Chapter Twelve~ Devil's In The Details

Sherlock was still up when John and Mary arrived back at Baker Street, having been going over everything that he remembered from the gala, beginning to end. There were things that he stowed away in his mind palace for later, important detail that could mean the difference between something happening to the woman that now slept above his head, and him making sure she was safe.

"Annie already in bed?" Mary perched herself on the arm of John's chair, where he had just sat down.

"Yes."

"Oh, well, I suppose she rather deserves it, after the night she's just had." She shrugged. "God, I can't believe her ex would do something like that! The nerve of him."

"Indeed. Now, the question is..." Sherlock leaned towards the two of them, "How did he do it?"

John's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I heard him talking to someone on the phone about having deterred the woman that was supposed to sing. How he managed to get into the gala at all is a bit of a mystery."

"But, didn't he say something about Bonnie's...father getting them in?"

"Yes, but even he shouldn't have been able to get an invitation. This was supposed to be a high level charity event of some sort. Bonedella Morris, better known as Bonnie, is the daughter of a low level bank official. He got her the job at the Bank of London, where she works as a clerk. That's how she and Jay Doran met, apparently, same office."

"So, there was really no reason for them to be there at all." John finished for them. "Well, then how the hell did they get in?"

"No idea." Sherlock steepled his long fingers against his lips. "What I do know, is that Miss Morris has a history of violent tendencies. Most of it seems to have been swept under the rug. Lucky for us, Mycroft hasn't changed his password since the last time I had to dig up some information."

"And you've done all this in the..." Checking his watch, John continued, "The half hour since you left the party?"

The detective looked at his friend, "Oh, John, how you underestimate me."

"You really should be used to all this by now." Mary whispered to her fiance.

"Yeah, yeah. So, what have you managed to find?"

"Fights, pranks that went a bit too far, multiple underage drunk driving incidents. She was quite the party animal, as some would say. She once got into a physical altercation with another woman whom she thought was trying to chat up her boyfriend at the time. Although to be fair, she probably was."

"Christ, and Diane was friends with this woman?"

"Mmm, I wouldn't say friends."

"Of course you wouldn't, Sherlock." John gave his friend a pointed look.

"They worked at the same bar as waitresses. I suppose they may have...bonded. When Bonnie started working at the Bank, she met Diane's ex. Though I would have thought she'd have snapped him up, apparently she already had a boyfriend and proceeded the usual method of trying to set him up with her friend," he spat as if the word left a bad taste in his mouth. "Things took off from there. From what I could tell, the two of them had been seeing each other on the side for at least the last year."

"That long?" Mary gasped. "That was before he and Diane got engaged. The bastard."

"Yes, it's a wonder she didn't see it sooner. I mean the signs were all there if she had just opened her eyes and..." In that moment, as the words left his mouth, that he looked up and realized that Diane was standing in the doorway, lips set in a hard line, hands clenched at her sides. Seeing that he was distracted, the other two turned around and saw her as well. "...observed."

No one said anything for a moment. Sherlock's brain whirred through any and everything he could say to make it sound less harsh than it had. Mary and John looked between the two, seeing the fight that was brewing. The blonde woman stood to go to her friend, "Annie, dear. Maybe we should-"

She yanked herself away, back towards the stairs. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes." The man winced at the use of his last name. "For letting me know just how blind I was in my previous relationship. I was only coming down to offer to make some tea before I went to sleep, but I apologize if my lack of observation was a bit grating on your brilliant mind. Perhaps, one day, I could learn how to better spot a complete and utter assholefrom the great Sherlock Holmes." Diane spat, before turning on her heel and marching back up the way she came. Mary turned back to them, then gave an irritated huff and ran up after her friend.

Sherlock looked over at the blond man before him. "Not good?" He asked tentatively.

"A bit not good, yes, Sherlock." The other man sighed and ran a hand over his face. "And just when she was starting to like you."

This made him pause. "I suppose I should probably apologize again."

Mary stomped back into the room. "Not tonight, you won't. She's locked the door, won't let me in." From upstairs, they could hear Phantom of the Opera blaring in Diane's room. "You better hope she's as good a person as I think she is. Because otherwise, you might just end up getting punched. And quite frankly, I wouldn't blame her."

"I don't see why." His eyes traveled to the ceiling, as if he could see what the woman above him was doing in that moment, or maybe if something up there could give him the answers. People were so tedious to deal with sometimes.

"That's the point, Sherlock!" John told him angrily. "You don't see why what you said upset her. You don't understand what it is to be a normal human being."

"Ugh, normal."

"Shut up." Closing his eyes, John breathed in an attempt not to hit his best friend. "Just shut up and listen. She has had a rough enough time tonight, with her ex showing up and ruining probably one of the best moments of her adult life. She has already been more than a little hurt, and you, you bloody idiot, were the one that tried to help her. You were the one that put yourself between her and those two, and you were the one that took her away from a painful moment to make sure she was alright. Now, I don't know why, but she has been trying so very hard to make her presence here as unimpeding as possible for you. She cooks, she cleans, she attempts to make friendly conversation. And that, just then, that comment probably made her feel like you think her taste in men, or people in general, is so skewed, that she stayed with the man that was cheating on her. Just so you know, Sherlock, sometimes people do see things, but choose to ignore them when they love the person. So, get your head out of your arse, and make it better!" He finished.

And Sherlock sat there like a child being chastised at school. How was he supposed to know how to deal with an upset woman? It wasn't as if he had all that much experience with them. Usually he could just walk away and be done with them until they finished sniveling. "And just how do you suggest I do that?" He asked after a moment.

"I don't know, Sherlock. Cook breakfast for her, clean the flat. Just do not make things worse."

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After sitting up all night, Sherlock had planned to treat his flatmate to breakfast. But, instead of coming into the flat so he could ask, Diane immediately ran past the door on her way out. She didn't stop, didn't pause to look in, even though the door was open. So, on he sat, waiting for her to return... Except that she didn't. At least, not until much later that evening, at which time she simply walked right by the door. Sherlock, who had been pacing (as he was not the patient type of person), got hit with a waft of old book smell, mixed with dust, and saw the now bulging satchel at her hip. She had been to the library...or maybe a bookstore. Either way, the information didn't help him at all. Her shoes tapped on the hardwood of the stairs, quick and light, and echoed through the brilliant brain of the consulting detective. Her door slammed shut, and music began blaring once again. No quite loud enough to bother the neighbors, but enough that he could hear it through the floor. Sitting down once again in his chair, Sherlock put the tips of his fingers together and leaned them against his lips, staring into the fire beside him. He hardly noticed when someone walked in and started talking to him.

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock said, looking around to see Mrs. Hudson setting the tea tray down on the table.

"I said, did you talk to Diane yet? Mary mentioned what happened last night. Horrid business. And you should know better by now, Sherlock." She fussed, making up his usual cup of tea. "There you go, a nice cuppa." The older woman sat down in John's chair. "Honestly though, poor dear, she's been through so much."

"At least no one she knows is dead yet." He said offhandedly, blowing on the tea to cool it down.

"Shame on you, Sherlock! How do you know anything about her life?"

"Just the small matter that she works for Mycroft."

"And just what does that have to do with it? I know your brother well enough to know that he would never divulge an employee's personal life to anyone, especially you." Sherlock shrugged at her. "Well, I happen to know for a fact that that young lady has had quite the hard life. Now, I like her very much, dear, she's a sweet girl."

"Ugh, you sound like Mary and John."

"Good, they seem to be the only people you listen to." Downstairs, the doorbell rang, a single quick push. "Oh, that'll be a client then?" Mrs. Hudson stood up and went to answer the door.

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When Diane got to work that Monday, she did indeed have new information. Mycroft had placed a file on her desk with forms to fill out that would allow her to take Jay and Bonnie to court. On top of the file was a note that read as follows:

Do not worry about filling it out right now. There are more pressing matters at hand that require your attention. Fill these out after you get home.

-MH

"Well, isn't that nice." She muttered to herself, before placing it in her purse and turning her focus to the other files that sat on her desk.

The next two weeks followed with much of the same. Getting up early, going to work, planning Mycroft's day down to the last detail, going home, filling out as much paperwork as she could handle, then going down to take a shower or have a bath with a glass of wine...it really just depended on how she felt at the end of the day. Diane had actually taken to keeping a mini-fridge in her room so she didn't have to go downstairs as often, as well as to keep her snacks from being contaminated by whatever body parts Sherlock had decided to leave in there. Sometimes, she would go out for dinner with Mary, John accompanied them if he wasn't working or running around all of London with Sherlock. It wasn't that she was avoiding the detective, not at all. She just happened to be so busy and not in the mood to deal with him that she never saw him. It did help that he was often out of the flat when she was there, off on his own little adventures.

After she had handed the complaint form back to Mycroft, he had given her his word that they would prosecute Jay to the fullest extent of the law, and maybe even get Bonnie dragged along with him. Once the paperwork had gone through the appropriate channels, Diane would be contacted by the lawyer Mycroft had employed with the particulars of the court date. Until then, all she had to do was wait.

But the weekend was fast approaching, and she didn't think she could handle just hanging around the flat the whole time. Of course, Diane was usually so busy, that she never really had any time to go out and do anything. Thursday evening, while having a dinner of spaghetti and homemade meatballs with Mary, she decided to try it.

"So," she started, taking a sip of the wine she had squirreled away from her flatmate, "Do you know of any good places to hang out?"

Mary stopped with her fork halfway to her mouth, quirking an eyebrow at the woman across the table. "Hang out as in 'have dinner with friends and then see a movie'? Or do you mean 'place to get smashed and forget about the fact that my ex-fiance is out to get me'?"

"Second one." She said with a shrug. "I haven't been out dancing since I was in college. If that could be called dancing. Down south there weren't many places with music or atmosphere that suited me. Mostly country or indie bands, one that blared nothing but, for lack of a better term, black music."

"I see. Well, um, there's a few. I went to a couple back in the day. Uh, well, there's Fabric, but it's a bit pricey. And to be honest, it's more of a dinner club than anything. Heaven's nice."

"Yes, I've heard it's got great weather up there this time of year." Diane countered with a confused look.

Mary just laughed at her. "No, no. Heaven is the name of the club. But, I don't think you'd like that one either."

"Why not?"

"Well, because it's a gay club." The blonde woman waited for the look of mortification to come over her, but she was met with a raised brow.

"Ok, and?"

"Wait." Mary scooted forward, looking around to make sure they were alone. "Are you..."

Diane blinked, waiting for her to finish. When she didn't, she shrugged. "I'm not a lesbian. I do, however, enjoy the female form. On occasion, more so than that of a man."

"So, you're bisexual." Mary finished for her.

"For lack of a better term, yes. Anyway, while I have no problem with going out to a gay bar, that's not really what I'm up for at the present time."

"Ok. Um, the only other one I can think of would be Egg."

"I might have heard a friend mention it once. Any good?"

"I like it, does that count?"

"Most certainly. What better praise than from that of a kindred spirit?" Diane told her in an actor's-portrayal-of-Shakespeare voice. "Seriously though, if you like it, I probably will too."

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Friday had Diane feeling giddy. With the prospect of something to look forward to, it seemed like there was an extra pep in her step. This did not go unnoticed by her boss, though he said nothing. At the end of the workday, he offered to give her a lift back to Baker Street, as he was going there as well; something about having to discuss a case. But, once they were well on the way to the flat, he started in on her.

"So, my dear. Any plans for the night?" It was almost offhanded, the way he said it.

"Um, yeah. I was gonna go out dancing. Mary and I are having a girls' night. Why? Is there something you need from me tonight?"

"Not at all. I prefer to know where all those who work under me are in case of an emergency." Diane tilted her head with a look of slight suspicion, but eventually decided to let the thought be. When they arrived, Diane got out first, so she could go unlock the door to the flat. It beat having to wait for Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh, hello, John," she grinned as soon as she got in. "Mary here then?"

"Uh, no. She had to hang back, said she was gonna meet you." John knew what the plans for the night were. He could already feel the pride of knowing about something Sherlock didn't.

"Alright, thanks." Diane turned around only to be facing Sherlock himself, having been standing in the kitchen. "Mr. Holmes." She said cordially, before moving around him.

"Diane." He responded as she passed him. All three men watched her trot up the stairs, then Sherlock turned back to his brother. "What do you want?"

"Coming to see about the case I gave you last week. Any progress?"

"A bit, though not many solid leads."

"As if that ever stopped you."

"It appears that there are a few more legs we didn't quite reach. I 'm sniffing them out as we speak." Sherlock's teacup rose to his lips, blowing on the hot liquid to cool it a bit. Then he reeled back. "God, this isn't my tea!" He said with a grimace.

"Just a bit of orange tea, little brother. You know it does have other benefits besides being a side to breakfast."

"I didn't say it was bad. It's just not one I've drank before. Must be one of the ones that Diane bought. Good lord, how does she know which one of these is which?" As if to prove a point, he slung his arm behind him, gesturing to the several identical canisters.

John snorted. "Maybe she uses her powers of observation to smell them." Even Mycroft cracked a smile. "Honestly, Sherlock? You can't tell what kind of tea those are, but you can identify one hundred and forty different kinds of tobacco ash?"

"One hundred, forty-two." He pouted. Behind him, he heard Diane coming back down the stairs, her footsteps quicker, but heavier.

"Alright then," she popped in, "I'm off, so don't mind if I come in a bit late. John, don't stay up too late."

"No problem, I'm going back to the house the moment all this business is finished."

Time slowed to Sherlock. He could hear what was being said, but his brain was going a million miles faster. Diane had redone her make-up in a heavier, more smokey style that she had been wearing lips a dark red color. From under her coat, he could see a nice shirt over a tank top, a longer skirt and rain boots. But, underneath that, he could tell she was wearing a nicer perfume than her usual vanilla scent. Neroli. Her hair was down, but with a couple of small braids poking out here and there. There was a distinct bulge under the rise that was her bottom. Shorts...maybe a very short skirt. Rings and bangles adorned her hands, which led him to the purse one of them was leaning on. It looked to be much bulkier. Hiding something. She also didn't have her glasses on. Lots of moving, possibility of them being knocked off. Even something about the look in her eye made him wary.

"Where are you off to?" He asked out of habit, though he did try to pass it off as disinterested.

"Uh, me and Mary are going to dinner. I thought John would have told you." Just from the looks the other two were giving him, he knew something was up.

"Right, well, have a lovely time. Careful not to get murdered or anything. Otherwise I'll have to look for another flatmate." The last part was said more to the microscope he was looking into than it was to her.

"Thanks...I think?" She made a face. "Anyway, bye." With a wave, Dian disappeared down the stairs.

As soon as the door slammed, Sherlock got up and went to the window. From his vantage point, he watched her hail down a cab. It took her a while, but eventually, she was off. "Now, where would you be going dressed like that?"

"Sorry, what?" John called.

"Where do you suppose she's going, dressed like that?" This time it wasn't rhetorical. "What could she be hiding?"

"Honestly, it's really not that hard to see, Sherlock." Mycroft groaned at his brother's minor fault of not knowing.

"She's going out, that's for sure." He queried. "But, not to dinner. No, she was hiding shoes in her bag. Heels, to be precise. And her make-up, she never does it up like that, not even for that gala you held." With a wide motion of his arm, he continued. "Then there was the extremely short scrap of material that she was wearing under the skirt." Sherlock's rant was stopped by the sound of laughing to his left. John was laughing at him. "What?"

"I just can't believe you actually don't know where she's going. You always knew what everyone else is doing down to the tee."

"Oh, what? You know where that madwoman is going? You saw all of that?"

"As a matter of fact, I do know." John told him with a smirk. "Dancing, Sherlock. She's going dancing. And, no, I didn't know, she told me. Well, Mary told me. She probably just didn't want to give you a chance to embarrass her again. Who knows what kind of thing you'd say about her then? Probably end up calling her a slag because she went out to a club. Presumably to find a mate." The last part was put in sort of a posh tone, that sounded vaguely like Sherlock.

"I don't sound like that."

"Yes, you do," Mycroft remarked, bored.

"Point is, Sherlock. Diane wants to go have fun, not be picked apart because of what she is wearing. Anyway, if we're done here, I have to get home. Gotta get some z's before my shift tomorrow. And you," he pointed to the dark hair man. "Leave her be. Goodnight, Mycroft."

"Dr. Watson. A pleasure, as always." Once John was gone, the elder Holmes began inspecting his brother's face. "Well, I'd better be off as well. Do give Diane my best when you see her again. Tell her I will see her on Monday."

It was a few minutes before Sherlock bounced into action. Tossing off his dressing gown, he straightened his shirt and slid into the Belstaff coat. Did they really expect me not to? He thought to himself as he wrapped up in his favorite scarf.

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A/N: Yeah, so this is a much shorter chapter than the previous ones. But, this is more of a filler, and a stopping place for the night. Unfortunately, I always have certain scenes that I want to show, but they always have some time apart, and I end up having to find a way to keep you sated with some other plot points. Next chapter, what does Sherlock do?

Read, review, follow, fav, whatever. Let me know your thoughts. I am also taking prompts and requests at this point.

AcaciaDawn105