Dr John Watson's POV
By the time Sherlock and Lestrade get back I am determined to try the paddle out myself. Maybe once I've had a swing of it I will work out how to make the damned thing sexy. I bloody hope so anyway.
We're in the restaurant having lunch when Art spies them through the enormous windows out of the restaurant; they are striding across the foyer. He waves and Lestrade spots him and catches hold of Sherlock's arm and points. Sherlock smiles briefly and veers his course to meet us.
"John," his voice is dark and he clasps my shoulder briefly before sitting next to me and picking at the toast and pate on my plate. He looks at me searchingly, checking my mood, how I am now I've had the meeting with the 'sub club'. I smile and pass him a menu.
"Hi, do you want to order?" he takes the long wooden folder and I remember the message I have to give to him. "You had a phone call." He raises an eyebrow but doesn't stop reading the menu.
"Angela Charles?" he asks, I nod.
"She says 'Curnow and Sons, Portobello Rd'. Do you know what that means?" He nods again but he doesn't say anything. Lestrade sits down opposite me and kisses Art on the cheek.
"All right darlin'?" He says in a mockney accent. Art grins.
"Well, what did you find out? Have you got any more ideas?" This is Laura, leaning forward in her chair, trying to catch Sherlock's eye as he scans the menu. Rose purses her lips and puts her hand on Laura's arm.
Sherlock looks up and throws the menu down on the tablecloth, Lestrade rescues it and begins to read. His avid study of the food on offer tells me this is not a good question to be asking. Sherlock's eyes narrow and fix on Laura and even she shrinks back a little.
"Laura, I understand that you are concerned for Art's wellbeing, as am I. But I cannot be expected to work under the current conditions. It's how I imagine pregnant women must feel!" He gets up at this alarming comment, his chair tips back on the floor and other diners look up at us. "All the poking and prodding and asking how I am, where I'm up to? How long will it be now? Argh!" He throws up his hands and madly ruffles his hair. Then he stops, takes a deep breath and sits back down. He smiles, Laura looks at him warily.
"Allow me some gestation time please." He says evenly. Laura nods quickly. "How did this morning's talks go?" He turns to me, that pale blue laser pins me to the spot, I feel my heart begin to race. It's astonishing what that level of intensity can do. I nod, realise this is not actually an answer, and try to gather some words together while that stare holds me in its beam.
"Good, er, good. I've erm... got some ideas now. And er, yeah. Good." Hopeless, bloody hopeless. Sherlock's eyebrows rise.
"Ideas? Interesting. I have the rest of the afternoon off. I want to interview Tamsyn Barker but she's not in Edinburgh 'til later so," he pauses and grins a shark grin. "maybe if you want to try those ideas out..." He lets his voice trail off and reaches for my glass of wine, downs the liquid, places it back on the table fastidiously. I swallow. Laura laughs.
"Yes, that might be a good idea, you know, try your ideas out." I look at Rose because there's something odd, forced about how she says this. Then I feel a sharp kick on my ankle. I look at her. She is staring at me, head on one side, obviously trying to communicate something to me. What? Oh! Ideas! Like the idea of using the paddle on Sherlock. Right. I grin and turn back to Sherlock who is watching this exchange with an amused smirk.
"Yes. Let's do that." I say decisively. He nods once and gestures to the waitress.
"Let me eat first. I want to have my wits about me." He smiles. I am about to say that I can't imagine him without his wits but then something happens.
Inspector Geoff Lestrade's POV
I've just decided what I want for lunch; secretly got hold of Art's hand under the table when the policeman arrives and sat back to watch Sherlock reduce John to a puddle of goo with that look.
McKay looks grumpy and tired. I know that look because it's the one that greets me in the mirror by the end of the week. As this is not the end of the week I assume the case is not going well for him.
"Lord Arthur, I'm afraid I've got to ask you some more questions..." his voice fades away as he catches a glimpse of Sherlock and his expression goes from grumpy to granite in sixty seconds. Oh dear. "You." He points a chubby, accusatory finger at Sherlock who looks at the finger pointedly as though he is studying the detective's nails.
"Me," agrees Sherlock nodding as though this is a perfectly reasonable statement.
"Sherlock Holmes!" Spits McKay through clenched teeth and is rewarded by a beaming, if unnerving, smile from Sherlock.
"See!" Sherlock turns to John triumphantly. "I told you he'd find out who I was!" John cringes and rubs his face with his hand.
"Oh yes, Sherlock Holmes the interferer." McKay's finger stabs out again. "Holmes the meddler! Holmes the pet of Scotland Yard! Well, you're not in London now Mr. Holmes and I'll have none of you poking your nose into my case." Sherlock stands up, it's times like this when you realise just how tall he really is, he towers over McKay. To give the smaller man credit, he doesn't seem intimidated.
No one speaks and for a moment I think back to my first cases with Sherlock, when I thought he was an irritating, upper class fuckwit who should run off to mummy and daddy and the big country estate where he no doubt was brought up and leave the real detectives to do their job. This was before I realised he was brilliant. And that he might just be the best detective I had ever met or heard about. Even back then he made Miss Marple, Inspector Morse and Columbo look like idiot amateurs.
The Mexican standoff is still in full flow. Sherlock's looking down his pointed nose, one lip slightly curled with disdain and McKay is staring back at him belligerently like a ginger bulldog. This isn't good. There isn't even any point in me saying anything, McKay's not going to take kindly to another officer messing about in his case, I wouldn't. So I just sit there. Luckily Art has a brain.
"Of course Inspector. Where would you like to talk? Here is fine with me." He indicates the table with a gracious wave of his hand. McKay is reluctant to lose the staring match he's having with Sherlock and we'll be here all night if we wait for one of these egos to back down. I kick Sherlock's shin, hard.
"Ow!" He glares at me angrily, realises my ruse and scowls as John pulls him back into his seat. Laura gets a chair for the Inspector and we all try to find something else to talk about but we're all listening to the conversation.
"I have to tell you Lord Arthur that the investigation is not looking good for you. Ordinarily I wouldn't be telling a suspect this but..." he shrugs and shakes his head, clearly annoyed, "well, your father has been in touch with my Super and, well, I was told to speak to you." Arthur grimaces at the mention of his dad.
"I'm sorry about that Inspector." Art's tone is serious, courteous. "I'm afraid my father has always been a little, overbearing and I really would rather he was kept out of this." McKay nods with new respect.
"Well, your dad seems to be friends with some people who... well; they have a lot of clout anyway." He ends the sentence and sighs.
"Have you got any other suspects?" Sherlock interrupts the calm, polite conversation by banging his fork on his glass like he's at a wedding. Everyone looks at him.
"We've interviewed Sebastian Faulkes' friends and anyone who might have had a grudge against him. Unfortunately the only link with the type of poison found in his body and anyone we know is..."
"Tetrodotoxin." Sherlock's voice has a superior air which seems specifically designed in a lab to get up a policeman's nose. I sigh. "Puffer fish poison Art. And the only person in the proximity of Mr. Faulkes to have access to that poison is you." Sherlock points and McKay nods wearily. Art groans.
"That bloody recipe." I rub my face with my hands.
"But, surely there are lots of people cooking that stuff?" asks Laura in a demanding tone. We all look at her; she is frowning and tapping the table with one scarlet manicured nail. Sherlock, McKay and Art all shake their heads.
"No. There's only one legal stockist in the UK." Art says his voice small.
"Curnow and Sons." Sherlock says.
"And they've only sold to one customer in the last six weeks." McKay's voice is sombre. We all look at Art and he puts his head in his hands. I touch his shoulder but he doesn't respond. McKay looks uncomfortable.
"Right, well, I'd better go. I just had to keep you appraised of the situation." His accent seems stronger now. I look up at him and nod. He nods back thoughtfully and scrapes back his chair. Laura grabs his hand.
"Inspector, you have to know that Art didn't do this. I mean, look at him! He's not a killer!" she waves her hand impatiently toward Art's sad form. McKay regards her seriously.
"Miss, poison is the sort of crime anyone could commit. It isn't caving someone's head in with a spade or running them over. It's quiet, secretive. I'm sorry but I have to follow my line of enquiry no matter where that takes me." Sherlock is on his feet in an instant. He grabs McKay's hand and shakes it vigorously.
"You're right, you're quite right. Off you go! Investigate your line of enquiry!" He practically steers McKay to the door. The startled policeman glances back at us all but then shrugs and leaves.
"What aren't you telling us?" I ask Sherlock angrily, his bloody monekying about gets irritating at the best of times and this is not the best of times. Art's obvious distress sharpens my edge.
Sherlock looks at me, eyes wide, mouth pulled into a thin line, only the very points of his top lip really showing. It's an expression of disdain.
"For god's sake Lestrade be a policeman! Just stop using this," he pokes me hard in the chest, right over my heart. "And use this!" he stabs a finger in my temple. Ow, that fucking hurts. I look at him and he shakes his head.
"Think man! What do you know about poison? What's the first thing they..." he stops when he sees the penny dropping. "Yes! Thank you." He inclines his head acknowledging that I have caught up with his massive intellect.
"But? I can't see how that helps us..." I can feel the rest of the table staring at us as we talk in ciphers. I'd tell them all now, the most obvious thing about poison, but it's not how Sherlock works and I might have got it wrong, you never know.
"No, of course you can't. Because you aren't me!" He thumps the table with one fist and snaps his fingers of the other hand at John who produces the phone from his pocket like it's a rehearsed magician's trick. Sherlock's fingers play over the keys sending a text at lightening speed. He slides the phone back across the table. The waitress arrives with the food and I persuade Art to eat.
"Look, Sherlock knows what he's doing." I whisper, aware that everyone can hear us anyway. They pretend not to be listening. Art nods into his forearms; head still on the table, then lifts his face to me.
"I know. But...Father..." he sighs in a pained whisper. I put my arm around him and nod.
"Look, I've not met your dad but I'm not going to let anyone..." my sentence trails off and I squeeze his shoulders. Art smiles wanly and it breaks my heart.
Dr John Watson's POV
I have no idea what Sherlock and Lestrade are on about. I just know that one of them, or both of them, need to sort this awful business out before it gets worse for Art. He'd never survive prison. The thought makes me shiver. Rose puts her hand over mine and smiles at me. I try to smile back. Everyone eats in silence.
We're finishing our meals, Sherlock drinking wine from my glass because he can't be bothered to ask the waitress for another one, when there is a commotion at the door. I look up to see a tall, broad shouldered woman crossing the floor towards us.
Her square face holds an expression of intent determination and the 'horse and country' look of her brown trousers, black leather boots and tweed jacket is enhanced by her short cropped blonde hair. She isn't very old, probably about Art's age, but her confident stride and the way she is tapping her leg with a newspaper gives her the air of someone much older. Sherlock gets out of his chair and holds his hand towards her smiling disarmingly.
"Ms Barker?" he says taking her hand and shaking it firmly. I watch her expression change, mutinously frowning brows shooting up into her hairline as Sherlock counteracts her attack with his prior knowledge. I smile to myself. Welcome to Holmesville, Tamsyn.
"Sherlock Holmes?" her voice is clipped, public school. "Good. I wanted to speak to you about this business with Sebastian. I presume you'd be coming to speak to me next, as you've interviewed the rest of the gang." Her mouth puckers with disapproval. Sherlock's smile gets wider but she isn't cracking.
"So," she pulls up a seat and I almost expect her to sit on it backwards, like a cowboy or someone in an American cop show. She doesn't, she does, however, cross her legs in a business like fashion. Sherlock's charm is not working. I'm a little shell shocked by this information; I've never seen it not work before, on anyone. "What do you want to know? I was in Edinburgh when it happened. I saw Sebastian the morning before he died. He was distraught, upset and crying. It seemed he'd been told about Lord Arthur's new man." At this her green eyes scan the table and alight on Geoff. She gives him a thin lipped smile, he nods to her. Then she looks as Sherlock.
"Have you ever had any sexual relationship with Mr. Faulkes?" he asks her bluntly. I splutter, it's obvious from her whole demeanour, her whole being, that men are not her area of interest. She raises one eyebrow. It's the facial equivalent of napalm.
"No." She says and sits back in the chair. Sherlock nods.
"I only ask as sometimes people decide on a good friend as a sort of... fallback for if ever they..."He stops talking when he sees her face. If the last expression was napalm then this one is Enola Gay.
"A safety wife." Laura gets up and moves across to Ms Barker, she holds out her hand. The two women shake and it's like statesmen from rival nations, equal but powerful. I get the impression I'm at some kind of lesbian summit meeting. "I think the term is safety wife. Quite a useful idea don't you think? Stops silly questions and messing about from bloody relations." She smiles widely and Ms Barker's answering smile, while not blistering, is at least not registered on a Geiger counter.
"Mmm. Yes, I see what you mean. But no, that wasn't me." She smiles a bit more now, almost apologetically. Laura beams, touches Ms Barker's hand.
"Sorry about all this fuss... can I call you Tamsyn?" Ms Barker nods. "It's just that were all desperate to help out a friend. You know how it is?" Ms Barker nods again, her eyes firmly on Laura's. I look at Rose who is smiling gently. She sees me and raises her eyebrows, shrugs.
"Well, of course. I mean, I felt much the same way about Seb. Silly sod, I kept telling him to leave it alone but no, he just got more and more dramatic..." she rolls her eyes and Laura chuckles. "Well, you know how they are." I feel every man at the table bristle and then realise the truth of this statement. I share a guilty look with Geoff who gives me a sideways smirk.
"How did he find out about Art's new romance?" Laura asks in a matter of fact tone. I look over at Geoff who is looking at his nails, hands splayed on the tablecloth. He doesn't look up but I know what he's thinking, he's thinking all this wouldn't be happening to Art f he'd not met Geoff. I remind myself to tell him later that this is utter bullshit.
"I don't really know. Friend of a friend? He implied that I would know too, I didn't," she wrinkles her nose, "but he thought I would have been told by the same person. It didn't seem important really." She looks at Laura who nods and passes her a glass of wine. Ms Barker takes a mouthful.
"So, have you any idea from where he might have got this poison?" Laura asks gently. Ms Barker frowns, screws up her mouth.
"No, sorry I haven't. I'd have thought he was the sort of chap to slit his wrists if he was going to do it at all. You know, all very Roman emperor." She pulls a face which shows exactly what she thinks of this particular pretension.
"Do you think he was murdered then?" Sherlock asks, his hands steepled under his nose, index fingers supporting his head which is leaning forward intently. Ms Barker looks at Sherlock for a heartbeat. The table is silent and most of the other diners have finished their meal and gone.
"I think I do Mr. Holmes. I think I do."
I had no idea where this was going and I'm sorry if it shows. It started to fall into place about 500 words in. Eek. Let me know what you think of Ms Barker, I'll be interested to know your ideas.
Thank you as always to the Baker Street Irregulars, I'm hoping I'll get to meet some of you when I go with Verityburns to London on the 27th for the fanmeet. If you're interested in coming please check the LiveJournal Sherlock Community or send me a PM. PrincessNala (got rid of the workmen yet?)and Peachsilk (thanks for putting up with my ranting about 3rd person, people not fine tuning Sherlock's character and Ed the Odd!)) Darmed (haven't heard from you for a while and I hope you're doing well darling) Clubba Bear, Tasty- Kate, 2cajuman2, Tanya Zsa Zsa, Munchiees!, Aelfric's cat, Mrs winny, Despairandcupcakechild!, Mouserjb4, Tillif and Harpyquin and Jazzysatindoll (you've got lots to catch up on, hope you enjoy it!) thegeekyprincess and Flabagash and new girls regrette rien, afrieal, Dead Air Space and Sapphykins! Thanks for your help, support and general all round loveliness!
Love as always to Reggie for painting the house, feeding us all and being a star.