheek before turning to look at the cake.
"He's quite talented." Sherlock set the cake down on the counter and closed the oven.
"Well thank you." John said, embarrassed.
"What flavor is it?" Emma asked, eyeing the cake with hungry eyes.
"Red velvet; Sherlock said you liked it." John said, suddenly unsure.
"It's my favorite; thank you John."
"Well let me get you a piece."
John reached into the cupboard for three plates; Sherlock handed him a knife. John cut three generous slices and passed out the plates to everyone.
"Oh this is delicious." Emma groaned after taking a bite.
"Really?" John asked. He did not think he was that good at baking.
"It's my birthday; everything tastes better today." She giggled.
"Alright well as soon as you're done I've got your present for you." John put another bite of cake in his mouth.
Emma hurried to finish her cake. She was excited to see what her present could be.
"Look at her; she's turning twenty-six and is about as excited as a four-year old." Sherlock smiled, taking a small bite.
"It's all gone." Emma announced, holding out her empty plate.
"Alright, here you go." John reached under the table and grabbed a wrapped box.
"Oh thank you John; you didn't have to you know."
John rolled his eyes. "She hasn't even seen it yet." He said to Sherlock.
Sherlock smiled widely. "It doesn't matter; she'll love it no matter what it is."
Emma carefully began to unwrap the packaging and reached inside. She pulled out a record – an old David Bowie record.
"Oh my god." She whispered in awe.
"Sherlock told me you collected records – I found this two weeks ago in an old record store and thought you might like it."
"Oh John I do! This is so lovely!"
Emma ran her fingers gently down the cover of the record. "It's in such great condition."
She got up and kissed John on the cheek again. "Thank you."
John blushed as Emma left the kitchen to put it away.
"What'd you get her? Besides a late night?" John asked Sherlock, who was still slowly working on a small slice of cake.
"The green sweater she wore yesterday."
John nodded; he knew Sherlock was the type to give practical gifts like a toothbrush or a hammer if you needed something fixed. It did not surprise him that Sherlock had given her something she had been looking at.
"When do you think she'll start getting ready?" John asked.
"Well its nine now, the exhibition starts at six…probably around one or two."
"She needs four or five hours to get ready?" John asked incredulously.
"She wants tonight to be perfect; and why shouldn't she?" Sherlock put his empty plate in the sink and headed to the bedroom.
"Where are you going?" John inquired.
Sherlock turned and wagged his finger before entering his room. John sighed and headed upstairs. No doubt, it was something he did not want to be around for.
?
John whistled. It was five o'clock and he was freshly showered. All dried off, he was standing in front of his closet and had just unzipped the garment bag containing his suit.
"Sharp." He whispered to himself.
John took it out of the bag carefully and set it on his bed. The suit was a light, cool gray with a two-button jacket and a three-button vest. Emma had picked out a crisp white dress shirt and black dress shoes to go with it. Returning to the garment bag, he also pulled out a lavender tie and pocket hanky.
He stared at the color; this had to be what Sarah was wearing. Emma would never put him in a color Sarah was not going to wear. John could not wait to see his Sarah all dressed up and ready to go dancing.
John dressed carefully but quickly so that by fifteen past five he was putting on his socks and shoes. He stopped in the mirror as he passed and combed down his hair. He smiled and gave himself the thumbs up before walking downstairs and entering the living room.
Sherlock was seated, already dressed, and playing his violin. The consulting detective was wearing a two-button black jacket and suit pants – not unlike his normal attire – and a white dress shirt. He had no tie on but also had a pocket hanky – this one red.
"I see you're dressed and ready." John commented.
"As are you; grey looks good on you." Sherlock told his friend, while swiping the bow across the instrument in one ringing note of finality before putting it away.
"Thank you; I see you are in your usual black."
"Yes; apparently Emmaline thought it best."
"It will look good with her red dress." John observed.
Sherlock's head lifted abruptly. "How do you know she's wearing red?"
"The pocket hanky." John pointed out. "It's meant to match whatever your date is wearing."
"Oh really?" Sherlock looked down at the hanky, as if seeing it for the first time. "I wondered why she would pick out red for me."
"Not a fan?" John asked straight-faced, but fighting back a giggle.
"It is not my best color no." Sherlock answered, not understanding John's attempt at humor.
At thirty minutes past five, both men were wondering when their respective partners would choose to finish dressing and arrive in the living room at a timely manner. Just as John was about to voice his concern about the time, the doorbell rang.
"That'll be Sarah." John said with a smile, darting out the door and down the stairs to greet her.
From the main room Sherlock could hear the loving murmurs of John and Sarah and the louder shouts of approval from Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock smiled to himself; Mrs. Hudson had already told him she wanted a picture before they left.
John walked in holding Sarah's hand; John thought she looked beautiful. She had put her hair up in a high bun and dressed her lobes in diamond chandelier earrings. Her lavender dress was ankle length and form fitting with a swoop of cloth above the breasts that covered her well for being a sleeveless dress. Her three inch heels were also lavender, but of a paler shade to be less noticed.
"Mrs. Hudson was just complimenting Sarah; and she told me she was busy getting ready for three hours." John stated.
Sherlock took the hint and tore his eyes from his bedroom door, and turned them to the couple.
"Yes you look lovely." He smiled indifferently.
Sarah scowled slightly but Sherlock did not pay her any attention.
"See Sarah, he's not so bad." John insisted.
"We'll see." She replied.
"Where's Emma?" Sarah asked, looking around the room and not seeing her friend.
"Almost done!" Emma called from the bedroom.
"Emmaline its thirty-five minutes past five!" Sherlock called through the door.
"I know what time it is Sherlock."
John smiled; he could almost see Emma rolling her eyes. Sarah turned to John.
"Why does he only ever call her Emmaline? She's always telling us she prefers Emma."
John shrugged. "That's what he has always called her. I have never heard him call her Emma."
Sarah sighed but turned towards the door.
"Should we hail a cab?" She asked.
"Mrs. Hudson wants a picture before we all leave."
"Sherlock, could you come in here and zip me up?" Emmaline called through the door.
Sherlock sighed but opened the bedroom door and slipped inside. He closed it behind him and turned to see Emmaline standing before him, her back to him.
"My arm doesn't bend that far back I'm afraid." She said.
Sherlock grabbed the zipper and gently eased it up, closing Emmaline in the dresses red folds. Emmaline let go of her hair and Sherlock inhaled the citrus scent as the curls bounced over her shoulders.
"What do you think?" She asked, her voice wavering slightly.
Sherlock took his time in answering, letting his eyes rove over what she had decided to wear tonight. Even though it had been killing him for weeks not knowing, and being unable to guess, he was glad she had kept this secret. Because this moment of breath leaving his lungs as he continued to stare at her was wonderful.
The dress was red like his pocket hanky – John had been right about that. She was wearing a floor length gown that was sleeveless and ruched in varying angles. The top of the dress was fitted but as it hit her hips, it flared out into a gown. Unseen unless she was moving, she wore red lace heels.
Sherlock's eyes roved back up and to the sterling silver mesh draped necklace around her neck.
"This was the birthday gift from Mycroft; he knew what I had picked out."
Sherlock smiled. Of course, his brother knew with his spies everywhere. It was a wonder they could go about their daily business without the feeling of being watched.
Sherlock took her hands and kissed her knuckles.
"Your ring came back." He observed.
"Fresh and clean." She whispered.
"What's taking so long?" John called out. "Mrs. Hudson has the camera ready!"
"Well we can't keep Mrs. Hudson waiting – she'll spit fire." Emmaline told her husband.
"Yes she will." Sherlock chuckled.
He straightened and took her arm, leading her out into the living room. Mrs. Hudson gasped and put a hand on Emma's arm.
"Darling you are simply too good for him!" She playfully swatted Sherlock's arm.
"Now, now Mrs. Hudson." Emmaline warned a mischievous glint in her eye.
The truth was Sherlock had told her a few times after they had first gotten together that she would do better to move on, that she was too good for a sorry wretch like him. She had still never gotten a confession out of him as to why he had said those things. It bothered her to this day to hear someone else say it, even if it was in jest.
"Alright everyone stand together."
John and Sarah stood together, and Emmaline and Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson snapped a few photos, smiling all the while.
"Oh just look at you all." Tears made her voice thick.
"Mrs. Hudson we're just going out; we'll be back tonight." John insisted.
"You just all look so grown up!" She said, a tear escaping her eye.
"Mrs. Hudson, we're all of us well into our thirties. Except for this one." Sherlock said, taking Emmaline's hand.
"But you are babies to me dear." She patted Sherlock's cheek affectionately. "All right you better get going. Call me when you're on your way home and I'll put on some tea."
"Thank you Mrs. Hudson."
They all filed out the door and stooped to kiss the old woman's papery cheek. As soon as they were all outside, she shook her head.
"And I have a terrible old woman's premonition that something is going to happen tonight."
?
It was nine o'clock. John and Sarah were dancing on the floor space allotted for inebriated couples to hold each other. Sherlock and Emmaline were viewing the works of Van Gogh with a careful eye, Sherlock with one hand around her waist.
Having eaten before coming to the event none of them was very hungry or thirsty, though Sarah had had a few drinks.
"The brush work is just amazing." Emmaline commented.
"Yes it is quite beautiful." Sherlock leaned in for a closer look.
"Come on." Emmaline tugged on his hand and pulled him away from the paintings, and towards the dance floor.
"What are you doing?" He asked with a sigh.
"Trying to get my husband to dance with me." She said with a smile.
Getting her way, she led him towards Sarah and John before stopping; Sherlock wrapped his arms around her and rested his cheek on her head. John winked comically at him before turning Sarah and nestling her into his own arms.
"Are you enjoying your birthday so far?"
"It is much better than the murder mystery dinner." She commented, snuggling closer to him.
Sherlock smiled, remembering. "You should've known I would have it solved quickly."
"I know; I had just always wanted one."
Sherlock chuckled. They were not so much dancing like the other couples; their arms were wrapped around each other and they were swaying to the music. To them, dancing was more an excuse to hold each other.
"Does it bother you that we don't know how to dance?" He asked suddenly, watching as other couples twirled each other around the floor to the gentle music.
"No; I like the way we dance."
Sherlock smiled and bent down to kiss her cheek.
"That's all I get? Really?" Emmaline smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck.
"You want more, in public?" He asked with a cocked brow.
"Just a little more." She held her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.
"With you, a 'little bit' is usually a lot."
"So?"
Sherlock chuckled but did as she asked and bent down once more to press his lips firmly against hers. Her fingers scraped against the back of his neck and wound themselves in his hair.
He pulled back with a gasp. "I told you so."
She did not reply but instead stood on tiptoe to kiss him again. Sherlock hungrily obliged. It was in the middle of their kiss that the first scream rang out.
Emmaline pulled back to look at Sherlock. "I didn't think it was that bad." She smiled goofily.
"Not us; him." Sherlock stared at the balustrade in front of him.
He recognized Billy Zane from the photo Lestrade had sent him. However, now his hair was brushed back and he wore a black tuxedo with coat tails.
John approached Emma and Sherlock carefully. "People have collapsed; Sarah's one of them. What the bloody hell did he do?" John's voice was venomous.
Sherlock looked around and indeed people had collapsed all over the museum. He noticed that it seemed to be people with glasses or plates of food in their hands.
"It's the food; he poisoned the food." Sherlock whispered to John.
"Ahh." Billy's calm voice filled the museum hall. "I see my three friends are here. I am glad; you see I have a little game I want to play."
The three stood silently.
"No talking? Good choice. You are right Sherlock: the food and drink has been poisoned. So how lucky for you that none of you had any."
"I am merciful however; it's a slow acting poison. So you see, these people have a chance. And that chance, is you. The Three Musketeers." Billy ran a hand over his slicked back hair.
"You want the antidote? Come and get it."
Billy turned and ran.
"After him." John yelled.
He, Sherlock and Emmaline all ran up the nearest staircase and down the hall after him. They could hear his voice echoing so they knew he was nearby. At the end of the hall, they turned and were greeted by three doors. Each door had a freshly painted letter on it: E, S, J.
"We're meant to go in our own door?" John asked.
"Ding, ding! Give the man a prize!" Billy's voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time, filling the empty hall. He continued.
"Each of you has to pass a special task. If you do, I will give you the antidote and you can have me. Should even one of you fail, all those people will die and I will get away."
"I refuse." Sherlock said staring at his door with a critical eye.
"You don't have a choice!" Billy yelled. "All those people will die. And it's in your power to save them Sherlock Holmes. Surely, someone as power craved as you can appreciate that. And don't you want to see what's behind your door Mr. Holmes?"
Sherlock reached out for Emmaline's hand. He could only guess at what would be behind her door.
"And you, Watson? I have something extra special for you, army doctor."
John's spine tingled with the chill. Sherlock did not want to know what was behind his door. Many things had plagued him in his life and judging from the young man's tone of voice…he had picked unpleasant tasks for them.
"Step through if you dare."
John took Emma's other hand and squeezed it. The three of them stood there staring at their doors, no one daring to move. As one, they took a careful step forward; all they had to do was touch the handle and turn.
"I'm afraid." Emmaline whispered.
"I know." Sherlock replied.
John said nothing; the woman he loved was lying downstairs dying slowly while he stood here. He let go of Emma's hand and stepped through his door.
Sherlock stooped down to give Emmaline one last chaste kiss.
"I believe in you." He whispered, letting his temple rest on hers for a few seconds before pulling away.
"I love you." She said as he opened his door and stepped inside.
What a sick and sadistic person. She thought of Billy as she stared at her door. Emmaline shook her head and thought of the people downstairs. Opening the door carefully, she stepped into the dark room.