Banking on It
By KathyG
Summary: It's time for John to change banks and do some more replacing.
Author's Note: This story is a sequel to "Suits You," and like that story and "Up to Scratch", it's designed to fit into sgam76's "Scheherezade" universe. Once again, I have borrowed a plot feature from sgam76's story, "A Long Walk Down a Dusty Road," and a character from her universe. Thank you, besleybean, for beta-reading and Brit-picking my story, and for the help that you've given me overall. And thank you, sgam76, for your assistance regarding British banks!
John leaned against the closet door and let out a deep sigh. It was the morning after Mycroft had bought him a whole new expensive wardrobe, including a rich man's watch, at Harrods. He, Sherlock, and Mycroft had just finished emptying out his closet and dresser and placing his new clothes in both and his new watch on the dresser, and Sherlock had placed all of John's old clothes and watch in a garbage bag. The doctor glanced down at his brand-new casual red linen Stefano Ricci shirt and rubbed his fingers over its soft, crisp surface and its shiny, snow-white mother-of-pearl buttons. He then glanced down at his new Stefano Ricci slim-fit blue jeans and further down at his new John Lobb leather strand Oxford brogues, which he would have to break in. His new clothes felt comfortable, and they smelled so fresh. Sherlock had already taken a picture of John in his new clothes and sent it to Mellie, who had sent a delighted reply to John's phone.
Except when I've borrowed some of Sherlock's old cast-offs from his dressing box for a case, I have never worn clothes like this, he thought. And those old cast-offs were just that—old! Cast off for a good reason—no longer really suitable for wear. He smiled. Thank goodness the incessant itching has finally stopped! I feel so much better now that I don't have to keep scratching anymore. And at least I don't have to sacrifice comfort to wear these. The itching had mostly died down during the night, and it had stopped altogether early that morning during his shower.
"Well, John, that is the last of your new clothes," Mycroft told him. "Now it's time to take your old clothes to Oxfam." He glanced down at the bulging garbage bag stuffed with John's old clothes and his old watch and then picked up his umbrella, which he had leaned against the bedroom wall upon entering the room.
Nodding, John reached into the closet and donned his new Dolce & Gabbana cashmere crest detail jacket. Since it was April, the morning air was still cool, and so the jacket would feel good. He checked his jeans pockets to make sure he had his keys and wallet. With a groan, he picked up the heavy garbage bag, and with Sherlock's help, he carried it down the hall toward the dumb waiter. They sent it down to the ground floor, and then they trotted down the stairs, down the ground floor hall, and into Mrs. Hudson's flat to reclaim it. Mrs. Hudson was already waiting near the dumb waiter in the back of her pantry, holding Rosie in her left arm, and she cooed with delight at the sight of John's new clothes.
"You look so nice, John," she said, patting his shoulder, and then brushed some lint off his new jacket.
John smiled. "Thanks, Mrs. Hudson."
"And now, we are off to Oxfam to donate his old clothes," Sherlock told her, and she nodded, smiling. "And then we've got a few other errands that will probably take the rest of the morning."
"Yes," John agreed.
"I'll make lunch for Rosie if you don't get back in time," Mrs. Hudson assured him. Smiling his thanks and kissing Rosie's soft cheek, John pulled the heavy, bulging garbage bag out of the dumb waiter with Sherlock's assistance and carried it out of Mrs. Hudson's flat and down the hall toward the open front door. One of Mycroft's sleek black cars was waiting next to the kerb. A few minutes after John had placed the garbage bag in the boot, one of Mycroft's drivers, Andrew*, was taking them down Baker Street until they reached an intersection.
Several minutes later, they pulled up in front of the white-fronted Holborn Oxfam store, where John removed the heavy bag out of the boot and lugged it through the front door. Sherlock followed, and Mycroft and Andrew waited in the car. "Hello," the doctor told the cashier. "I've come to make a donation." He set the garbage bag on the floor with a soft groan. "A bagful of my old clothes and my old watch."
The woman approached and, opening the bag, peered inside. "Thank you," she told John.
John smiled ruefully. "I'm afraid my watch's face is cracked, and it's no longer as accurate as it used to be, so you might want to repair it before you try to sell it." The woman nodded. With a return smile and a nod, John accompanied Sherlock out the store's front door and returned to the car. After putting on his seat belt, he leaned back against the soft leather cushion. The heater hummed in the background.
"What bank do you use?" John asked, as they left the parking spot. "You've never told me."
"We use Barclays," Mycroft said. "Our parents have always used it, and Sherlock and I have also used it for some years now."
John nodded. "The first time I used NatWest, I was in medical school at King's College. When I joined the Army Reserves during my first year there, I opened a cheque account at the branch bank closest to the campus. And then, later on, after my discharge from the army, I started using the NatWest branch office in Lambeth North when I first moved to my bedsit in London. And I continued to use it from that time forth." He scowled. "Until before Sherlock's fall, that is, when you hijacked the ATM I was using! I wasted no time changing banks immediately after that. Fortunately, it was an easy task to find another NatWest branch to switch to, closer to Baker Street in Westminster, since I really didn't want to change banks altogether."
Mycroft had the grace to blush. "My apologies for that, John. However, it was necessary that I get your attention, and I knew of no other way to do so just then. You know why I had to speak with you on that day, and I did arrange for you to withdraw some money out of your account when our meeting was over."
John sighed. "True."
"And with that said, NatWest is a good bank," Mycroft said. "It has served your needs well ever since you were invalided out; for managing an army pension and an NHS physician's salary, NatWest is quite suitable. But for your new account, John, Barclays will serve your needs better."
John furrowed his brow in puzzlement. "Why is that? Wouldn't any bank be suitable?"
"Since I will be investing your money, no." Mycroft shook his head. Turning his head and nodding toward Sherlock, he added, "Our family's bank will meet your needs much better, after this. It's an investment bank that also handles commercial accounts, and you will be better served, John, having both of your accounts in one place. After we have set you up two new accounts at Barclays—an investment account and a commercial account—we will arrange for your current NatWest branch to transfer your money to your new commercial account. It will probably take two or three days for the transfer to be completed."
John sat for a moment, holding his index finger to his chin while he pondered what Mycroft had just said, and then nodded. "Where is Barclays located?"
"1 Churchill Place, in Canary Wharf." Mycroft paused. "Its head office used to be located in the City of London, along with Shad Sanderson, but in 2005, while you were still working as a house officer after your graduation from medical school, it moved to a new building in Canary Wharf. That's where Sherlock, our parents, and I all have our accounts, and so that is where we are going."
"I see." John furrowed his eyebrows. "You know, I've never been to Canary Wharf." He glanced at Sherlock. "Not even for a case."
"I'm surprised you haven't, if only for a case," Mycroft said dryly. "At any rate, Canary Wharf is located in Tower Hamlets, in East London. It's a major business district, second only to the City of London." John nodded. Even though he had never been to Canary Wharf, he was already aware of that fact. Mycroft glanced at John. "I believe that you will find Barclays just as impressive as you did Shad Sanderson. Fortunately, you will run into no former university mates or schoolmates of Sherlock's there."
Sherlock smirked. "I certainly won't miss that."
John nodded agreement. "Neither will I, to be honest." He grimaced. "Sebastian Wilkes quite repelled me with his slimy attitude."
"You were not alone there." A hard expression crept across Mycroft's face, and Sherlock grimaced.
John tilted his head as he looked at Mycroft. "And how did you know how impressed I was by Shad Sanderson, that day, Mycroft? You weren't there."
Sherlock smirked again. "He's the British government, John. He has ways of finding out things, especially about you and me."
"I certainly do," Mycroft pointed out, a smug expression etching his face. "What do you think I was doing that day, John?"
John shrugged. "Who knows? For all I know, you were in some secret Whitehall meeting, plotting to invade a country or something."
Mycroft smirked in his turn. "I might have been, at the time. Or I might have been on the phone with the prime minister, or with another country's ambassador. But even if I were engaged in official government business at that moment, my attention would have been called to what was going on with you and Sherlock afterward. Shad Sanderson does have CCTV, John, which I would have accessed."
John shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Bloody stupid power complex," he muttered under his breath, as he glanced down at his lap. He failed to notice the knowing smirks shared by both Holmes brothers, who had overheard that remark.
When they eventually arrived in Canary Wharf and pulled up into a parking spot in front of the bank's front entrance, Mycroft turned to Andrew. "Wait here."
Andrew nodded. Grasping his umbrella and stepping out of the car, followed by Sherlock and John, Mycroft led the way into the bank's lobby, where John noticed a number of men in suits and well-dressed women going about their business.
"Good morning, Mr. Holmes," the receptionist in the back of the lobby greeted Mycroft, and then she nodded toward Sherlock.
"Good morning," Mycroft said. "We have a ten o'clock appointment with the bank manager."
"Of course." The receptionist picked up the phone. "Mr. Richardson, Mr. Mycroft Holmes is here to see you." Seconds later, she nodded and hung up. "He's waiting for you." Nodding in return, Mycroft led the way toward the elevators. John stared wide-eyed at the spacious, well-lit lobby surrounding them and the well-dressed people walking here and there and milling around.
Mycroft was right. I am impressed with this place! he thought, as he stepped into the elevator. Are all investment banks as impressive as Barclays and Shad Sanderson?
Once they stepped out onto the 12th floor, Mycroft led the way down the hall toward a nearby office door, which was wide open; a well-dressed, clean-shaven man wearing a business suit was sitting behind a desk across the room, his hands clasped on its surface. Sunlight flooded the office through the enormous window behind him.
"Hello, Mycroft! Sherlock." With a broad smile, he rose to his feet and circled the desk to greet the Holmes brothers. Mycroft and Sherlock took turns shaking his hand. Turning to John, he said, "And you must be Dr. John Watson. I'm the bank manager, Cameron Richardson. I've really enjoyed reading your blog."
"Oh! Cheers." Smiling, John shook his hand.
"And you're here to set up a couple of accounts, Mycroft tells me."
John glanced at Mycroft. "Er, yes, it appears I am. Things have changed for me in recent days, and it seems I need to change banks." He cleared his throat. "My current cheque account, which consists of my army pension and my doctor's salary, has long been at NatWest."
Cameron nodded. "A good bank, NatWest. Most suitable for savings and cheque accounts such as yours. But for the new investment account Mycroft is helping you to set up, Dr. Watson, you've come to the right place, and it'll be easier for you to keep track of both accounts if they're in the same bank." John nodded, and Cameron gestured toward the chairs stationed in front of his desk. "Have a seat, gentlemen, and we'll get started."
The four men sat down, Cameron behind his desk and Sherlock, Mycroft, and John in three comfortable cushioned chairs facing him, and Cameron opened his laptop. "Would you please tell me the situation, Dr. Watson?" he asked.
Clearing his throat, John leaned forward, resting his hands on the armrests. "Well, it seems that my late wife, Mary Watson, was far richer than I ever imagined while she was alive." He glanced at Mycroft, who nodded. "I never knew of the extent of her money until Mycroft, here, called it to my attention a few days ago. She has left it all to me, and Mycroft and I have already arranged to donate a chunk of it to some worthy charities. Mycroft has volunteered to manage what's left, and he's recommended that it be invested."
"That's right," Mycroft agreed, twirling his umbrella's handle back and forth with his right hand. "I promised Dr. Watson that I would make sure it was invested in secure financial setups so he wouldn't lose it all. Since he has a baby daughter to support, that will be important."
Cameron nodded. "You want to help him set up a managed brokerage account, then. I believe we can certainly assist you there." He looked at John. "That kind of account will make it possible for you to purchase investments, Dr. Watson. And we can arrange to deposit the dividends into your new cheque account, so that you can use it to support your daughter and yourself."
Leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands together in his lap, John exchanged a glance with Mycroft and Sherlock. "I'd like that very much. Thank you."
John and the Holmes brothers waited while Cameron clicked some keys on his laptop keyboard to bring up the needed page for setting the new brokerage account up. A moment later, he looked at John. "Dr. Watson, do you wish to have a cash account or a margin account?"
John furrowed his brow in puzzlement. "Uh, what is a margin account?"
"A margin account is one that allows you to borrow money from the broker, in order to make trades and buy stocks." Cameron smiled wryly. "However, you'll have to pay interest if you choose to do that, and the stocks in your portfolio will serve as your collateral. And I'll be honest with you, Dr. Watson: it's a risky endeavour."
John made a face. "I—I think I'd better stick with a cash account, then. Safer." Mycroft nodded approval.
Cameron, for his part, nodded agreement. "Wise decision. You can always switch to a margin account later if you choose, but a cash account is the safer option, starting out." He cleared his throat. "And with that said, what are your investment objectives?"
John bit his lower lip. "I think I'm going to need some help answering some of these questions," he told Mycroft and Sherlock, who nodded. Turning back to Cameron, he said, "I need to be honest with you, Mr. Richardson. I have no experience whatsoever with investments. Unlike Mycroft and Sherlock, here, I don't come from old money, nor was my family ever newly wealthy. I come from a traditional working-class background. My late father was a factory worker in Chelmsford, where I was born and grew up, and my late mother was a stay-at-home housewife. And while I've had a cheque account ever since I joined the Army Reserves while I was in medical school, making investments was never an option for me until now. So, I'm going to need some help with most of this."
"And you shall have it," Cameron promised. "For starters, then, let me rephrase my question. Do you wish to invest for a rainy day, or for a near-term financial goal?"
Furrowing his brow, John thought it over. "Definitely invest for a rainy day, yes. More than that, though, I want to have a way to comfortably support my daughter and myself, and to ensure her future. She's only a toddler now, but when she's old enough, I want her to have an excellent education, better than she would get at a state school. And since a recently-acquired skin allergy has made it necessary for me to change out my entire wardrobe—" He grimaced and looked at Mycroft and Sherlock, and then down at his clothes. "—I need to be able to afford the more expensive clothes I'll have to wear after this. More expensive than I can afford on my army pension or my NHS salary."
Cameron chuckled. "I believe it will be possible to attain those goals, Dr. Watson. Especially with Mycroft Holmes managing your new account. And since he'll be doing that on your behalf, do I have your permission to meet with him privately after your money's been transferred to your new accounts, to decide what investments your money will be placed in?"
John glanced at Mycroft. "Yes. I trust Mycroft, and I know he will choose wisely in deciding where to invest my new money." Mycroft nodded.
Cameron clasped his hands together. "Then, after we have finished setting up your new accounts, we will set up a couple of electronic funds transfers to move your current cheque account and your late wife's account here. They'll both be posted to your new accounts tomorrow, Dr. Watson, and I'll schedule an appointment to meet with Mycroft afterward."
John nodded. "I'll need to close my account at NatWest, then, when you have finished transferring my money here. Since I don't know what bank Mary kept her money in, I leave it to Mycroft to take care of closing hers."
"I'll do that tomorrow, after the transfer's been completed," Mycroft said.
"Fine." Cameron looked at John. "All right, Dr. Watson, now that I've got the application pulled up, I need to ask you some questions. For starters, would you give me your full name?"
John leaned forward and rested his hands on the armrests. "John Hamish Watson."
Cameron typed John's name onto the online form. "And what is your primary physical address? Street number, city, country, postcode?"
"221B Baker Street. London, England." A few more soft clicks on the keyboard after John had given him the postcode.
"Your mailing address?"
"The same." More clicks.
Cameron looked at Mycroft. "Since you'll be functioning as his investment advisor, Mr. Holmes, would you give me your email address?" With a nod, Mycroft supplied it, and Cameron typed it in. "And Dr. Watson, would you be willing to give me yours?" John nodded and gave his email address to Cameron, who typed it in.
"Since you will be the only applicant, we can skip over the co-applicant section. So, now, we come to some more questions I need to ask you." Cameron proceeded to ask John for his date of birth, whether he was a British subject, and his occupation, employer, and employer's address. As John answered those questions, Cameron typed his answers onto the screen.
"All right, Dr. Watson." Cameron turned to John. "I already know the answers to some of the following questions, but it's still necessary to ask them for the record, since I'll be typing them in. First, are you employed by or affiliated with a securities firm or a securities exchange?"
Leaning back in his chair and dangling his hands over the edges of the armrests, John shook his head. "No." Cameron typed his answer.
"Are you a control person or affiliate of a public company?"
John rolled his eyes. "Uh, no."
"And are either you, a member of your immediate family, or a business associate of yours a senior foreign policy official?"
"No." John shook his head. "The closest association I've ever had with anyone who works in foreign policy is Mycroft, here, since he's the British government. And I'm certainly not his business associate."
Cameron chuckled. "No, I'm sure you're not. Well, as part of the application process, it was necessary to ask you these questions." John nodded. "All right, then, Dr. Watson, give me a moment while I print these pages out. I'll need your signature on the final page."
A moment later, the printer in the back corner of the office started humming, and sheets of paper began to slide out onto the tray. Rising to his feet, Cameron approached the printer and waited until it stopped printing the pages out. Sorting through them until he had found what he was looking for, he took them to his desk, handing one of them to John.
"I want you to read this page, and then I want you to tick two of these four boxes." Standing next to John, he tapped the section that he was referring to. "And then I want you to sign and date it right here."
Nodding, John laid the paper on the desk and bent over it. After reading carefully the section at the top, he placed a tick in the box for 'View and Trade Account Access', followed by the box authorising Barclays to debit his account for advisory fees. He looked at Mycroft, who nodded approval. Then John signed his name on the Applicant Authorised Person's Signature line and wrote the date on the line next to it.
Since he had already decided not to apply for margin privileges, he left that section blank. Below John's signature, Mycroft signed his own name on the Investment Advisor Signature line, followed by the date next to it, and then he handed the paper back to Cameron, who signed his own name at the bottom.
After a few more clicks on the keyboard, he smiled. "All right, Dr. Watson, done! You now have your own investment account at Barclays." After Mycroft provided Cameron with the information that the latter needed, Cameron initiated the electronic funds transfer that would move Mary's money from her bank account to John's new investment account.
When that procedure was finished, Cameron then took John through the process of setting up a commercial cheque account, a process that took another several minutes. When John's new account had been set up and Cameron had given John his new account number and PIN for that account, the latter set up the electronic funds transfer that would transfer John's money from NatWest to his new cheque account at Barclays.
"Your money and your late wife's will be in your new accounts tomorrow," he said. "Then Mycroft and I will have a meeting, to choose secure setups for you to invest your money in."
John nodded, smiling. "Thank you. You'll let me know when the transfers are complete, so I can close out my old account?"
Cameron nodded. "Yes."
Rising to his feet, the bank manager crossed the room to a table standing against the wall and picked up some booklets, pamphlets, and a hard-cover notebook filled with pages. As John and the Holmes brothers stood up, Cameron handed them to the doctor. "These contain everything you'll need to know about your new accounts, Dr. Watson. You will find my business card contained inside the notebook." He handed John a slip of paper. "On this paper, you will find your new account numbers and your new PIN for your cheque account, which I strongly advise you to hold onto. I will see about ordering you some cheque books that will arrive in a few weeks. I'll also see that you get a new debit card."
As Mycroft and Sherlock stood up, John glanced down at the info that Cameron had given him and looked up. "Thank you. I'll go over them later today."
Cameron smiled. "Welcome to Barclays, Dr. Watson. I will look forward to doing business with you." Smiling back, John shook his hand, and then he, Sherlock, and Mycroft left the bank.
"Now, we will go back to Harrods," Mycroft said, as they approached the car in front of the building a few minutes later, where Andrew was waiting. "Your money hasn't been transferred yet, John, so I will do as I did yesterday and pay for your purchases. If all goes as I expect, though, it won't be long until you'll be able to start paying for your own purchases there." John shrugged.
When they arrived at Harrods, Andrew drove the car down the street as he had done the day before after dropping off his passengers at the front door, and John, Sherlock, and Mycroft entered the store. Choosing a trolley and striding down the aisle from the entrance, they turned left onto the first intersection toward the fashion accessories department, where the toiletries were sold.
"We'll look at shampoos first," Sherlock said. As the men studied the rows of shampoo bottles lining the shelves, Sherlock picked up one and handed it to John.
John read aloud its label: "'Aveda Invati Advanced Exfoliating Shampoo'." He cleared his throat. "I've seen this bottle in the shower at Baker Street. You've always used this product."
"Yes, while you were using the cheapest products you could find on sale at Boots, I was using this one, and I still do. And after today, so will you," Sherlock told him, picking up two more bottles of the same and putting them in the trolley. "It will not only clean your hair; it will also cleanse your scalp and decongest it. And it will protect you against hair breakage. Because I do use this shampoo, it keeps my hair fuller and thicker than it would otherwise be. It will do the same for your hair. And so will the conditioner I use with it." Turning around, he picked up three bottles of Aveda Invati Advanced Thickening Conditioner and laid them in the trolley next to the bottles of shampoo.
In a nearby aisle, Mycroft chose for John a black Bolin XI Nero razor and case set, laying it in the trolley. It consisted of a razor that came with a silicone case. Not far from the razors, Sherlock selected a few bottles of YSL L'Homme aftershave lotion and set them in the trolley with the rest of the toiletries. Then he picked out for his flatmate a Tweezerman G.E.A.R. deluxe shaving brush identical to his own. Sherlock promised it would soften the stubble on John's face, so that his shaving would be smooth and free of irritation. He laid it in the trolley, followed by a tube of Grown Alchemist shaving gel. "As you know, John, I also use this product, and it helps to keep my skin smooth." John shrugged and nodded, and Sherlock set it in the trolley next to the shaving brush.
For showering and bathing, Sherlock chose for John several bars of Fresh Umbrian Clay Purifying Treatment Bar and laid them in the trolley. "This is the same brand you use, Sherlock," John said, eyeing the bars lying scattered on the bottom of the trolley.
"Yes, it is," Sherlock agreed. "The same brand we used when you lived with me the first time, since we shared the same shower back then."
John nodded. "True. We didn't share the same shampoo, but we did share the same soap. Well, I'll have to admit, my skin hasn't been as healthy since I left Baker Street as it was when I was your flatmate the first time. I'm sure it's because I've been using much cheaper soap."
"Which is why Mycroft and I are getting you this soap." Sherlock looked at his brother, who nodded agreement. Then Mycroft picked up a few bottles of Byredo Vetyver Hand Wash and set them down with the bars of soap.
"All right, then, John, I believe this takes care of you," the British government announced, after carefully looking over the items inside the trolley and picking up his umbrella. "Now let's take care of Rosie."
In the department where babies' toiletries were sold, Sherlock picked out for Rosie a couple of bottles of Fraiche Eau de Toilette, a type of perfume for babies, and three tubes of Kiehl's Nurturing Baby Cream for Face and Body. "Mummy used to use a product similar to this one for us when we were Rosie's age," Mycroft told John. "This cream will soothe and moisturise your daughter's skin when you rub it on her, and the perfume will be easy on her skin." John nodded.
After Mycroft and Sherlock had chosen a few more products for Rosie, the three men approached the nearest check-out, where Mycroft paid for the purchases. Then, while the cashier was bagging them, Mycroft removed his mobile phone from his jacket and punched a speed-dial button. "Pick us up in front," he ordered, shutting off the phone and returning it to his pocket. John carried the Harrods bags toward the front door, where on the kerb side, he slid onto the right side of the passenger seat and set the bags on the car floor at his feet. Sherlock took his seat on the other side, and Mycroft sat in front next to Andrew, leaning his umbrella against the passenger seat.
Back at Baker Street, before John took Rosie back from Mrs. Hudson so he could carry her upstairs, Sherlock took the bags from his flatmate and led the way upstairs towards the second-floor bathroom where John took his showers and bathed Rosie. There, as a resigned John watched, Sherlock removed all of the toiletries that were currently in that room, including the shampoo that John had been getting at Mark and Spencer since before the Fall. Sherlock swept them all into a box that he had placed in there earlier and replaced them with the new products.
"I'm taking these out, John," he said. "You don't need them anymore." He carried the box out of the bathroom.
Shaking his head, John held Rosie and gently talked to her as he examined their new toiletries in the cabinet and shower. Well, for better or worse, my life has changed drastically. He glanced down at his daughter, who was sticking her fist in her mouth, and rolled his eyes. Our lives have, in fact. I thought it had already changed greatly when I moved back here with Rosie following the attempt on my life, but I had no idea what further changes I was going to go through before it was over. New clothes, new watch, new wallet, new toiletries, new bank, new source of income. He snorted. I could retire as a doctor now, if I wanted; I don't really need the money anymore. But in the interests of maintaining my license and keeping my hand in, I think I won't. Not for a while, anyway.
He carried Rosie out of the bathroom and clicked the door shut behind him. Well, at least I'll be able to pull my own weight now, when Sherlock and I are on a case. He carried his daughter into his room and set her on the queen-size bed while he turned to unfasten his new Rolex watch and lay it on the dresser.
But—what was that? A Harrods watch box he had not seen before stood on the dresser, and there was a folded piece of paper next to it. Furrowing his brow, John unfastened his new watch from his wrist and set it down on the dresser's smooth surface, and then picked up the box. He would read the note after he took a look at the box's contents.
Picking up the box, John opened it. Inside was nestled another expensive watch! He lifted it out of the box and gaped at it. It was already set to the correct day, date, and time, and unlike his new Rolex, which had only those three features, this one had several other features as well. It told the times of that day's sunrise and sunset, and that night's moon phase. It had a verdigris-coloured strap and a rose-gold bezel, he noticed; unlike the Rolex watch, its bezel was not lined with gems. As he rubbed his fingers over its smooth watch face, he noticed that it was not made of out of just plain ordinary glass. Crystal, then? Or crystal glass, rather? He suspected it was. His new Rolex watch face was also covered by a crystal glass, he knew.
"'Chopard L.U.C. All-In-One Watch 46mm,'" John read the label aloud. Turning to the watch, he examined the two tiny circles on the front showing the days of the week and the months of the year and the tiny hands inside those circles that were set on the day and month it currently was, reading them silently, and then, turning the watch over, he read the phrases lining the edges of the back of the watch. "'Calibrated to Geneva.' 'Equation of time.' 'Day and night.' 'Full moon.'" It was a truly elegant, yet very complex watch.
He shook his head. "Another rich man's watch! What is Sherlock doing?" He looked back at Rosie. "What is your Godfather Sherlock doing, Rosie? Hmm?" Rosie jabbered, and John turned back to the watch.
Rolling his eyes, he set the watch back inside the box and picked up the note, unfolding it. Sure enough, it was from Sherlock. It read, 'I arranged for this yesterday, when the store associate took your new watch to be adjusted, and returned to Harrods to pick it up yesterday evening while you were tending Rosie.' John furrowed his brow. He remembered Sherlock leaving the private room with the associate; he had told the associate that he had wanted to speak with him about his own watch. Apparently, he had wanted to speak with him about more than that, and he had not wanted John to hear.
Turning back to the note, he continued to read silently. 'Your new Rolex watch is suitable for daily wear, John, but when we're on a case, you're going to need a watch with more features than just the day, date, and time. The Harrods watch department now has your wrist measurements, so it's already been adjusted to fit your wrist. From now on, John, when we're on a case, I want you to wear this watch, not your Rolex. It's got a tourbillon, which will increase its accuracy, and a seven-day power reserve, and its movement is automatic. It's water-resistant up to 30 meters.'
John rolled his eyes again. Sherlock has changed in so many ways, but in others, he's still the same old Sherlock! He shrugged. Still, I won't argue with him. But I'd better make sure it does fit.
He slipped the Chopard watch over his right wrist and, with difficulty, fastened it with his left. Good, it did fit. Sherlock, at least, was right about that. He unfastened it and took it off, and then he laid it back in the Harrods box, closing the lid. For now, he would leave it in there.
Picking up Rosie, John carried her down the stairs toward the lounge. It was time to make lunch; thanks to Mrs. Hudson, Rosie had already eaten, but John and Sherlock had not. Tomorrow, after my money's been transferred to Barclays, I'll go to NatWest to cancel my account there.
XXXXXXX
*In sgam76's stories, Andrew is one of Mycroft's drivers.
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