Chapter 11
Sherlock's POV
When we arrived at the hotel, Mycroft almost shoved me out of his car towards the hotel. I growled at him then went inside after earning another of those fake smiles of his.
I went straight to the room he prepared and found two men – one gay – and three women in the sitting room. I'd say that there was one couple in the group… and that would be the two people who were sitting on a couch that is obviously for a single person. They immediately stood up after realising that I have arrived.
I looked at each of them and there was no doubt that they are from some kind of a salon.
What were they doing here? I have one absolute idea. Mycroft, that idiot of a brother.
"Sherlock," And as if on a cue, I heard the voice of Mycroft from the laptop on the coffee table.
"What are they doing here, Mycroft? Do you think I won't be able to dress myself properly? I'm not a child, Mycroft! I –" I was cut off by the man himself.
"Then don't act like one, Sherlock," I looked at him and he was very serious, "They are merely there to help you put on a disguise. Remember Sherlock, you are not the great Sherlock Holmes! You are Andrew Flemming, an Irish criminal mastermind. You are here to close a deal with Sebastian Moran."
He stopped and I saw him lean back on his chair, "Since you are his target, you will be easily recognized. Obviously, you will need a disguise. Now, let them do their work, Sherlock."
I glared at him while letting out an exasperated sigh. Truly, things could always be the worst when it's Mycroft.
I despised admitting that he's right, so I rolled my eyes and sat at the seat that was obviously mine.
"You have 25 minutes. Begin," I heard Mycroft command the five people in front of me. They nodded and immediately went to work.
The woman wearing an extremely tight skirt and another who was wearing the complete opposite with glasses started 'destroying' my hair. I tried calming myself as the 'destruction' continued.
The other girl, who looked like their leader, went to the bedroom to prepare something.
The two men were now working their 'magic' on my face, putting a mustache. I could still remember the time when I saw John having one. It was completely hilarious. Immediately, I wanted it gone. Because he was so much more – I cut myself off and sighed. What am I thinking? John is already…
I groaned yet again, earning a confused look from one of the two men working on my mustache.
I ignored them of course.
I still couldn't get over the fact that John had suffered very much after I had left. He suffered more than I had ever imagined. It pushed him to stay away from 221B. He did everything he could to forget me. He even –
I was cut off from thinking about John when I felt my hair being pulled; instantly, I felt my patience reach its end.
The two men were done with their work so they were fairly away from us. So…
"Get your hands off of me, or!" I glared at the woman wearing the tight skirt and did my best in whispering, "I will tell the leader of this 'pack' of yours that you are cheating with her boyfriend that is so obvious because you are using the same shampoo. You are even wearing his shirt! Your leader must be an idiot! And you…" I glared at the other one, "Continue what you were doing and I will tell everyone here that you're a drunkard. How did I know that? Oh please! You have dark-deep eyes which was not appropriate for a salon worker because your work stops at 5 in the evening and you're not taking very good care with your glasses even though you look like a geek – which means when you go out for a 'drink', you sometimes forget that you have them and you often leave them on places that results its unreasonable scratches and marks. So, deep-dark eyes, mistreated glasses plus your almost perfectly disguised alcohol scent I hence deduce that you are a drunkard."
As expected, both of them stepped away and I stood up and went to look at the mirror in front of me.
My hair was obviously not done yet, so I finished it myself. The other side of my hair was straightened while the other was curled at front and straight at the back.
My mustache was not too much, enough to hide some of my features.
"Sir, you can now change your clothes," their leader informed me.
I went inside the bedroom and found a suit impeccably laid on the bed. I looked at it and grimaced at the tie. Mycroft knows I don't wear ties! It's very irritating around my neck!
Obviously, I only wore the shirt, jacket and pants. I left the vest and the annoying tie. Honestly, how can Mycroft be able to wear such bothersome clothes? With all the buttons and the frustrating ties! London might be a cold area but I would never dare wear such infuriating garments.
After taking one of the glasses that their leader presented me, my phone beeped. I opened it after I saw that it flashed 'Mycroft'
5 minutes, Sherlock.
MH
I know that, Mycroft!
SH
I went out and saw four fairly built men dressed in black suits, one of them carrying an attaché case. My phone beeped again and I rolled my eyes before reading it.
You could have at least worn the vest, Sherlock.
MH
Did you really expect me to wear those? Of course not!
SH
Enough about that, Sherlock. I, in my defence, had tried.
MH
Regrettably and sadly, Mycroft knew a great deal of things about me that I am most remorseful for. And things about these suits were not an exception. I could still imagine him saying: 'Sherlock, you need to wear the suit! Mummy will be very upset if you didn't.'
I sneered at that memory as I went inside the elevator, followed by the four guards. One of them pushed the button and I was not even surprised that it did not stop until we reached our floor. It was annoying that Mycroft had a great deal of power even in this hotel, but at the same time I was relieved that I wouldn't be able to continue enduring the uncomfortable silence with the guards even further.
As the elevator door opened, I instantly felt the atmosphere of the room.
Sophistication, power, elegance, class yet at the same time envy, desire, disgust and competition all in the same room. This was simply a glimpse of Mycroft's everyday life, and I already hate it!
The humble and unpretentious ambiance of 221B was what I really wanted right at this moment. The dust that I desperately want Mrs Hudson away from, the comfort of my couch and the smell of John's coffee. Everything about this room was simply the opposite of my meek flat! And it's frustrating!
One staff of the casino was standing near us. When he saw me gestured for him to come, he immediately did.
"Yes sir? How may I be of service?" He asked.
I desperately wanted to roll my eyes at this man. Because the fact that his marriage had been broken off just recently by the trace of a ring on his ring finger – which basically means that he's still obsessed with his ex-wife because he still wears it when he thinks he's alone – and the wrinkle lines on his forehead – which was not suitable for a man in his early 20's – means that he was a man that's going through a lot of problems yet he could still manage to smile irritates me.
But I was not here as Sherlock Holmes who deduce people, I am here as Andrew Flemming – an Irish man who is extremely dangerous. I had to be in character. And so, I looked at him with piercing eyes, standing like a powerful man and said in an Irish accent, "Andrew Flemming. Here to meet Sebastian Moran."
He seemed to get the message because he started leading us to a more private part in the casino.
He immediately opened the door of the room that said "V.I.P".
I did not bother looking at him and went straight inside. I saw a nicely glazed mahogany table between two leather chairs. I looked around the room and its design was completely different from outside. It was personalised. And it was very, very obvious that this was used for more than one transaction.
I sat down on one of the chairs, crossed my legs and waited patiently but powerfully. If I was looking at myself right now, I would say that I was a man who's not supposed to be kept waiting.
I was not disappointed though, because a minute later the door opened and the man that I was begrudgingly waiting walked in.
"I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr Flemming. There were some things that required my attention and I could not simply leave it. It bothers me," he now stood in front of me, smiling like a businessman aching to close a big deal.
He extended his hand for a handshake.
I took a small glance at it and grimaced in my mind, "Oh, how I wanted to break that hand of his."
But of course, I said the complete opposite, "That's a'right Mr Moran. I know how i'feels and i'really is bothersome."
I shook his hand and we both sat down.
"So… Shall we carry on with our business?" He immediately asked.
"O'course! Let's start!" I was at my very best in speaking in an Irish accent. Everything was going according to plan and all I needed was to extract information out.
I saw him smirk at my response and nodded to his guards behind him. Two of them put the cases they have with them on the table.
The guard who had my attaché case put it on the table as well.
Both of us slowly opened the cases and his smirk grew even wider.
"I have a feeling that this will be an impeccable deal…"
"You have no idea, lad… You have no idea," I glared through my glasses when I knew that he wasn't looking.
I desperately wanted to remove that smirk off of his devil of a face, but I had to stop myself. For me to know more about this devil in front of me was the top-most priority.
In order to save John, I had to do this right.
I smiled to myself at the thought of John.
Dear God! The things I do for John…
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