Hi all! I'm back from my trip! I ended up going to The Monocle Cafe (from chapter 3!) just about every day that I was there, so if you want to see a couple pictures of it and the food I got for a visual, my instagram is: herpeteloser. I also ended up going to 221B (of course), and other various tourist-y London places, so, if you're interested :) I also ended up getting to meet Andrew Scott after seeing Hamlet, and let me tell you-what an experience! He was so incredibly nice and, as I'm sure we all know, was an incredible actor.
Anyways, here's the next installment and I hope you enjoy!
My birthday was in a week. Slowly but surely, I added cake ingredients to my fridge, cleaned my apartment, and worked on my paper. When my birthday came, I didn't want to feel burdened by my responsibilities. And, I wanted to eat cake (surprisingly, after my vow to never eat another baked good again). The pros to my birthday being in a week were these: 1) two weeks had passed since Richard and I saw each other, but he said that he'd definitely see me on my birthday, 2) Sherlock and John invited me over so they could celebrate with me, and 3) the semester would be halfway over. The con to my birthday being in a week was this: it was the same week as the due date for the entire first draft of my paper.
On the bright side, I was done with the bake sale, and I'd sent off my Tempest research to Sherlock, which meant I only had my scholarly activities to focus on. The pro to that was that I had more time for my paper. The con to that was that I still didn't have any time for anything else. I was as busy as ever, but with different priorities. It seemed as though I was constantly telling myself that my studies would be over in a few months. My life appeared to be a struggle of getting through this week, and the next, and the next, with no sign of change.
Granted, I knew what I was signing up for when I applied to the university here. Moving here was fun, and then it got boring. Meeting Sherlock and John was fun, and then my studies got boring. Meeting Richard was fun, and my studies continued to be boring. Well, boring wasn't a fair word at all—Shakespeare interested me greatly, but reading and re-reading the same few plays over and over again, reworking the same paper…it was mundane. But my birthday was going to change that. It'd rejuvenate me, give me something to do other than stare at my notebook and computer screen.
I glanced at the clock to see how much time I had left to work on grading some students' work. At six, I was planning to leave for Sherlock and John's, and I figured that once I returned home, I'd be either drunk enough to sleep or to have incredible, new, and ground-breaking ideas for my paper. I was hoping for the latter, but betting on the former. Five o' clock. Yikes.
I shuffled my papers into various piles based on their relevance and the order in which they came. A groan flew out of my mouth as I stood up, knees sore from being in a sitting position for so long. The pajamas I was wearing two nights ago were still on my body, and my hair was a tangled mess from me running my hand through my hair in frustration for so many times. I had a lot of work to do if I wanted to look somewhat presentable.
By six o' clock, I was much more presentable than I was earlier. Hair was up, make-up was done, and I deemed myself ready. I made my way over and greeted Mrs. Hudson before heading upstairs to 221B. It'd been just over two months since I'd been here last—far too long, in my opinion. John let me in when I knocked, and Sherlock looked as though he hadn't even heard my entrance. A couple balloons floated around our heads, and John brought over two shots of what smelled like vodka. "Well then, bottom's up!"
We clinked our glasses and threw our glasses back. The alcohol burned my throat as I forced myself not to cough. This was a well-needed break from my studies. I was more than prepared to let loose tonight, let myself get caught up in the now instead of the what-will-be. Lazily, Sherlock raised his shot glass and downed his as well. Alcohol didn't seem to be his number one vice, but it also appeared as though he was thinking hard about something. I knew better than anyone else what thinking too hard could do to a person, so I poured another shot into his glass, sat down next to him, and smiled. "Come on, Sherlock. Do it for me. It's my birthday party!"
He rolled his eyes but obliged.
"That's the spirit!" I cheered. "Two vodkas for two Sherrys!" Sherlock's face turned into one of mild surprise at the name, so I turned to John. "What, does he normally go by Sherly instead?" I took another shot as John shrugged, laughing.
A knock on the door. The door opening. Mrs. Hudson, standing with a cake with brightly lit candles. "Mrs. Hudson! You shouldn't have!"
"But I did! Go get a knife for us, Sherlock."
Another roll of the eyes, and still, he obliged, bringing all the necessary items to eat a cake.
"Here to join the party?" I asked her. "We have alcohol!"
"I brought my own dear, don't you worry," she said with a sly smile. She went to the kitchen to pour herself a cup of tea, then unearthed a flask from her jacket's inner pocket. Oh my god. I wanted to be her when I was older. Landlady who kept a flask on her at all times? Sign me up.
We enjoyed each other's company and merriment for the next few minutes, interrupted only by somebody's bark of laughter. Sherlock even joined in, and thanked me for the times that I brought the mail up for him. I think it was safe to say that we were friends now. This night was so fun—I really didn't know how it could be any better. Maybe if Richard was here? That'd definitely make it incredible. But alas, we were both so busy so often.
My ears perked at another knock at the door. We all looked around at each other—nobody was expecting anybody else, which meant that it couldn't be Richard here to surprise me.
"Sherlock! I know you're in there." A man's voice I couldn't quite identify.
"Come in, Greg!" John shouted. "The door's open."
A man, probably in his late forties with silver hair opened the door, slightly out of breath. He looked mildly bewildered at the state of the apartment, what with two extra bodies, alcohol, and balloons littering it.
"Gareth?" A confused look appeared on Sherlock's face. "What are you doing here? Another case you need my help with?"
At the mention of a case, my disposition brightened greatly. This man must've been a detective. I conspicuously grinned at Sherlock, trying to will him with my mind to let me tag along.
Sherlock noticed, and buried his face in his hand. "I shouldn't have said anything. No. Absolutely not."
"Sherlock," I whined. He avoided making eye contact with me. Knowing I wouldn't make any progress on him, I turned to Greg (Gareth?). "You usually let John go on cases with you, right? Even though he's not a detective?"
Greg nodded. "Sure, yeah."
"Well—John—do you want the night off?" I turned to him, nodding my head obviously trying to get him to say yes. I think that even without my visible cues he would've wanted the night off. He and Sherlock had been busy lately, and with his job at the hospital, I could only imagine that working all day and running around all night left him a little fatigued.
John grinned and looked at Sherlock, who was slowly beginning to look more and more distressed. "That sounds splendid. Greg," he began and walked over to me, pausing only to put his hand on my shoulder, "Sherry here is the birthday girl who's always wanted to be a detective. It would mean the world to her if you let her come along."
I smiled, trying to be as pleasing as I could possibly be. It had been a while, but I tried doing my best and biggest puppy dog eyes as well. I think Greg fell for it because he acquiesced, or was just so used to breaking the law by allowing civilians onto crime scenes that he didn't care anymore. Sherlock sighed dramatically. "Thank you! I'll do whatever you need me to do—even if it's just standing away from everything."
We all began to walk out of the apartment, leaving John and Mrs. Hudson to their own devices, alcohol, and cake (though I took a slice for the road). I walked ahead of Sherlock with Greg, who leaned down and muttered to me, "For the moment, the most important thing you can do is keep Anderson and Donovan away from him. I'll introduce you to them when we arrive on the scene."
I said I'd do whatever he needed, so I accepted my new task graciously. When we arrived at Greg's car, Sherlock let me have shotgun since I was "the birthday girl, after all." Really though, I think he just didn't want to talk to anybody on the drive over. Greg and I shared pleasantries such as how did you become a detective, and why did you move here from the United States, and what is it exactly that you study again? Just before our arrival, I shot Richard a text: 'Going to my first crime scene! Wish me luck! ST.' I'd also begun signing my texts with my initials. It seemed to be the 'in' thing to do in London, at least in the circles I ran in.
My phone buzzed shortly afterwards, but I figured that it was just a 'stay safe!' type of text in response. Sherlock and I followed Greg to the edge of the Thames. I beamed at Sherlock and wrapped my coat around me. At first glance, Sherlock looked annoyed (probably missing his dear Watson), but I saw a smile creep onto his face.
Sherlock walked over to the body (a reality that I knew about but didn't really think about until just now-this left me a little uneasy), and Greg introduced me to Donovan and Anderson, who both seemed rather unamused that I was there. I didn't mind though, I deemed it my mission to keep them away from Sherlock.
We did, however, waltz over to where the body was, and I began preparing myself to be a mediator between them and Sherlock. At first glance, I blanched—a woman, drowned, recently recovered from the Thames—and then I took another glance. Flowers were falling out of her mouth and flowers were intricately weaved in her hair. I nudged Sherlock, catching his attention. "Sherlock," I mumbled, trying to stay out of earshot of Anderson and Donovan, knowing now that they didn't really like any outside input, "That's Ophelia. I mean, not literally, but…whoever did this was clearly influenced by Hamlet."
"Then you might be able to help me with this," he said, crouching. He pulled the woman's shirt down to reveal a tattoo on her clavicle. "This was done after she was murdered." He looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to fill in the blanks.
The Devil hath power / to assume a pleasing shape.
"Well, Hamlet's the one who said that, not Ophelia, for one. It's just before he tries to get his Uncle to confess to having murdered Hamlet's father. The Devil, the King, Hamlet's Uncle, has fooled everyone but Hamlet. Hamlet's speaking to himself when he says this. My best bet is that it's a message. Not a threat, but something we need to internalize. My other guess is that The Devil, in this instance, is whoever murdered this woman."
"Or the person who paid somebody else to do it," Sherlock muttered.
"What was that?"
He didn't respond to that, but instead said, "You're proving yourself to be a good Watson after all."
"Oh, stop," I joked. "You're making me blush."
Abruptly, Sherlock stood up. "Come now, Sherry. It looks like we're through here." I followed him as he stalked away, but not before I shook Greg's hand and thanked him for letting me come and play detective.
When I caught back up with him he'd hailed a taxi (a talent I had yet to acquire), and let me in first. "That's it? No action-packed chase scene? No…being held at gunpoint?" I laughed, though I was positive that if any of those things happened, I'd already be dead. I wasn't the most athletic, and I definitely wasn't smart enough to get myself out of a tough situation like that.
"For now, yes. That's it. Usually I reserve the chase scenes for John, and not amateurs."
I leaned closer to him. "You know, if you let me come with you on more cases, I won't be an amateur anymore."
This elicited a chuckle from him, but he didn't say anything further. I took out my phone, ignoring the fact that the bright light was burning my eyes now that the sun had set, and took a look at what Richard has responded: 'Good luck! And by the way, you've inspired me to brush up on my Shakespeare. Found some rather good quotes in Hamlet, my favorite being: "Though this be madness, yet there is method in't." Would love to discuss it with you at some point. -RB'
An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach, but I attributed it to the cake and alcohol I'd had an hour prior, along with the body along the Thames. Two very explicit Shakespeare references in one night—and both of them Hamlet. I was still personally debating on whether coincidences existed or not, but this seemed to bizarre for it not to be. Or maybe it was so bizarre because it wasn't a coincidence? I didn't want to think about it. Richard had taken an interest in the file Sherlock gave me some weeks back…
Before I could think about it further, we'd arrived at Baker Street. Sherlock paid the cabbie, which I thanked him for, and we stepped out to face the cool, fresh air again.
"Thank you for letting me come on a case with you, Sherlock. It meant a lot to me." I hugged him, and he, to my surprise, lightly hugged me back. "Anyways, I best be off now. It's close to my bedtime."
"At eight o' clock?"
I shrugged. "You'd be surprised." My essay, the alcohol, the body...it had left my being heavy and fatigued, and really needing to sleep off the events of the day. I had a feeling that I'd fall asleep quicker than I'd ever had before.
He must've found that as an acceptable answer. "Come by tomorrow—we're bound to have leftover cake. You should take it. Aren't students usually starving?"
I nodded my head. "I can't speak for British students, but American ones, yes. We are. Always." I pulled my keys out from my pocket and began walking towards my apartment. "I'll see you later, Sherlock. Night."
"Goodnight."
Alrighty, and here you go! I hope you enjoyed this one-our dear Sherry finally got to go on a case, and there's quite a few coincidences that are building up... Feel free to let me know what you think so far. Anyways, I hope you all have a great weekend!
