Chapter 35 - Oscillating on the Pavement

Sherlock was wide awake well before Wednesday dawned. Again he studied the Skype call with John walking around the dull fly fishing and hiking spot in Berkshire yesterday. But Sherlock couldn't remain focussed on the case for very long, a state which he found rather disconcerting.

Neither he nor Violet had brought up the subject of her coffee date scheduled for this afternoon—not that Sherlock could bring it up. That would be tantamount to confessing that he had been snooping on her phone. And Violet didn't normally tell him about her coffee dates ahead of time. He only knew they occurred if she was regaling him with a story commencing with, "Yesterday Mandi said..." after which he would tune out.

There was only one thing for it: he'd have to stalk her this afternoon, after she'd finished her rehearsal.

Um, what? John Watson's puzzled voice broke into his thoughts. Aren't you acting like Nick, her paranoid, jealous ex-boyfriend? And this behaviour would be in addition to you resembling her other ex-boyfriend Jake, a coke-head with a penchant for physically assaulting people.

I don't resemble either one of those two, Sherlock thought, with a good deal less confidence in himself than he usually felt.

Sherlock halted his thoughts on planning for this afternoon's surveillance. That was one thing he didn't want for himself: to bear any resemblance to Violet's previously dumped boyfriends. He could not make the same mistakes they had made.

Nonsense. She's obviously hiding something, came Mycroft's stern voice. And you hate not knowing things.

Is she hiding something? John's voice countered. Have you ever pegged her for being an adulterer?

Sherlock sighed deeply. He was getting nowhere. And he hadn't had the opportunity to check Violet's phone yet, so there was no confirmation that the person who was trying to organise a little coffee get-together was the same as the one who had apologised for not having coffee with her, and had changed their mobile number, despite both messages ending with xx.

Sherlock checked his watch. It was a little after five, and Violet wouldn't be awake until six thirty for her morning jog. Given that she was a heavy sleeper, he could sneak back into his bedroom, disconnect her phone from its charger and bring it back out to the living room to read her messages.

Sherlock was there and back within twenty seconds.

No news was definitely not good news. There were now no messages to and from the contact called J. Sherlock had memorised the unidentified person's mobile number, so he knew that the unknown caller and J were one and the same. Neither of the messages he had read were listed in Violet's phone any more. That meant she had purposefully deleted them and therefore she had something to hide. He noted that there were still a huge number of messages from many other contacts, including his own texts and silly photos, and those of her BFF Mandi, so it wasn't as if she routinely deleted her messages from everybody.

So that concludes it. You must follow her today. Mycroft's voice was gentler, but no less succinct.

No. You really should trust her, spoke John Watson's.

#

Sherlock pretended to be absorbed in the case when Violet had left for her jog later that morning. She gave him a quick kiss on the forehead before heading out, quite usual for their morning routine, however this time Sherlock's heart was cleaved in two.

Sherlock hadn't moved from his armchair by the time Violet returned from her jog. He stayed there, largely immobile while she showered, dressed and packed her bag. Then she preceded to sort the mail.

Sherlock tried to concentrate on a hardly rivetting email, but Violet was fluttering about, shifting papers around on the coffee table, and then the living room table. When he couldn't stand the bustle of activity any longer, he asked, "What are you looking for?"

Violet replied, without looking up, "Earrings."

Sherlock's heart stuttered. He knew exactly which earrings she was searching for.

Violet paused in her paper shuffling and made eye contact with Sherlock. "Remember the diamond earrings that got snagged in my jumper? And I threw them onto the coffee table?"

She spun around and stood with her back to Sherlock, her hands on her hips, her eyes sweeping the end of the living area where the couch and coffee table sat.

Sherlock cleared his throat, prompting Violet to turn back to him. He drew in a sharp breath. "Mrs Hudson placed them on the shelf next to the couch when she was dusting."

The landlady had indeed done that when Sherlock lay catatonic on the couch the other week. She had muttered something about, "Better not leave these lying about."

The relief that flitted across Violet's features at Sherlock's words made the detective sink deeper into his quagmire of despair. He hated this... these feelings. How could his heart be elevated to such great heights, only to be allowed to plummet so dramatically. Was there no in between? What had she done to him, exactly?

"Don't worry, you'll solve it. I'm sure the solution will just leap out at you," Violet said sweetly, incorrectly assuming that Sherlock was feeling down about not having solved the case yet. She ran her fingers through his hair as she sat perched on the armrest once more.

Sherlock didn't realise it was time for her to leave again. Time seemed to accelerate whenever he hid inside his Mind Palace.

She pressed her lips to his, and then she was gone.

Sherlock had decided that he would have to trust her. There would be no stalking his girlfriend this afternoon.

#

Violet had just exited the flat when John ambled up, a nervous smile gracing his features. They greeted each other companionably, with Violet asking how Berkshire was, and how was the packing going, before John launched into the topic of the blood tests. He tugged on his collar a couple of times, so Violet assumed he found the whole thing quite awkward. Violet thanked the doctor for facilitating the testing and getting the results back to them fairly promptly, assuring him that she knew they had to have repeat tests done in a few months time.

"Ah, probably not necessary," John had commented. "Since they're negative and you two aren't at risk."

Violet returned his smile, and nodded, hoping John would take that as a signal to say no more on the subject. He cleared his throat and shifted his stance. Clearly he was still feeling uncomfortable. But about what?

"Mary and I were wondering if you... that is, you and Sherlock would like to... ah... have dinner with us, this coming Friday night? Mary would love to meet you."

John studied Violet's face and was met with a mirror image of his own before they both burst out laughing, having shared the same thought.

"Yeah, I know," John said once the silliness had died down. "Sherlock Holmes at dinner... with wine and... sitting."

Violet reached out and affectionately patted John's arm. "We'd love to. Well, I'd love to. We'll both be there one way or another. Thank you, and I'd love to meet Mary."

#

Violet wondered if she ought to be worried that Jake had sent her a text saying that he'd pick her up outside the Lord St. Simon theatre when she was finished, rather than meet her in an actual coffee shop, of which there were plenty in the near vicinity.

She reminded her ex that rehearsals hardly ever finished on time, but lately she had been able to get out just after four thirty. She would text him once she knew. She hesitated in contacting Sherlock to say she'd be late home—not that he noticed what time it was when she arrived or departed, or even if she had left at all if Monday was anything to go by.

Finally they wrapped at a quarter to five, so she sent two texts: one to Jake, and one to Sherlock—the message to her boyfriend saying, Having coffee with a friend. Will be a bit late. Text me if you need me to pick up something in particular for dinner on the way home. Vx

Violet was satisfied that there were no lies in that message. Everything was above board.

Five minutes later she was travelling in the passenger seat of a hire car Jake was using while he was in London.

"This is a fucking dead area," he muttered. "I'm not taking you for coffee here."

"There's a lovely one back—" Violet said, gesturing behind them, but her words dried up when she noticed Jake clench the steering wheel.

"We're not having coffee."

Panic seized Violet immediately, having felt nervous the entire afternoon.

"We're not?" was all she managed to ask.

Violet saw Jake's face tense and he clenched his jaw before speaking. "Look, Vi, I'm going to be travelling to London more often. I won't just have a share in Kabuki's any more. I'm gonna buy it outright."

"I like Kabuki's," Violet answered in a voice that wasn't her own, but wondering where this conversation, and this car journey, were headed.

Keep him talking. Be pleasant. Concentrate on where we're driving.

"And I'm buying a dry cleaning franchise."

A dry cleaning franchise. Well, if that isn't an obvious front for something illegal I don't know what is.

"Why didn't you have dinner with me?" he asked suddenly.

"I... well, I—" Violet stammered.

"Ah, fuck it," he said, glancing in the rearview mirror, before taking his foot off the accelerator. "It'll have to be here."

"Why... what are we doing, Jake?"

Jake steered the car into a driveway alongside a warehouse that ran along the river.

"At least this is private," he murmured.

Violet's mouth ran dry as she took in her surroundings—a warehouse plus a couple of smaller storage sheds lay on one side, while a smaller section of the river flowed along the other. There was no one about, and the warehouse had been padlocked for the evening.

Jake kept the car running after he'd parked, and turned to Violet and said, "You know that club, Row 17, by the river?"

Violet knew the Manchester club a block away from the Mersey. She'd spent many an hour there, slowly getting drunk in the exclusive private area in the company of the man sitting next to her, the same man who was scaring the crap out of her at this moment.

"I've bought that one, too. It's going to be a busy time for me, but I will be dividing my time between London and Manchester."

Violet swallowed hard. "That's fantastic, Jake."

Jake breathed in deeply, switched the engine off, then opened his car door. Glancing at Violet, he said, "Let's step outside for a minute, before it starts raining again, yeah?"

An icy hand gripped Violet's heart. Let's step outside for a minute. She'd heard Jake say those words before to a business acquaintance. The Liverpudlian and the Mancunian businessmen had chatted amiably about clubs and things as well, for about half an hour inside the club. Jake was quite strict about observing the no smoking policy in his bars. He had held an unlit cigarette between his lips as he clapped the other man on the shoulder, leading him outside for a smoke. Violet and the rest of Jake's entourage had followed, some of them also retrieving their fags from jacket pockets.

Once they'd exited into the alleyway, Jake's hand suddenly seized the back of his companion's hair before slamming the guy's face into a brick wall. As the unfortunate man lay crumpled on the ground of the alleyway, groaning, swearing and holding his bleeding face, Jake had coolly lit his cigarette, and took one drag. His cohorts remained silent, save for the lighting of their own cigarettes and the odd shuffle of shoes on the gravel. Violet recalled that she may not have been breathing herself, let alone smoking. And she had learnt not so long ago not to question Jake's actions in front of his people. After a couple more drags, Jake dropped his cigarette to the ground in front of the hapless man's face before stubbing it out with his heel.

"All your business goes through me, from now on," were Jake's only words of advice.

Violet stepped out of the car, her heart hammering in her chest as she reluctantly shut the car door behind her.

#

Sherlock stared into the microscope, the pollen extracted from the mud on the hiker's shoes a blurry image before him. He hadn't even bothered making the necessary adjustments to the equipment. He wasn't interested in the case right now.

Violet's text to him earlier, though innocent in its original composition, had twisted and mutated in his mind into an outright confession of infidelity. He knew that was ridiculous. It was a trick, the trick of a jealous mind. And he wasn't a jealous man.

He blinked several times as he drew away from the microscope to check his watch for the dozenth time. It was now six o'clock. Would Violet be home by now? He didn't want to go back to an empty flat. The absence of Violet would surely mean she was now in the throes of passion with another man. Best give her another half hour.

#

Violet had tried to compose herself several times in the back seat of the cab on her way home. She had an endless supply of tears, it seemed. Although she had asked Jake to drop her off at Ealing Common station, instead of taking him up on his offer to drive her to Baker Street, she had decided against the long tube ride home. Having to change trains, with all the potential for interacting with the rest of humanity that went with travelling on the tube at this hour, wouldn't give her the privacy to react the way she wanted to.

Perhaps this would be the last time Violet would hear from Jake? She hoped like hell it was.

#