Episode 6 — In Vino Veritas
Everything goes tipsy-turvy when the remaining contestants visit a French vineyard. The gloves (and socks) come off, and the truth comes out, for better or for worse.
…
The final five contestants watch the English countryside flash by outside the windows of their Eurostar train as they speed toward the Channel Tunnel. They chat animatedly, clearly enthusiastic about the prospect of traveling to the south of France for their next challenge. Soon, the tunnel is behind them, and French countryside replaces English.
In a surprisingly short time, the train pulls into the Avignon TGV station. The players gather their bags and disembark. Mycroft is waiting for them on the platform.
An oddly familiar head of silver hair is disappearing into the crowd. Sherlock turns to look, a question on his lips, but Mycroft commands the group's attention.
"Welcome to Provence. While you are here, you'll need to decide which two players would like to go hog wild, and which three would rather relax with a glass of wine."
Moriarty and Irene exchange a glance.
"The wilder the better," Irene says.
"Yes," Moriarty agrees. "There's nothing quite so dull as relaxing." He somehow manages to make the final word sound filthy.
"Well, I, for one, would love to relax with a glass of wine. Put my feet up. Enjoy this beautiful weather," Mrs. Hudson says.
"Relaxing doesn't have to be dull, if you're in the right company," John says.
Sherlock smiles at him.
"That's settled, then," says Mycroft. "There are a couple of taxis waiting to take you to your accommodations. You're free to spend the evening as you wish. I will join you first thing tomorrow to explain your next challenge."
…
Late the following morning, the players gather for brunch in the dining room of their luxurious guest house, which is situated in a picturesque vineyard. Mycroft arrives halfway through their meal, looking somewhat less put-together than usual.
"I apologise for keeping you waiting," he says. "I was unavoidably detained.
"Now, as for today's challenges, they will be completed by the teams you selected yesterday. Irene and Jim, since you elected to go hog wild, you will be engaging in a traditional truffle hunt. These days, most truffle hunting is done with specially trained dogs, but you will be utilising the time-honoured practice of hunting for truffles with the help of a hog. A guide will explain the basic principles to you, and then leave you alone in the woods with your truffle hog. You will have three hours to complete this challenge. For every truffle you succeed in bringing back, £10,000 will be added to the group's kitty.
"Mrs. Hudson, John, and Sherlock, since you prefer to relax with a glass of wine, you'll be staying at the vineyard. However, you won't earn any money by just sitting here with your feet up all day. I'll explain your challenge after the other team has departed."
The players exchange questioning looks as they finish their meal. Once Irene and Moriarty have set off on their truffle hunt, Mycroft fills the others in on their task for the day.
"You will also be participating in a traditional regional activity — stomping grapes. For each bottle you are able to fill with freshly stomped juice, you will earn £10,000. However, you will not be provided with any empty bottles. Instead, two of you will be drinking wine while the third is stomping grapes. Once the two drinkers have finished off a bottle, you'll fill it with grape juice and then trade roles.
"The bottles of wine you'll be given were all produced with grapes from this vineyard, and we would not want to insult our hosts by wasting them. Therefore, if you spill any wine, £10,000 will be deducted from the group's kitty.
"Oh, and there's one more twist. You'll have to complete this challenge before the other team returns. Once they do, if you can trick one or both of them into sampling your homemade wine, you will earn another £10,000."
Mrs. Hudson grins wickedly. "I've got a nasty toenail fungus that I just haven't been able to get rid of. Maybe an all-day soak in grape juice is what it needs. I can't wait to see Moriarty's face when he finds out what's in his drink!"
Mycroft gapes at her, horrified.
Mrs. Hudson pats his arm. "Well, you know, dear, they do say that revenge is a dish best served cold. Or, in this case, at body temperature."
Sherlock and John snort.
…
Mrs. Hudson offers to take the first turn stomping. "You boys will be able to polish off a bottle of wine much faster than I could. I'm afraid I'm a bit of a lightweight when it comes to alcohol. But I'll do my best to get these grapes squashed up."
She takes off her shoes and stockings, and pins her dress up above her knees. John and Sherlock help her into the barrel. She grips the sides to keep her balance, and begins tentatively moving her feet up and down to crush the grapes.
John and Sherlock walk down a little hill to an outdoor table that holds a dozen bottles of fine wine. Sherlock picks one up and reads the label.
"Not their best vintage," he says, putting it down. He scans and rejects several other bottles before finding one that meets his standards. "Oh, John, you'll like this one."
Sherlock removes the cork and sniffs it. "We really ought to let this breathe, but I can't imagine Mrs. Hudson's going to be able to keep stomping those grapes for an hour, so I guess we'll just have to start drinking."
John holds out two glasses, and Sherlock fills them before carefully setting the bottle aside. Then he and John sit down and take their first sips.
"Oh, that is nice," John says. He savours it for a moment, then knocks back the rest of his glass. "I'm ready for a refill."
Sherlock pours him another, then quickly downs his own wine and refills his glass, as well. In a few minutes, the bottle is empty.
"One down, eleven to go," Sherlock says.
John stares at him. "You do know that we'll die of alcohol poisoning if we actually drink all that wine, right?"
Sherlock just smiles and brings the empty bottle up the hill to Mrs. Hudson. She seems relieved to see him.
"Oh, thank you, dear. This is more strenuous than I thought it would be. My hip is acting up a bit. Would you help me out of here?"
John comes over, and he and Sherlock steady Mrs. Hudson as she climbs out of the barrel. Her feet, ankles, and calves are stained a lovely shade of purple. She peers down at her toes.
"You know, this really might help get rid of that fungus."
John goes into doctor-mode, explaining various treatment options to her, while Sherlock siphons grape juice into the bottle. Once it's full, Sherlock corks it and hands it to John.
"I'll take the next turn," he says. He takes off his shoes and socks, and then, after a moment's hesitation, removes his trousers as well. "These are bespoke," he explains.
Sherlock folds his trousers neatly, sets them aside, and then, clad only in his shirt and boxers, steps into the barrel and begins to stomp.
John leads Mrs. Hudson over to the table. "Fancy anything in particular?" he asks.
"I don't really know much about wines. I'll just have whatever you're having."
John picks a bottle at random and pours them each a glass. "Cheers, Mrs. Hudson."
They raise their glasses to each other and drink. John, who's on his fourth glass, matches Mrs. Hudson's slower pace. By his fifth glass, and her second, they're both becoming a little tipsy.
"Have you told him yet, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asks conspiratorially.
"Told who what?"
"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson says in a low voice, with a significant look toward the man in question, who is too far away to overhear. "Have you told him how you feel?"
"What do you mean?" John asks, with feigned ignorance.
"Don't be coy, dear. It doesn't suit you. You know I have your journal, and you know what you wrote. But does he know it?"
"No. Well, not in so many words. But he's pretty observant. I think he must have some idea."
John finishes his glass, and empties the bottle into it. "Let's not waste anymore time talking. We've got a challenge to complete. Bottoms up!"
He and Mrs. Hudson down their wine, and bring the empty bottle to Sherlock, who is happily stomping away.
"My turn," John says.
He gives Sherlock a hand out of the barrel as Mrs. Hudson fills the second bottle with grape juice. Then he takes off his shoes and socks. He tries to roll his jeans up, but they're too tight to make it past his knees. He lets out a frustrated noise.
"Just take them off," Sherlock says. "It'll be easier."
John does so, revealing a pair of red pants.
Mrs. Hudson puts her hand to her mouth, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh. "Oh my! I didn't realise you were quite so… colourful."
John, flushed from the combination of wine and embarrassment, clambers awkwardly into the barrel and begins stomping grapes with a vengeance.
Tittering, Mrs. Hudson follows a grinning Sherlock back to the table. Once he's poured her a glass of wine, she continues her attempts at matchmaking.
"You and John have become quite friendly, haven't you?"
"Making alliances is all part of the game," Sherlock says.
"Well, yes, but there's more to it with the two of you, isn't there?" she presses.
"I'm sure John is just playing strategically."
"Oh, Sherlock, don't be daft. That boy is positively smitten with you. I've read his journal, you know."
Mrs. Hudson covers her mouth. "Oh — I promised him I wouldn't say anything. I think I've had too much to drink…"
Sherlock responds by chugging the rest of the bottle. "Wait here," he tells her tersely.
Sherlock brings the bottle up the hill to John. "I'm going to take another turn, to let Mrs. Hudson rest her hip," he says.
John doesn't argue. He rejoins Mrs. Hudson, who has already started on the next bottle of wine.
"What did you say to him?" he demands.
"Oh — I'm sorry — it just sort of slipped out."
"What slipped out?"
"Well, that you fancy him. But he thinks you're just leading him on to get ahead in the game."
John downs his wine, pours another glass, and downs that, as well. "Great, just great," he mutters. "He probably thinks I'm the mole."
"Well, that's how the game works, isn't it? You're the mole, I'm the mole, he's the mole — everyone's the mole. Moles as far as the eye can see! Moles for all!"
John begins to giggle. "Yeah — this game is starting to feel like Whack-A-Mole."
"Oooh — I wouldn't mind whacking Moriarty," Mrs. Hudson says, joining in the giggles.
"I'll bet Mycroft is the mole," John says. "He's the one who's been sabotaging all of these challenges. And now he's covertly keeping Greg around."
"What?"
"Yeah, I could swear I spotted him in the train station, and then again as we were walking over here. Oh! Maybe Greg's the mole! An undercover mole! There! Solved it! Gimme mah money!"
John flings his arm out drunkenly, knocking over the nearly empty bottle. It falls to the ground, but doesn't shatter. John picks it up and looks inside, as though expecting to see more wine.
"I think we've finished this one."
Mrs. Hudson gets unsteadily to her feet. "It's my turn to stomp. Help me up the hill."
John and Mrs. Hudson stagger up the hill to find Sherlock already out of the barrel, towelling off his feet and legs. Mycroft is with him.
"The other team will be arriving shortly," Mycroft says. "You have just enough time to fill your final bottle and make yourselves presentable before you meet them on the veranda."
..
When John, Sherlock, and Mrs. Hudson meet up with Moriarty, he looks decidedly the worse for wear. His clothes are rumpled and torn, his hair has leaves and twigs in it, and his eyes are wild.
"Ran into a spot of bother with your little piggy, did you?" John asks.
"That was no trained domestic pig! I've been savaged by a wild boar!"
Irene strolls over, cool as a cucumber, not a hair out of place. "Men are pigs," she says, "so I have lots of practice handling swine. I've got £80,000 worth of truffles in this bag."
"Do you know why truffles are so bloody expensive? Because you risk life and limb trying to pry them out of the jaws of those voracious fucking truffle hogs! That thing nearly took off my finger!" Moriarty shouts, waving his bleeding hand at the group.
"Here," Mrs. Hudson says to Moriarty, "let me pour you a glass of wine. You look like you could use a drink."
Moriarty doesn't wait for her to pour. He snatches the bottle out of her hands and guzzles half of it down. Then he makes a face.
"This isn't wine — it's grape juice! And it tastes like it's gone off."
Irene takes the bottle from Moriarty and sniffs it. "It has a fruity bouquet, with subtle notes of oak, and a strong hint of feet," she tells him.
Mrs. Hudson, John, and Sherlock fall over each other in a drunken heap, laughing uncontrollably.
…
Mycroft mercifully waits until all of the players are clean (literally) and sober before administering the next quiz. Once they've all entered their answers into his laptop, he begins the now-familiar routine of revealing the results.
"Martha." A green thumbprint indicates that she is safe.
"Jim." Green.
"Irene." The screen flashes red. Irene may be a master at handling pigs, but she has fallen victim to the mole.
...
End Notes: Guess who's finally on tumblr? John's on tumblr, Sherlock's on tumblr, Mrs. Hudson's on tumblr — everyone's on tumblr! Tumblr blogs as far as the eye can see! Tumblr blogs for all! (As HiddenLacuna would say.) And me! Now I'm on tumblr. Same name - chriscalledmesweetie. Come say "Hi!" and introduce yourself, so I know who to follow. Plus, you can see a brilliant reproduction of Mrs. Hudson's painting of Greg Lestrade as Venus of Urbino, created by one of my readers. :D