12.
"How are you feeling?" Mrs Hudson asked. John was sitting at her kitchen table while Elspeth perched on the counter, grinning wickedly at him over her mug of coffee. John made a quiet noise and sipped his glass of water. "It's just like old times, having you back here." Looking up from his water, John smiled when Mrs Hudson put down a plate of food in front of him. "Thought I'd make your favourite, one last time."
It was a full English breakfast, all of John's favourites – a fried egg, sausages, mushrooms, baked beans, tomato slices, and buttered toast. His smile faded though.
"Don't sound so . . . final about it. I will be visiting, you know."
"You better," Elspeth said, her grin widening.
John smiled back at her. "It's different though, isn't it? It's different to when we thought we'd lost him."
"Marriage changes everything, John," Mrs Hudson said wisely. John raised his fork to his mouth, then paused as he gazed questioningly at her. "You might not think it, but it does. It's a different phase in your life."
Lowering his fork, John groaned quietly and pushed the plate away from him a little. Elspeth smiled at him sympathetically, her legs swinging.
"You meet new people 'cause you're a couple, and then you just . . . let your old friends slip away."
"It won't be like that," John insisted.
"Well, if you've found the right one – the person that you click with – it's the best thing in the world."
"Well I have. I know I have." John was adamant that things would remain the same. Nothing was going to change, he was sure of it.
"Oh I'm sure! She's lovely!" Mrs Hudson agreed enthusiastically.
"Yeah, she's alright," Elspeth teased, then put down her mug. "What about you, Mrs Hudson? Did you find the right one when you married Mr Hudson?" Elspeth had no memories of Mr Hudson. She'd never met him, and she didn't get the chance to because he got himself arrested . . . all Elspeth could really remember was spending a week with Mycroft while Sherlock was in America.
"No!" Mrs Hudson said with a laugh. "It was just a whirlwind thing for us. I knew it wouldn't work, but I just got sort of swept along. And then we moved to Florida. We had a fantastic time, but of course I didn't know what he was up to." Mrs Hudson leaned towards John. "The drugs," she whispered.
"Drugs?" John repeated, laughing incredulously. He then grimaced, clutching his head when pain shot through it.
"He was running . . . um, oh God, what do you call it? Um, a . . . cartel," Mrs Hudson continued. John exchanged an amused glance with Elspeth, who was listening with her head tilted to the side slightly. "Got in with a really bad crowd. And then I found out about all the other women. I didn't have a clue! So, when he was actually arrested for blowing someone's head off – it was quite a relief to be honest."
Elspeth couldn't help but feel a little confused as to how bluntly Mrs Hudson had phrased it, biting down on her bottom lip as she tried to suppress a grin. ". . . right," she said.
"It was purely physical between me and Frank. We couldn't keep our hands off each other."
"Woah woah, too much information," Elspeth announced loudly, holding her hands up in the air. "John, if you're done with breakfast, Dad's back."
"How can you tell?" Mrs Hudson asked her, frowning. Elspeth pointed at the ceiling, tilted her head to the side and listened carefully. A moment later, they heard footsteps above them. Elspeth grinned.
Four women – five including Tessa. Gail, Charlotte, Robyn and Vicky. To begin with, it was impossible to find the common factor. None of them met him in the same way, none of them gave the same name, and none of the women could give the same address. It didn't even sound like they were describing the same man.
"He's stealing the identity of corpses, getting the names from the Obituary columns. All single men. He's using the dead man's flat under the assumption it'll be empty for a while," Sherlock said aloud as he typed. John had made a comment about his food going cold but Sherlock ignored him. Elspeth curled up in a chair by the dining room table, her arms wrapped loosely around her legs while she hugged them to her chest. "All single men. He's using the dead man's flat under the assumption it'll be empty for a while. Free love nest."
"Ew," Elspeth commented, screwing her nose up.
"Meanwhile, back to business. No-one wants to use a dead man's home. Least not until it's been cleared. So, he disguises himself, steals the man's home, steals his identity."
"But only for one night," John said. Sherlock looked at him. "Then he's gone."
"He's not a ghost, John. He's a mayfly. He lives for a day."
What was he looking for though? Sherlock asked the woman their professions, scowling when he realised that none of them worked for the same employer, as he initially suspected. They women had absolutely nothing in common.
Apart from . . . "Do you have a secret you've never told anyone?"
"No," the five woman answered simultaneously. Sherlock smiled.
"Gotcha."
Reception.
"Married. Obvious, really. Our Mayfly Man was trying to escape the suffocating chains of domesticity and instead of endless nights in, watching the telly, or going to barbecues with awful dreadful boring people he couldn't stand, he used his wits, cleverness and powers of disguise to play the field. He was . . ."
Sherlock's voice trailed off when he realised the audience were no longer listening. He looked down. John frowned back at him, Mary screwed her nose up slightly, and Elspeth silently shook her head at him.
"On second thoughts I probably should have told you about the Elephant in the Room. However, it does help to further illustrate how invaluable John is to me. I can read a crime scene the way he can understand a human being. I used to think that's what made me special – quite frankly, I still do. But a word to the wise: should any of you require the services of either of us, I will solve your murder, but it takes John Watson to save your life. Trust me on that – I should know. He's saved mine so many times, and in so many ways."
Sherlock paused, holding his phone up.
"This blog is the story of two men and their frankly ridiculous adventures," he continued, making several people laugh. "Of murder, mystery and mayhem. But from now on, there's a new story – a bigger adventure. Ladies and gentlemen, pray charge your glasses and be upstanding." He raised his glass. "Today begin the adventures of Mary Elizabeth Watson and John Hamish Watson."
John sighed a little. Mary giggled and squeezed his hand – poor John despised his middle name.
"The two reasons why every single one of us is –" Sherlock's voice stopped abruptly. He froze. His fingers loosening slightly, the champagne glass slipped from his grip and tumbled to the floor, shattering.
Tessa knew John's middle name. She said it when she introduced him and Sherlock to the landlord on the stag night. Irene Adler knew John's middle name because he mentioned it when he was teasing them about baby names – God knew where she was – and the only time John's middle name was ever made public was on the wedding invitations. Tessa mentioned a wedding.
She had seen the wedding invitation and she had seen the Mayfly Man, which could be a coincidence, but Mycroft had once told him that the universe was rarely so lazy. That could only mean one thing.
"The Mayfly Man is here today," Sherlock said softly. Looking down, he realised that his champagne glass was on the floor, broken to several pieces that caught the light when he gazed down at it. "Oh, sorry I . . . ah, thank you, thank you." Sherlock took another glass that was offered to him, his mind thinking frantically. "Now, where were we?"
Something is going to happen – right here, Mycroft's voice whispered in his ear. Could be any second. You have control of the room.
Mrs Hudson and Lestrade exchanged worried glances, and Elspeth watched her father closely, holding her champagne glass by its stem. She could tell when he was struggling to concentrate, when his mind was working frantically.
Sherlock shook his head a little. "Ah, yes. Raising glasses and standing up. Very good. Thank you." Don't lose it. "And down again," Sherlock said.
The guests murmured amongst themselves, sitting down, and Sherlock put his glass down. He glanced towards Elspeth momentarily. She gazed back at him with wide eyes, frowning slightly.
"Ladies and gentlemen, people tell you not to milk a good speech – get off early, leave 'em laughing. Wise advice I'll certainly try to bear in mind. But for now –" putting his hand on the table, Sherlock shocked everyone by suddenly jumping over it, landing agilely on his feet on the other side. "– part two. Part two is more action-based. I'm going to . . . walk around, shake things up a bit." Sherlock started to pace, walking down the aisle between the tables. "Who'd go to a wedding? That's the question. Who would bother to go to any lengths to get themselves to a wedding? Well, everyone. Weddings are great! Love a wedding."
Mary leaned over to John. "What's he doing?" she asked him quietly.
"Something's wrong," John murmured, then looked across the table at Elspeth. Sensing eyes on her, she looked back at him, blinking several times before giving him a miniscule shrug. They could both tell that something was wrong with Sherlock.
"And John's great, too! Haven't said that enough. Barely scratched the surface. I could go on all night about the depth and complexity of his . . . jumpers . . . and he can cook. Does . . . a . . . thing . . . thing with peas." Mary and John exchanged puzzled glances. Sherlock struggled to concentrate on talking while he peered at each male guest – any one of them could be the Mayfly Man. ". . . once," he added. "Might not be peas. Might not be him. But he's got a great singing voice . . . or somebody does." He sighed with frustration. "Too many, too many, too many, too many!"
Sherlock grimaced angrily, searching for the Mayfly Man overwhelming him. He stopped, took a deep breath, and looked across the hall at Elspeth. He calmed down slightly.
"Sorry. Too many jokes about John! Now, er – where was I? Ah, yes. Speech!" Sherlock cried suddenly, grinning. "Speech. Let's talk about murder."
John sighed, lowering his head, while Mary frowned. Elspeth sank back in her seat a little.
"Sorry, did I say 'murder'? I meant to say 'marriage' – but, you know, they're quite similar procedures when you think about it. The participants tend to know each other, and it's over when one of them is dead."
John shut his eyes, Elspeth feeling a surge of sympathy for him – it was his wedding day, the one day that should've been normal for him.
"In fairness, murder is a lot quicker, though. Janine!" At the mention of her name, Janine looked up, wide eyed and nervous. "What about this one? Acceptably hot?" he gestured towards a male guest. "More importantly, his girlfriend's wearing brand-new uncomfortable underwear and hasn't bothered to pick this thread off the top of his jacket or point out the grease smudge on the back of his neck. Currently, he's going home alone." While he spoke, Sherlock rapidly typed on his thumb with his thumb behind his back. "Also, he's a comics and sci-fi geek. They're always tremendously grateful – really put the hours in."
"Oh my God," Elspeth whispered, shutting her eyes as her cheeks burned with mortification. Hearing her father talk about sex . . . it made her feel nauseous. When she opened her eyes again, she saw Todd sitting at his table. He gave her a sympathetic smile, then looked at Sherlock.
"Geoff, the gents." Sherlock turned to Lestrade, jerking his head towards the door. "The loos, now, please."
"It's Greg."
"The loos, please," Sherlock insisted when Lestrade's voice beeped a text alert. "It's your turn."
Lestrade looked at the text – Lock this place down. "Yeah, actually, now you mention it . . ."
"Sherlock, any chance of a – an end date for this speech? Got to cut the cake," John said while Lestrade left the room. Sherlock smiled widely.
"Oh! Ladies and gentlemen, can't stand it when I finally get the chance to speak for once, Vatican Cameos." He said the last two words casually, his eyes flickering between John, who straightened up, and Elspeth, who stared back at him. Her eyes lit up with understanding then.
"Battle stations," John told Mary quietly when she asked what Sherlock meant. "Someone's going to die."
Sherlock looked at all the guests. Narrow it down, Mycroft's voice said. Narrow it down. Narrow. It. Down. With a sudden cry out annoyance and outrage, Sherlock slapped himself on both cheeks, then whirled around and pointed at various guests. "Not you," he repeated several times. When he calmed down, Sherlock looked at John. "You. It's you. John Watson."
John stood up as Sherlock strode towards the table. "What do I do?"
"Well, you've already done it. Don't solve the murder. Save the life," Sherlock said with such intensity that John blinked, gazing back at his friend. Taking in a deep breath, Sherlock whirled around to face the guests again, grinning manically. "Sorry. Off-piste a bit. Back now. Phew! Let's play a game." Clasping his hands together, Sherlock lowered his head and raised his eyes, staring at everyone in the room. "Let's play murder."
John sat back down again and Sherlock prowled forwards, his eyes flickering about the room.
"Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said with a disapproving tone.
"Imagine someone's going to get murdered at a wedding. Who exactly would you pick?"
"I think you're a popular choice at the moment, dear," Mrs Hudson piped up, which made Elspeth giggle despite the intensity of the situation.
"If someone could move Mrs Hudson's glass just slightly out of reach, that would be lovely," Sherlock said. "More importantly, who could you only kill at a wedding?" He turned back and looked at all of the guests. Any one of them could be a target. "Most people you can kill any old place. As a mental exercise, I've often planned the murder of friends and colleagues."
Elspeth narrowed her eyes slightly, watching Sherlock turn around again and gesture towards John. She felt Janine shoot a worried glance in her direction but ignored the eyes burning into the side of her head. Sherlock had never mentioned planning murders before . . . she started to feel worried.
"Now John I'd poison," Sherlock announced. Mary looked nervously at John. "Sloppy eater – dead easy. I've given him chemicals and compounds – that way, he's never even noticed. He missed a whole Wednesday once, didn't have a clue."
Indignant, John spluttered and turned to Elspeth for confirmation. She glanced back at him guiltily – she had tried to dissuade Sherlock from the idea but he was adamant . . . the results were quite amusing though.
"Great," John muttered. "Just great."
"Lestrade's so easy to kill, it's a miracle no one's succumbed to the temptation. I've got a pair of keys to my brother's house – I could easily break in there and asphyxiate him." Sherlock made a strange gesture with his hands, then seemed to realise he had gone too far. ". . . if – if the whim arose."
He didn't say so, but he had once thought about Elspeth's murder. Shooting, a bullet to the head. It would be quick, simple, easy. There would be some ugly sobbing, a loud bang, and then it would be over. Sherlock looked over his shoulder at his daughter. She was making eye contact with Todd again across the room, her eyes flickering towards Sherlock when she realised that he was gazing at her. Blushing, Elspeth started back at him.
"He's pissed, isn't he?" Tom whispered to Molly. Without even looking round at him, Molly picked up the plastic fork on the table and stabbed it into the back of his hand. "Ow!"
"So, once again, who could you only kill here?" Sherlock asked. He looked around the room, facing the guests, and silently eliminated guests that he was certain weren't the targets. "Clearly it's a rare opportunity, so it's someone who doesn't get out much. Someone for whom a planned social encounter known about months in advance is an exception. Has to be a unique opportunity. And since killing someone in public is difficult, killing them in private isn't an option. Someone who lives in an inaccessible or unknown location, then."
Sherlock paused, his eyes sweeping over the room once more. Most of the guests had been eliminated, leaving one.
"Someone private, perhaps, obsessed with personal security." Sherlock looked at Major Sholto. "Possibly someone under threat." As if sensing eyes on him, Sholto stared back at Sherlock. "Ooh! A recluse, small household staff," Sherlock continued, trying to act nonchalant as he picked up a name card and took a pen from his pocket. "High turnover for additional security." He walked over to Sholto, casually dropping the name card down on the table before walking away. "Probably all signed confidentiality agreements."
Finally, Sherlock paused and looked around the room.
"There is another question that remains, however – a big one, a huge one: how would you do it? How would you kill someone in public?" he asked.
Silently, Sholto picked up the name card, unfolded it and read the two words Sherlock had scrawled:
IT'S YOU.
Thank you GeorgyannWayson, xxxMadameMysteryxx, EICochrane, Guest, Bookworm45669, Adrillian1497, Daisytaylor23497, Ms Moonshoes Potter, SparrowLilies, Meg, WerewolfHybrid31, Tayla, bellechat, ElizabethCullen08, Darcy, one more off key anthem, PutThatInYourBlog, Kayla, Starcrier and Aimee for reviewing!
Say I were to write an AU for Moriarty and Ellie in which their roles are switched (Jim being the world's only consulting detective and Elspeth Holmes being a consulting criminal) would be people be interested . . .? Or would you prefer a different sort of AU? Ideas are welcome and greatly appreciated!