Chapter 11
February 2015
John followed Abigail and Sherlock into the lavishly decorated room. His jaw dropped as he took in the immense space, high ceilings and grandiose spectacle of splendor that was the ballroom. Every part of the floor seemed to be occupied by one gorgeous person after another. A hard swallow was meant to steady his heart rate but only succeeded in accentuating the nervous lump in his throat.
His companions, however, seemed more than a little at home in the storied locale. John knew that Sherlock had never been one for parties, or crowds in general. In fact, he distinctly remembered his best friend being uncomfortable enough to leave his wedding reception without so much as a word. While the new groom had understood at the time, it had made him more than a little… upset wasn't the right word. Sympathetic? He'd always wished the detective were more comfortable in social situations, if only for his own sake. But that would be changing Sherlock, which was something he most definitely did not want to do.
Here, however, John wouldn't have known it was the same man. A wide, inviting smile was spread across his face, the wrinkles around his eyes more than obvious each time he laughed. He was laughing. Something John had only seen his best friend do a handful of times and never in the company of strangers. John had always thought that it was just one of the many ways the detective chose to close himself off from the world.
Though, John reminded himself: this was for a case. And Sherlock would do anything, including nearly killing himself, for a case. It shouldn't surprise John that he'd be willing to deal with 'people' for one.
He was introduced to several people that Abigail seemed to know by name. These introductions made John very apprehensive at first. He'd no idea what to say or how to act. His fears were soon squashed, however, as focus quickly shifted to other people within the hall. The doctor was suddenly very grateful for the expensive costume as it afforded him a certain anonymity. He blended in so completely with the other guests that he was able to move about almost unnoticed. Except for Sherlock. The detective was always aware of where his best friend was in the room, and endeavored to be within sight of him at all times. Something for which John was immeasurably grateful.
Finally, after meeting what seemed to be hundreds of people, the soldier heard Abigail speak brightly.
"Ah! Aaron! Just the man I was hoping to see this evening! Might I introduce Mr. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, and his colleague, Captain John Watson."
An impeccably dressed man turned to meet John's eye after smiling politely at his companions. He wasn't tall, but was most certainly formidable in appearance. Though he stood just a few inches above John, he seemed twice as broad, carrying himself as one would expect of a man twice his height. His wristwatch and other accessories screamed of money, while the tuxedo itself was very understated. Sherlock reached forward to shake the man's hand, smiling broadly.
"Sherlock Holmes. Pleased to make your…"
But the detective got little more than a glance from the CEO before all attention was on John.
"Captain, was it? What branch, then?"
The doctor looked over to his friend who merely smirked, turning his attention to other guests. Sherlock had been expecting Hosmer's reaction, then. It made sense, once John thought about it. He'd want to avoid Abigail, since she was technically an employee, and surely, a man in the secret-keeping business had heard of the great sleuth of Baker Street. Both should be ignored at all costs. And what better excuse than speaking to a fellow old soldier to whom he'd just been introduced? John smiled to himself as he put two and two together, shaking the man's outstretched hand.
"Royal Army Medical Corps. Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. I take it you're a military man, yourself?"
"Major Aaron Hosmer, most pleased to make your acquaintance."
"Ah, Major."
John gave a small but appropriate salute. Hosmer returned the gesture and began to turn his attentions elsewhere. Abigail, who had been eavesdropping the entire time, noticed and quickly acted to ensure their plan would not go awry.
"Aaron, I wanted to talk to you about Jacobs-"
"So, Captain, family man, I see."
John glanced down at the ring on his left hand, but not before seeing the smug look of satisfaction on Abigail's face.
"Yes. Newly married with one on the way, already. Any day now, in fact."
"And will she be returning to work after the happy event? Your wife, I mean?"
The expectant father caught the corner of Sherlock's eye for the briefest of moments, but that was all it took to convey the message. With a silent, but deep, breath, John called to mind every lesson, every bit of training, that the consulting detective had given him to prepare him for this moment. He lowered his voice, giving a sly look around to give the impression of one imparting secret information.
"I'm a little old school, myself. A woman's place is in the home, with the children, if you ask me. No sense running around and wasting time at a pin-money job when there's a perfectly good one at home not being done. I know that's not a very popular opinion…"
Hosmer failed to suppress a smile, lowering his voice to match John's and moving closer.
"I couldn't agree more! I knew I liked you for some reason, Captain!"
Another brief look to Sherlock confirmed his glowing pride at his best friend's job well done.
The plan went like clockwork from there. Abigail stayed close by just in case the CEO needed another push, but after a while, John gave her a nod indicating that she could freely roam the party.
The two old soldiers were three whiskey straights in when the doctor took a moment to take stock of all he'd accomplished. Over the hour they had spent together, they'd discussed everything from a woman's rightful place, through who should and shouldn't be paying taxes, to banning Muslims from the UK. There were several times when John couldn't quite believe the disgusting words falling from his lips. Ideas that, even a straight-laced conservative like himself, found absolutely outrageous and deplorable. Even so, they left his tongue with incredible ease and grace, almost as if the thoughts were really his own. Whatever he was saying must have been working, however, because the cunning business man was eating up every word like candy.
As the bartender began to pour the fourth glass, Hosmer finally asked the question the doctor had been waiting for.
"So, your nutter friend, the detective…"
It was everything John could do to stop his blood from boiling as he waved a finger in the air to stop the billionaire.
"Employer. Not friend."
"Oh? I thought differently from the way I've seen you two in the papers. Almost a bit of funny business, I thought."
John laughed derisively as he took the whiskey, lowering his voice.
"He pays me a little extra to appear that way but, really, I'm a glorified body guard. Just there to take out the garbage, if you know what I mean."
The CEO got a glint in his eyes that the old army doctor was all too familiar with: the excitement that only came with a love of violence.
"Bit of dirty work, now and again, eh?"
John grinned in turn.
"Sherlock always says he picks up where the law leaves off. The truth is, we take care of what the law is too afraid of. I have to say, I did miss it."
"Miss what?"
"Getting paid to… take care of things. One never gets over the rush, I tell you."
Hosmer laughed under his breath.
"I know what you mean. Though, it's difficult to do the dirty work myself, anymore. Have to contract out for most of it."
"Bet you still get that rush, though, yeah? Just knowing you had a hand?"
"More than you know. Just the other day, in fact. This particularly pesky employee making waves of trouble. Cripple. Odd little duck. But she was silenced before she caused too much damage."
"It always interested me, how hiring out for that sort of thing would work. Holmes had a hard time finding me, I tell you."
"Oh, dear boy, you should know! One should look no further than ex military. I have a few contacts left from the good old days. Of course, now, I just use their sons."
"And you trust the deed is done? Just like that?"
"I always require photographic confirmation. I never take a man's word for anything anymore. Too many greedy blokes like me out there."
John was about to say something else when his pocket began to ring loudly. His face flushing, he grabbed the mobile.
"So sorry. It's the little woman."
"Take your time, son."
John opened the call, taking the slightest step away from the bar.
"Hello?"
"Love! I'm so sorry, I know it's your last case and all, but little Watson doesn't seem to want to wait for daddy!"
"Wait, are you saying…"
"I'll meet you at the hospital, Molly is giving me a ride!"
John beamed, all of the excitement from the case and now her words culminating in an almost giddy giggle.
"I'll be right there! Don't you dare push without me!"
He ended the call and replaced the phone to his pocket, still beaming as he turned back to the crooked businessman.
"Good news, was it?"
"The best! I'm going to be a father tonight!"
He turned to find Sherlock, but stopped, still grinning like mad.
"But before I go, just a couple things. My wife is the strongest person I've ever met, present company included, and she could do any job better than any man ever could. Taxes are not something you can pick and choose to pay, and an entire religion of people should not be punished for the sins of a few nut jobs. And furthermore…"
He took a moment to revel in the stunned and disgusted look on the CEO's face as the expectant father took a final swig of whiskey.
"Sherlock Holmes is the greatest man this planet has ever seen and I will breathe my last defending my best friend from scum like you."
John removed a recording device from his top pocket, a smug look on his face as he wiggled it in front of Hosmer.
"Enjoy prison."
John tossed the recorder to Sherlock as he passed the consulting detective, DI Lestrade and half a dozen officers standing not twenty feet from the baffled billionaire.
Sherlock escorted Abigail to the waiting limousine after the Yard had left with Hosmer. As they neared the doors, she clung to his arm sleepily.
"Are you headed to hospital, then?"
"Not quite yet. I'll wait for John to call. Give them a chance to get to know the little one first."
As they reached the vehicle, Sherlock opened the door for her, making her smile.
"You coming with?"
"No, I think I'll walk home. It's a pleasant enough night. Wait for John's call."
But Abigail didn't enter the car just yet. Instead, she moved that tiny bit closer to the detective.
"I must say, I've missed this."
"What, getting dressed up and attending meaningless frivolities under the illusion of assumed power and belabored entertainment?"
She smiled broadly, reaching up to gently caress his cheek. At first, Sherlock felt the urge pull away, but some part of him yearned to feel the touch of her hand once more, forcing him still. But something made her stop just before his skin. His heart pounded with longing as she replaced her hand by her side.
"No, silly. I miss the thrill of the chase. It was nice to feel it again. One last time, anyway."
"I take it you're back to Bristol, then?"
"Maybe. I got an offer from a gentleman in Kent. I was considering it."
He nodded solemnly, suddenly feeling the same loneliness he'd become all too familiar with in recent months.
"Just… try not to be a stranger this time."
The woman sighed, looking forlorn as she took her seat in the waiting car.
"I wasn't the one who chose to be a stranger, Holmes."
He wanted to say something. Wanted to find some combination of words to convey an apology. But he simply stood there as she stared into his bright eyes. With another sigh, she seemed to grow tired of waiting, putting a hand on the door and slowly pulling it closed.
"Take care of yourself, Holmes."
Sherlock watched as the car pulled away and long after it had disappeared from view.
A half hour later, Sherlock was almost back at Baker Street, lost in his own mind, when a buzz in his pocket called him back to the present. All thought ceased, however, as he read the words which appeared on the screen.
I'm a little teapot, lean and cross
Who'll put Sherlock on his arse
A tiny microchip you will find
To help put this one case behind
Then focus on the mystery daunting
The one you've always found most haunting
Remember where you foiled me last
Our final play now has been cast
Hurry, quickly, don't delay
Or Abigail will soon decay.