I wake up suddenly, a sharp noise startling me from my sleep. I fight the bedclothes as though trying not to drown and, as I surface, I realise that the sound is the shrill ringing of my mobile. I feel Sherlock's hands patting my body, the mattress, until he finds the phone. What is it doing in bed with us?
I am vaguely recollecting the phone call to Lestrade at 4.30 am, the way Sherlock threw the phone onto the bed when we went to get food. Did we move it when we got back to bed? Clearly not.
"Hmmm? Sherlock Holmes?" he sounds wide awake, I look at him through one eye. He is lying on his back, his hair is sticking up wildly, he looks about ten. One hand is behind his head and the other holding the phone. He turns and smiles at me. "Oh. Hello. Is it? Is it really? Ha ha." He laughs and looks at the clock. I look with him, it's 12.37pm. Bloody hell.
"Well, lovely. I think so. I'm sure he would. Yes, of course. Great. See you there." He throws the phone on the floor and I hear it bounce. I wince. I wrap my arm over his bare torso. He puts out his arm and I lift my head so he can put it under my head. We lie there, thinking our own thoughts, waking up together. Eventually curiosity gets the better of me.
"Who was that?" he looks down and grins.
"Laura. She's going with Art to Tate Modern and wondered if we wanted to come. We're having dinner with them too." I frown.
"Shouldn't we be worrying about Freiman?" I wonder aloud. He shakes his head.
"After the night he had," I grimace as I remember the Ukrainian boy and Eccles. "I think it'll be a couple of days until you hear from him." I sigh; I'm never going to be able to forget Mycroft's face last night. Sherlock pulls his arm away and swings his legs out of bed. He fumbles for the phone and sends a quick text. Then he throws it back down and goes to the bathroom without speaking. I know he isn't cross, just preoccupied. I hear the shower turn on.
I get out of bed and stretch. My muscles ache but it's that 'day after sex' ache which is a nice reminder. I'm not sore anywhere else, maybe a little tender. I pick the phone up and, feeling like a jealous wife, go to the folder for sent messages. I stop feeling guilty because I remind myself it's actually my phone.
There is one new message. It is to Mycroft. It simply reads. 'Will catch them. SH'. I look at the phone for a long time; I can feel the lump in my throat. They might have the strangest relationship between siblings that I've seen, and that's saying something. But they do care, underneath it all.
I wander into the bathroom and he's in the shower, eyes closed and humming to himself. I put the toilet seat down and sit and look at him. He stops humming and opens his eyes.
"It feels wrong not doing anything." I say, finally realising what is off beam with my mood today. He nods and starts to rub shampoo into his hair.
"We are doing something John, we're socialising with just the people Freiman thinks we should be socialising with." I nod, I hadn't thought of that. The idea brings another on its heels.
"Do you think he's watching me?" the concept is alarming, especially now I know about Eccles' fate. He rinses the soapy bubbles from his hair.
"I would be, wouldn't you?" I suppose I would but the idea doesn't make it any better. I try to imagine what I'd be doing if I wasn't waiting for a call from a people trafficker.
"Sherlock, I need to go shopping." He opens one eye and regards me with a serious expression. "I need to buy some clothes." He quirks an eyebrow and nods.
"Are you requesting my presence on this adventure?" he asks drily, rubbing the sponge over his arms and shoulders. I think about this. This will either be a great idea or a disaster.
"What time are we meeting them?" I stand up and squirt toothpaste on my brush.
"Three." Before I brush my teeth I look at myself in the steamy mirror. Look at us, I think, like a married couple.
"You can come but try to be nice about it all, eh?" he chuckles and reaches for his toothbrush. We brush our teeth together. His brushing still sounds painful.
An hour later we're in Covent Garden. We've only been shopping for twenty minutes and five of those were walking here. I have three paper bags from Stuarts London, a shop I've never been in before but was my idea of shopping heaven.
I'm not a big one for retail to be honest. I pick up the odd thing when I need it, usually having no idea where to go until I get off the tube and stumble in to the nearest appropriate shop. Sherlock didn't even ask me where I wanted to go. He hailed a cab and told the driver to take us to Shepherd's Bush.
From outside the shop was unassuming but once inside I realised they specialised in the kind of retro clothing I had always fancied myself wearing but had never been brave, or savvy enough to wear. The assistant was polite and helpful without being over bearing and, after a couple of suggestions, Sherlock left me alone to decide what I wanted. In the end I chose two pairs of slim leg trousers as well as a pair of vintage Levis, a grey cable knit jumper also by Levi and another in blue with a bold red stripe across the chest. Two Fred Perry, retro check shirts and two new black t shirts. Still recognisably my style, a kind of understated country wear, but they are noticeably more elegant, more chic. All I need is some new boots and I'm done. It's the least stressful shopping trip I've ever been on.
Which is why we're in Covent Garden and Sherlock is bossing the lovely assistant around trying to find my size.
"Black. Black? John? Or do you think brown?" he's waving the boots in front of my face and I can't actually tell which is which. I'm not sure I care, we have used up my shopping enthusiasm quotient for the month. I shrug and he registers this and smiles at the poor girl who is tucking her hair back into its harassed ponytail. "Both, in size nine please." He goes to the till and gets out his wallet and pays for the boots.
"Ready?" he asks as he strides towards the door, the bag with the shoes swinging at his side. "So, was I nice enough?" he grins as we walk towards the river on our way to the gallery. I nod and shift the bags to a different hand.
"Yes, yes you were. Lovely. Thank you." he chuckles.
"I can't imagine what you thought I'd be like." He raises an eyebrow and looks at me sideways.
"Well. You didn't insist on coming into the changing room with me." he smirks.
"You sound disappointed John." I laugh, he's half right.
We walk across Millennium Bridge and I watch the brown sluggish water of the Thames churning beneath us. Tourists take photos and Londoners hurry past us. One of them, a man in a sharp suit looks at us both as he walks by. For some reason he catches my attention and I turn to watch him cross the bridge. Sherlock stops with me but he isn't looking back the way we've come. The man in the suit stops to speak to someone on the far side of the river, from here it looks like Damien, the tall blonde guy from Laura's party. I feel myself go cold.
"Sherlock?" he starts walking again.
"I know." His voice is low and then he links his arm in mine. "They'd be stupid not to watch us wouldn't they?" I nod, he's right, but the thought that they have been watching us at all makes me nervous. "Come on," he squeezes my arm and smiles at me. "Let's pretend we're normal." His expression is so madcap that I laugh.
Even though I'm not convinced about modern art, I love this building. The uninterrupted lines, the simple elegance of the high ceilinged rooms is liberating and fills me with a sense of freedom. There's something utilitarian but open about the space. It's helped by the fact that we don't have to pay, something which only reinforces the feeling that this building is for the people. It's busy, as you'd expect, and the place is surrounded in a hum of people speaking.
A school group goes by, the teacher counting the children silently as they file onto the escalator. Her students have notepads and seem to be interested in their little maps of the gallery. Two boys scuffling at the end are given a stern look as she 'Bo Peeps' them onto the moving stairway.
The glass sided shop is crowded and Sherlock steers me to the cloakroom where we deposit our bags and coats and go to look for Laura and Art. It's strange to see him out without his heavy overcoat but it's pleasantly warm in the gallery, the glass and lights making the place seem airy and comfortable. As he strides across the floor people glance at him and I am reminded again of how striking a figure he is. The escalator takes us up and we step onto the next level.
Small shoals of tourist follow their guides, listening intently to their commentary and moving in unison from room to room. Couples stroll hand in hand, sharing their views on what they have seen but not everyone is accompanied. There are individuals, listening to their headsets and seriously studying the art on their own. The gallery has a feel of camaraderie that everyone is here to learn, observe and quietly enjoy themselves.
"Where are we meeting them?" I ask Sherlock as he directs me to another escalator. He looks at us reflected in the glass which surrounds us, John and Sherlock mirrored many times in the panes of the shiny walls. He smiles and three more Sherlocks smile back at him.
"Third floor, Anish Kapoor, Ishi's Light." I frown, not sure what he means but he alights carefully and takes my hand as we enter the first room. Before me is a giant structure. It's like an egg with the top and bottom removed, a large slice cut down its centre so that we can stand inside it. The interior is a deep red lacquer, shiny and organic. We look at ourselves distorted by the concave walls of the 'egg'. Our faces and hands are a deep pink, reflected in the crimson sheen. Our bodies, nearly so dark we cannot see them are ghostly and vague. Sherlock is still holding my hand and our bodies join and flare apart where the light bends from the shape of the structure.
"Wow." I breathe and Sherlock smiles. "Do you know anything about it?" I ask him not taking my eyes off the John in the dim red gleam. I see him shake his head.
"No, but I like how the light is gathered into that long stripe." He points with his hand, running his fingers up and down the length of the egg. "Is it supposed to be a womb? I laugh.
"Tidiest womb I've ever seen." We chuckle and step out of the shape to look at it again. I walk around the other side. Its converse back is smooth and white. The little tag on the wall says it's made from resin. I wonder briefly who Ishi is and why this is their light. When I walk back around the egg Laura and Art are with Sherlock. They both smile at me broadly.
"Hello." Art grabs my arm and kisses my cheek enthusiastically. "Nice to see you again John."
"Hi sweetie," Laura kisses me too and then hugs me as though she's just realised that she can. I hug back. People often don't take me for a hugger but secretly I am.
"Isn't this amazing?" I ask, gesturing to the egg. "No idea what it's about or for but... wow." Laura laughs.
"See? That's what I was just saying to Art who, ironically for his name, is the biggest philistine I've ever met," we all laugh and Art laughs the loudest. "It's not about use, or even meaning sometimes, it's just about the pretty."
"I'm glad you said that, I really have no idea. Always found these places a little intimidating to be honest." Laura nods and I feel a little better about my ignorance.
We wander through this level, looking at the pictures, the sculptures and trying to guess what they represent before Laura makes Sherlock read the tags out in his best 'culture' voice and we laugh at our silly suggestions.
"It's a fried egg!" exclaims Art of one piece which turns out to be a mother and child. Even Sherlock is laughing and it's the most relaxed I think I've ever seen him. We board the escalator to the next floor. Laura is on the step above and she turns and, leaning her elbow on the rail, looks at us.
"So did you have fun when you got home boys? I haven't had chance to check John's ankles yet!" I laugh and Sherlock sighs theatrically.
"I'm afraid not. We had two visitors and didn't get round to the evening's proposed fun." He shrugs and Laura pulls a dramatic face of disappointment.
"Oh poor you, that's no good. Rose, Art and I spent a good hour imagining what was going on back at your place." She waggles her eyebrow at Art who collapses against the rail giggling.
"I owe you money then Laura." He wheezes and she grins and glides off the metal steps as they disappear into the floor.
"Money? You had a bet on? What about?" I catch up with her as she walks towards one of the paid exhibitions; she has her purse from her small bag and is clearly paying our entry fee.
"Oh I said that you would be in the bars and Art said Sherlock enjoyed himself too much to let someone else have a go." She giggles and I laugh too. "And then Art said we should phone and ask if we could watch. You're both too pretty to go to waste like that!" It occurs to me that it should feel strange that they were guessing about our sex lives but it's all so good natured and open that it really doesn't bother me. New John, I smile to myself.
"Oh priceless!" Art is pointing up at the wall where the name of the exhibition is displayed in large pink cut out letters. 'EXPOSED, voyeurism, surveillance and the camera' is the title. "I'll bet it's not as exciting as the view we had planned last night!" I shake my head and look at Sherlock who is smiling good naturedly.
"Well, if I see anything I recognise then I'll be sure to inform you." he says to Art who is still giggling.
We go inside, the large, white room is full of pictures and TV screens. As we pass a bank of them I notice that it shows us walking by. I look for the camera and see a number of them dotted in the ceiling of the room. I try to guess which of them is filming us now from the angle of the shot. We all stop to look at ourselves. The urge to mug about, to pull faces or be silly is almost unbearable and I see that the school party have given in to this urge at the next bank of screens. The teacher is looking exasperated but is laughing with them.
Laura is checking the back of her dress in one of the cameras lenses, Art is surreptitiously checking out an androgynous figure who is sketching in the far corner of the room. I glance sideways at Sherlock and he is looking at me. On impulse I grab him and kiss him. No one cares; they're all looking at the art. Out of the corner of my eye I sneak a glance at the screens. The height difference shocks me at first, I never imagined him to be so tall! Then I notice his hands looped about my waist and how those long fingers clutch my body, indenting the cable of my jumper. There's something erotic, forbidden about watching us like this and, for a moment, I wonder what it'd be like to film ourselves. I lean in to kiss him again and I notice that Sherlock is watching us on the screen too. A frisson of excitement thrills through me, I feel my body starting to respond to this illicit and wicked moment. Is this another boundary to push?
Any more thought on this subject is swept away when I notice the man from the bridge is also caught by the camera, watching us both intently. I move to nibble Sherlock's ear and I feel rather than see his eyebrows rise at my actions.
"Behind us, near the door." I murmur and I see his eyes swivel in the direction I have indicated.
"Mmm." He mumbles and kisses me again. We break apart and walk to where Laura and Art are standing in front of a set of black and white pictures. They seem to have been taken in the 30's or 40's and show various people. Some are women, undressed and lounging on chairs, I guess from their relaxed attitude to their nudity and the voluptuousness of their figures that they are strippers or prostitutes waiting between clients. In one photograph a woman is reflected in the glass walls of a cafe, she is about to kiss another person but we can only see the back of their head. Is it a man or a woman? The photo is unclear and I suppose this raises the forbidden element of the shot.
My favourite is one of a couple in a cinema. It's clearly been taken in the dark and around them the audience is intent on the screen while the couple are kissing passionately. The woman's feet are on the seat in front of her and they are bare, she has clearly kicked off her shoes and there's something erotic and sexy about it. The image is made all the more surreal by the fact that the rest of the audience are wearing those silly cardboard 3d glasses.
The woman's blouse is made of a see through material and the man's hand clutches her shoulder fiercely through the thin fabric. Even though everyone else seems to be focussed on the screen one boy behind them is clearly watching them as they embrace. Next to my similar revelation about seeing Sherlock and I on film the picture is alarmingly arousing.
"Mmm, I like this one." Laura is beside me now and she points a crimson nail at the photo. I nod. Both of us look at it for a moment longer. "She's taken her shoes off." She observes.
"Why does that make it sexier?" I ask, "Feet aren't sexy." She raises a perfect eyebrow.
"I know some people who would certainly disagree with that comment John," she grins. "Anyway I think it's because she's in public but she's made herself all comfortable. I don't suppose women took their shoes off in public in those days." I nod, I suppose she's right. She wanders off to look at another photo.
After about ten minutes we find ourselves standing back at the bank of screens. The suited man has gone, or at least I can't see him and Art is the last of us to reconvene.
"I'm hungry." He mock whines and Laura grins and pats his head.
"Ok darling, we can go and eat now. Is that ok boys?" she looks at us and we both nod.
Laura leads the way; Sherlock is discussing art with her I think. I vaguely hear him talking about cameras and observations and she is nodding and agreeing with him. I find myself walking with Art.
"So, John. You're an army doctor, Laura says. That must have been gruesome." He shudders and I nod.
"Sometimes. Yes, sometimes it was." I really don't want to spoil the buzz I have this afternoon dwelling on some of the things I have seen. He nods and seems to sense my mood.
"Oh I wish I had a career John, a vocation." I look at him, he sounds like he means it.
"What do you do Art?" I ask him, looking at him properly for the first time. His dark golden hair is short, in a style that reminds me of Greek statues, in fact there's something about him that seems very classical. He has a dimple right in the middle of his chin which almost renders his face too perfect to be manly. His full lips have a perfect Cupid's bow and I find myself contrasting his mouth with Sherlock's. Both are full and sensual but where Sherlock's lips are pointed and precise, Art's curve in an almost feminine way. His eyes are a vivid blue and his brows are golden blonde and thick, tapering to the edges. His cheekbones are high and give him the air of aristocracy which Sherlock has revealed to be his background. In isolation any of his features would be a stunning asset to a woman's face but together he carries them off as a slightly androgynous but, still masculine, youth. I've noticed people looking at him, mainly men but some women seem to be attracted to his exotic looks. He looks at me sideways and laughs.
"What do I do? Get drunk, get tied up, have fun, spend Daddy's money! Only for god's sake don't tell him. He's an absolute monster!" he grins but I have a feeling he might be disguising the truth as a jest.
"How do you know Laura?" I ask, watching the lady in question keeping pace with Sherlock's long strides in her red skyscraper heels.
"Oh, we've known each other forever. Since we were children. Our parents knew each other and she used to come on holiday to the house in Scotland with us. I suppose I'm closer to her than I am my family."
"And Sherlock?" he chuckles.
"Ah ha! Now we get to the real question!" I laugh and nod, admitting my ruse. He grins and tucks his arm in mine. "Well, I met him just after Laura's met him, although I didn't know she'd met him. I just saw this gorgeous alien creature... what?" I am laughing.
"Nothing... it's what I always think of him too, it was just funny that you used that expression." He grins.
"Well, all those limbs and that brain, grrr." He mock growls and we both laugh. Sherlock turns his head and raises his eyebrow. I smile at him and Art waves. He frowns and turns back to his conversation with Laura.
"Anyway, I was after him for such a long time...you're not the jealous type are you John?" he looks at me, head on one side, gauging my reactions. I shake my head and shrug.
"No idea Art. Guess we'll work it out if I punch you!" I laugh to show I am joking and he grins.
"Ok, deal. Well he was having none of it. Awkward bugger. I was thinking he was probably a virgin and a bit scared off." He laughs loudly and I can just see Sherlock's ears twitching. "And then I found out Laura and Rose knew him and I got them to introduce us. Turns out they'd all been playing together for months. Bitches." He sniggers and I laugh, his candour is very funny.
"So did you ever, you know... did you get to...?" I try not to make too big a deal of it. Art looks at me sideways, figuring me out.
"Once. Sort of. Not really." I frown, he sighs. "He was a bit drunk... well actually too drunk, if you know what I mean?" he pulls a regretful face and I smile. "I finally got him to agree to take his clothes off, I skip off to the bedroom to get some things, I come back and he's sound asleep on the sofa. He's like the dead to wake. Oh, I suppose you know that!" he chuckles and I nod. for some reason the idea of the disappointed face of Art as he observes the object of his lust zonked out on the sofa is hilarious and I start to giggle. His expression is mock offence and then he laughs too. We are laughing so much we're wheezing and Sherlock finally; unable to stand his curiosity any longer, whirls on us. This just makes us giggle more. Art is pointing at Sherlock's confused face and tears are streaming down his cheeks. Laura turns and smiles quietly.
"Not the 'Sherlock drunk on the sofa story' Art? Again? When are you going to get over that one?" she grins as her words reduce us to more paroxysms of hilarity.
People are starting to stare and we pull ourselves together. I am careful not to catch Art's eye as I can still see his shoulder's shaking with mirth.
"Where are we going to eat?" I ask Laura as we blink our way into the sunshine outside.
"Thought we'd go back to mine," she says as she hails a cab from the concrete plaza at the bottom of the steps. "Then I can lend Sherlock that camera equipment he wanted to borrow." What? I look at Sherlock who is grinning evilly, Art begins to laugh again.
Ok, so I hated this chapter when I started it but now I feel a little better about it. All the things in the Tate Modern are really there and you can google them I imagine, or goand see for yourself if you're inclined. I needed to have some time to let things settle with the boys before Gus rings John so I hope you aren't distracted from the story. Please let me know what you thought of this one. For some reason I feel quite unsure about it...
As always I must profess my love for The Baker St Irregulars! These fics wouldn't be here if it was not for: PrincessNala (thanks for the confidence boost), Peachsilk , Darmed, Clubba Bear, Tasty- Kate, 2cajuman2, Tanya Zsa Zsa ,Munchiees (Yay! Nice to have you back!), Aelfric's cat (soggy Bach fan), Nellyington, mrs winny, Despairandcupcakechild, Mouserjb4 ,Tillif and Harpyquin and Jazzysatindoll (really, look for her on deviantart) ! you're treasures and I am honoured to have met you!
Love my OHOB and my darling Reggie, Cxx