Another chapter for you. They are becoming slightly more regular now I have got my head back together. Thanks for understanding.
"Mr Holmes! MR HOLMES! Daily Mail! How did you do it?" An annoying high pitched woman yelled causing Sherlock to cringe slightly so only John could see.
"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock smirked before pointing to another person.
"Where 'ave you been then these three years?"
"Traveling. Not all pleasure I assure you. Next." John sighed. Sherlock was being very difficult and these blasted reporters will not be satisfied. "Yes, the gentleman in the red who broke up with his wife this morning?"
The man stared at him in wonder momentarily before he suddenly realised his situation. "This one's for Doctor Watson, I'm 'fraid, Mr Holmes."
Sherlock shot John a glance, asking John if he was okay with this. John nodded. If the last few years hadn't been enough already. "Alright, go ahead."
"Doctor Watson, even though Mr Holmes was gone you never thought to move on? Still the bachelor?"
John's face flushed. That was none of their business. "I have no clue what you mean by moving on. I had numerous dates with a few ladies but I just haven't found one that has caught my eye yet. I don't see why this is of any importance."
"Oh, no reason, Doctor. Our readers like this sorta thing." With that the man scribbled down in his notebook before getting out his phone, John glanced at Sherlock, who had continued to answer some questions from the corner of his eye. He soon noticed the gentleman had raised his hand again.
"Well now," Sherlock announced not soon after. "You people are beginning to bore me. I'll leave you in the... capable hands of Scotland Yard to answer any questions you may have. It is ever so trivial."
Sherlock pushed himself up from the seat and caught John's collar, dragging him out of the room. There was an uproar of questions as the tall detective and his shorter companion exited the room.
Lestrade sighed as he watched them leaving. He would have to call Mycroft about this.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your time. We will answer no more questions on the matter." He announced, standing up and following Sherlock and John. He reached the door, only to find that they'd disappeared already.
John followed Sherlock closely, not knowing the roads and fearing that he might get lost.
"Where are we going?" He asked, his head spinning. He was sure that Sherlock had just dragged him out of an interview where someone had asked him if he'd moved on from Sherlock. What did that mean? Did Sherlock understand that he was uncomfortable there? Was it really something or... Or was John over analysing?
"We're going to lunch." Sherlock said simply. "I know a little pub, The Clarence."
"Okay." John nodded, following Sherlock. "I suppose you won't be eating?"
"Of course not, John." Sherlock laughed. "I'm on a case."
A case? What case? John stopped walking for a second. Sherlock looked over his shoulder.
"Come on, John."
"Fine... Yeah, okay." John said, still unable to focus properly.
"Stop panicking, John. We're only going down the road. You know this one." Sherlock called back as John tried to keep up. Before long they stopped outside a bricked building near some traffic lights. There was outside seating though obviously they weren't going to sit there as there was a very loud, obnoxious man yelling at passes by. His blue shirt looked stained, Sherlock glared at him.
John looked up at the dark green shop sign with wonderfully gold lettering. Apparently the place was over a hundred years old. It looked it too. With the windows decorated such and the old fashioned lamps hanging. John noticed the door was a dark wood as he followed Sherlock in. Inside looked like it must be a busy place normally. However today it looked rather empty. Sherlock seated himself in a far off corner, John followed suit. "You want a drink, Sherlock?"
"Mhm. They do a lovely ale. Though I already took the liberty of ordering our drinks." He stated as he looked at a menu decorating the table, pointing towards the bar.
"You what? But you came and sat down straight away!" John exclaimed, glancing towards the bar to see a man approaching them with two drinks in hand.
"I have my methods, John."
"'Ere ye go, Mr Holmes, and thanks again for ye 'elp." The man beamed at him. "I'll leave ye to ye date then."
"I'm not his d-" Tried to yell out before turning back to his drink. "Oh sod it. They never listen."
John settled into his seat and picked up his glass. He looked at Sherlock, who was looking at various people in the pub. John didn't even have to follow Sherlock's eyes to know what he was looking at. The man and woman in the corner, their hands touching across the table. John had noticed them when he walked in, with a pang of jealousy.
After a silence John cleared his throat.
"So, what was that about in the... er... conference?" John stumbled over his words. "It's just that it didn't seem... It didn't seem like you."
"Didn't seem like... me?" Sherlock asked, surprised. "I am me so everything I do must seem like me."
"You know what I mean, Sherlock." John sighed and scratched his chin.
"You didn't shave properly this morning." Sherlock noticed.
"Stop it and answer me, Sherlock."
"I wanted to leave." Sherlock nodded, he sipped at his drink. "Everyone annoyed me."
"I suppose too much thinking for one room." John laughed to himself. He was probably correct. "Anyway, why this pub?"
"On our way out of Scotland Yard yesterday somebody slipped me a note. It informed me that he required my help. It gave a very brief description of what the case would involve and that is why we are here now, John." John scanned the room again. This time the lovers were locked at the lips, as if they required one another for oxygen. He couldn't help but let out a groan before tearing his glance away. Sherlock was turned around, staring intently at the door, giving John the perfect opportunity to study Sherlock over.
He had shaved perfectly this morning. Like he always did. He had used something in his hair. Obviously chosen his shirt with care, it was the only way Sherlock knew how. They were all the same really anyway. Minus the costumes. John had looked through them once. Why Sherlock needed or even owned a French Maid's outfit is beyond him. Though he had no doubt that the detective could pass for a female if needs be. He had to admit, that wasn't the weirdest thing he had discovered in Sherlock's wardrobe but he didn't plan to carry on searching after he had found the maid's outfit.
That neck though. By God that neck. John wanted to reach and stroke it. To see if he could feel Sherlock's heart beat. He couldn't do that though. It wouldn't be allowed. Also he thought Sherlock might think he had cracked and get him admitted somewhere. That thought had him laughing. Sherlock, admitting HIM, John Watson, into a mental hospital. Something wouldn't seem right.
The laughter caused Sherlock to turn around and scan over John.
John's stubble was uneven, although, Sherlock reasoned, only he or Mycroft would notice that. His tie was hanging slightly to one side and his cuffs had been done up in a hurry. His hair had been swept through with only his right hand, there was a definite line in the way John's hair stood. All these things were comfortable, normal. Good old, dependable John.
Sherlock couldn't work out what was nagging away at the back of his mind, it annoyed him intensely. But he would wait and, like all things that had a mysterious nature, he would unravel it, learns the secrets it kept.
"What's so funny?" He asked, noticing the colour of the bags under John's eyes. He was tired, such a human thing.
"No- nothing." John said, muffling his laughter. John picked up his beer and downed what was left in one gulp. "Can I get another?"
"As long as you're fit to run after it." Sherlock nodded, noting the tone in John's voice, the pleading quality. What was John drinking for? To escape, like so many before him? To have fun? Unthinkable! They were on a case! To forget? But what would John need to forget?
Sherlock shook his head and raised his hand, the bar keeper noticed and pulled another pint. He bought it over to John, who nodded and thanked him. "Will ye be needing 'elp today, Mr Holmes?"
"No, thank you. Although, I might require a room for myself, John and the young man that has just sat down four tables from the bar."
The bar keeper looked at Sherlock momentarily then at John and then at the young man. He nodded and walked up to the bar to talk to somebody. John ran his right palm down the front of his face. This would not look good and, oblivious as ever, Sherlock was unaware of what the bar keeper had misconstrued.
John nursed his second pint until, half way down, he decided he had had enough. No sooner had he mentally decided this did Sherlock stand up and walk to the side of the bar where a door stood. The young man quickly followed.
John's face flushed a violent pink as he stood up and followed Sherlock and the young man. His eyes caught the bar keeper, who winked at him. "No, it's not like that." John sighed, they never listened.
Sherlock was standing by the window, the young man perched on a chair by the fireplace and John sat curtly on the bed. He was closest to the door.
John's gaze switched repeatedly between the man and Sherlock. The man was dressed in, what appeared to be an expensive, three piece suit. His hair was gelled in place and he had an expensive looking watch on. John noticed the man's cufflinks and realised he had seen them on somebody else before. "How's Mycroft then?"
Sherlock span round to look at John, a mixture of surprise and, maybe, joy on his face. "The cufflinks, Sherlock."
Sherlock glanced at the man and smiled. "Well done, John."
"He's tolerable. How did you know I was acquainted with Mycroft?"
"The suit you are wearing in hand tailored, Italian by the looked of the material. Your watch alone is thirteen thousand pounds. Your cufflinks were a special gift from that blasted club when you joined. The same blasted club that my dearest brother attends with all his upper class, snobby friends. As my friend her obviously noticed."
"Your brother said you were both good, Mr Holmes," Sherlock snorted slightly at the understatement. "I didn't realise how good."
John rubbed his sweaty palms on his knees as Sherlock paced around the room. He felt the fabric under his hands and it calmed him. This habit was one he'd developed over the three years that Sherlock was gone, from rubbing Sherlock's scarf which he kept balanced on his knees.
"What are we here for exactly?" Sherlock's voice was a low growl. His hair was falling over his eyes, he brushed it back and turned to the man in front of John, a questioning look in his eyes.
"Well, you're here for..." The man trailed off. "I need to introduce myself, I'm James."
"Bond?" John laughed. Sherlock spun his back to the man and began pacing again. His hands clasped behind his back. He wanted to get this meeting over and done with. He wanted the chase, the hunt. He wanted something that would stop this dull, boring, routine's existence.
"Yes." Said James. "It's the name you'll know me by until your brother," he waved at Sherlock, "says otherwise."
"Smart..." John nodded, watching Sherlock's long strides as he though. Sherlock stood still and looked at 'James' with a sudden expression of glee.
"You're Penber." He grinned, "Samuel Penber."
'James' reeled back in surprise. His slick appearance falling away for a split second. "Your brother did that to me too. Told me to expect it."
"Shaken but not stirred." John muttered. Sherlock chuckled whilst Samuel shot him a filthy look.
"You didn't answer me." Sherlock sobered up. "Why are we here?"
"You tell me." Samuel leaned back in his chair and watched Sherlock with cold, calculating eyes. "And explain how you worked out who I am."
"Simple," Sherlock flicked his hand at Samuel. "We met shortly while you were Mycroft's latest flame."