I hadn't been in a gallery environment in what felt like a lifetime, and maybe it had been. My life had a distinct before and after, and it felt unnatural to try to pretend they were the same thing. I wasn't the same person. Teenage years and early twenties had been nothing but art, and history, and travel, and academic papers, and openings, and endearing but pretentious banter. It's not that I couldn't flex that muscle anymore if I wanted to, it's that it made me feel nothing but melancholy and aching loss. Surprisingly though, with my reflective security jacket, a rather mad companion, and the prospect of a fake priceless piece of what had been assumedly lost art history, I was raring to go.
My head was cocked to the side as I took in abstract red squares on a roughly textured canvas.
"How does this make you feel?" I had sensed someone behind me, but I was still surprised by the inquiry. It was a woman with an accent that I couldn't place, and she sounded strikingly refined.
"Honestly? A bit glum." The piece was lazy in my eyes, but it also encouraged my mind to wander too much, and I wasn't about to delve into why I avoided that.
"Glum? Because you don't like it?"
"Because it inspires nothing."
"Colour is the world's greatest stimulus." The stranger insisted. "Art is not all that is on the canvas. The rest of the excitement is in your hands, the story that is unpainted."
"Then perhaps I'm blockheaded." I stated plainly, feeding into her condescension for want of the conversation ending. The woman was clearly offended by the inference that anything, in what I assumed was her gallery, was subpar.
"That is why you work outside." She pointed a finger at my neon jacket. My lips parted incredulously at her audacity, feeling offended to the point of forgetting that I was in fact not an employee, "Why are you wandering?" She asked.
"Just have to figure out some logistics for the debut this evening. Looks like numbers will be less than we'd anticipated." Her face fell at my lie, to my petty delight, "Just trying to adjust. Back to work, eh?" I smiled overly politely before turning and walking further into the gallery as opposed to outside. She didn't stop me.
"And what are you doing here? One of you is surely enough. It can't be that demanding of a task." I heard her interrogate Sherlock from a distance, her voice echoing throughout the minimalist space.
"You're Mrs. Wenceslas?"
"I am."
"Ah, well, good to know. I don't work here."
"What?"
Sherlock didn't miss a beat and cheekily posed the same question she'd asked me, "How does this make you feel?"
"How did you get in h-"
"Entertain me."
"You asked me how this particular Vermeer painting makes me feel, sir, I think you can infer."
"The fact that it's fake has no bearing upon your feelings?"
"Fake?" Her tone had officially crossed over into harsh disdain, "Absurd."
"You're supposed to be in charge here, correct?"
"I'm once again going to ask you to leave."
"'Once again'? You had yet to ask me prior to that, actually."
"Sir-"
"Had your security guard Alex Woodbridge caught on to the fact that this is illegitimate? Did you dispose of him for possessing this information? All credibility would be out the window, no? A shame…"
"Alex- dispose? What the hell are you on about?"
Sherlock's voice was reverberating throughout the space now, his giddiness rising with every breath, "I really thought this exchange would be more fun."
"You have trespassed, insulted me, are making ludicrous accusations-"
"I think we both know there's a basis for doubt."
"Who are you?"
"Sherlock Holmes!"
"Am I supposed to be impressed?"
I had been leaning against the wall, my arms crossed in amusement as Sherlock did what Sherlock did best; pester. Everyday was a masterclass. I raised my head curiously as he left the Vermeer room and was walking determinedly down my hallway.
"You should be!" He smirked and called behind him as Mrs. Wenceslas shuffled out in his wake. In a swift movement he rolled his shoulder and dropped the black jacket to the floor, a mundane but powerful action that would certainly be burned into my brain. Lord, I was in too deep…
"You too?" Mrs. Wenceslas stopped in place and looked me up and down in contempt.
I couldn't resist a smile as I shrugged off my jacket too, fully extending my arm and dropping it at my feet, "Me too."
We drove home in anticipation of John's return from the home of Mr. Woodbridge. I made myself scarce by staying in my flat, constantly fearful that too much of my presence would breed resentment or the realisation that I was in fact woefully dispensable. The afternoon melded into a quiet evening before I could even blink, and the city was so ominously still it felt as if all of London had inhaled and forgotten the release of what so traditionally came next. I did manage to blink when I heard my door unlock and open.
"Good, you're not busy." Sherlock sighed as he waltzed in and grabbed my upper arm, hauling me towards our building's main corridor. My brows came together as I was mid chew, managing to drop my half full plate of dinner on the end of the counter just before it was out of my reach at our brisk pace. No, not preoccupied at all…
The detective pulled me onto the street and stuffed me into a cab, reaching across from the middle seat to slam the door, his arm innocently but roughly brushing my chest was not lost on me.
"We're taking a cab?"
"Yes." His tone biting with obviousness.
"I'm not complaining, it's nice to let someone else do the work."
"Ah, you have a car…" He spoke as if rolling the idea around on his tongue.
"Yes?"
"I suppose I forgot." He looked amused as he tossed a glance my way, where I met him with a matching bemused grin. For the first time I was completely, purely, warmly aware that he wanted me around for some odd reason, and not just for a ride.
"Hiya, Evelyn."
"John!" I had been entirely unaware of his presence until he peeked out from behind Sherlock's silhouette as the cab whirred off to wherever, "How was your day?"
He grimaced cheekily as if to say don't get me started. "We're going to Vauxhall Arches if this one hasn't filled you in. The homeless woman stationed next door gave us a tip."
"Ironic. What should I expect?"
"Anything." Sherlock rubbed his hands together, answering instead.
I was relieved to find out along the way that John knew as much as I did, which was nothing, but he did give us all of the insight he had as to Alex Woodbridge's hobbies and character. Apparently his passions lied mostly in astronomy rather than art or its history, and Alex notably had a message left on his answering machine from a one Professor Cairns.
The arches weren't lit in the night, but you could hear a steady yet under the radar hum of activity from within them. Sherlock confidently flicked on a torch and flashed it from wall to wall, where a decent amount of London's homeless population were setting up camp for the night. They didn't look all too perturbed by us, or would even nod or wave at our dark haired leader.
"My eyes and ears all over the city." He stated, his light illuminating our company in the tunnel.
We ambled along, and though I had no idea what I was in for, I didn't feel exposed or in harm's way. That was until a shadow on a far wall began to straighten and unfurl, looming like a silent threat. It was a man, and a man that I didn't care to meet. I was transfixed, peeling myself away when John and Sherlock ducked to the side.
"What's he doing here? What's the benefit?" John questioned.
"This is not a place where anyone's presence is questioned. There's anonymity. Security. Freedom."
"Not for long." John grunted as we took off after our mystery man at a jog. My heart rate quickened when Sherlock unearthed a pistol from John's coat pocket. My comfort zone had officially been breached. The tunnel stretched on, and when we broke to a halt at its conclusion we were met with the sight of a shadow diving into a car and screeching into motion.
"Damn!" Sherlock yelled, huffing and running a hand through his hair.
"That can't be it." I frowned.
"It's not." John said confidently, Sherlock and I whipped to face him, rapt with intrigue, "I know where we're going next."