Jeez, I'm coming to the closing chapters. I'm going to have eleven. This chapter leads into whodunit. So have fun reading it!!!! Also, this chapter is more on the characters. You'll find out a lot more about them in this.
Chapter Seven: A Night of Leisure
Holmes's POV:
"Happy Birthday to me... happy birthday to me.... happy birthday dear me..... happy birthday to me," I sang quietly while adjusting my shirt.
July 10th was my birthday. And we were going to dinner. The demons had convinced to take a night off from the case to relax. I loathed to think about all the people that could die. I stared at my reflection unhappily. I hated dressing up, but we were going to a concert as well.
I heard a soft knock on my door, and allowed Watson to come in.
"Hey, all ready to go? Christine and Kline are downstairs. They're wearing their favorite outfits too, so you know it's important to them," Watson whispered. Her father was asleep in the next room. I sighed and turned from the mirror.
"I suppose. Where are we going, anyway?" I asked. She walked out the door and led me downstairs.
Kline and Christine both stood there. Kline wasn't very dressed up. She was wearing black stretch pants and a purple t-shirt. Her hair was tied up in a purple scrunchie. And she wore bright red shoes. Christine was a bit better. She wore black dress pants, a black tank top, a black over sweater thing, and black boots. She also wore a cross engraved with black stones. She had tamed her hair back into a slick red ponytail. She wasn't smiling, just staring off into space. Kline was grinning and talking with Sophia.
"Good evening Sherlock. All ready?" Christine asked as I walked by. I smiled briefly at her then re-voiced my question.
"Where are we going?" I asked once more. Christine pulled out a slip of paper.
"We're going to go see a concert featuring songs by Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Tchaikovosky, and Greig. Featuring violin and piano. Then we're going to Le Francais Magnifique. It's a French restaurant. Then a quick walk around the park, and back home. Kline, anything to add?" Christine asked. Kline thought for a moment.
"Nah, I don't think so. We'll find out later," Kline decided. I raised an eyebrow in question, but decided that she was being cryptic.
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The music was, as the French say, le mieux j'avait jamais entendu. That means 'the best I had ever heard'. The violinist was amazing, and it was the best birthday present I had ever gotten, even if nobody knew it was my birthday.
Watson, Kline, and Christine insisted on dragging me to the restaurant, and had me order for them all. Then came the fun. Talking about ourselves and asking questions. Watson began.
"Question for everybody to answer. Favorite musical or opera." I thought a moment. We had decided we would go around the table clockwise, and I was first.
"My favorite musical is most likely Miss Saigon. My favorite opera is Carmen. It is the last opera my mother ever sang," I told them. It was Christine's turn next.
"Possibly Evita. I really like that. I've never heard an opera before. They don't have anything like that around here," she answered. Kline grinned.
"Almost everybody should know my favorite. Phantom of the Opera, all the way!" she cried. We all laughed at her enthusiasm. Finally, it was Watson's turn.
"I don't know... Cats. I really like the dancing for that," she laughed.
"Next question. Past boyfriends/crushes," I announced. I saw Christine turn pale.
"Um... I don't have a boyfriend. But I have had crushes before. My first crush was on a guy named Allen. I had it from third grade to seventh grade. But he liked someone else. My second crush was Brian Reed. I had a crush on him all through eighth grade, but I don't really see him anymore," Christine whispered. She didn't look happy. I turned to Kline and smiled demurely at her. She blushed.
"I have way to many crushes to name. But my boyfriend is Jason Jaynez. He has dark hair, dark skin, and dark eyes, and oh is he hot! We've been dating for a year now. He knows about my detective work, but doesn't really care. Did I mention he's hot?" grinned Kline. Christine laughed softly, and Watson let loose with a full blown laugh.
"Nice. My boyfriend is Holmes. Kind of. Sort of. But I've never had any other crushes..." Watson trailed off. Christine cleared her throat.
"Sam Stranol..." she coughed. Watson blushed bright red all of a sudden.
"Well, yeah. He was this really cute guy who played on the football team. But he only liked cheerleaders. But at least I wasn't obsessed, like Jen Cupario was!" protested Watson. Christine laughed.
"Sure you weren't obsessed. So, you kept his picture on your wall and kissed it good night for five years for spite?" Christine laughed. Watson blushed again and turned to me.
"Your turn. Spill about Olivia," she hissed. I raised my head.
"Fine. She was a French foreign exchange student that I dated while she was in England," I replied haughtily. Watson smiled.
"And when she came back to England, she jumped into your arms and kissed you on the lips, in front of me," she reminded me. I raised a finger.
"And was part of some odd club, and got herself killed because of it," I shot back. Watson rolled her eyes.
"That is your excuse every time. 'Oh, she's dead now. She doesn't matter'. Sure."
"Next question, people. All right. Let me see... Holmes, what is up with your family?" Christine asked suddenly. I paled and diverted my gaze.
"Most of my family is insane. My mother is a murderer who hates the family, my sister is completely insane, and my father is an alcoholic. Next," I whispered hoarsely. It hurt to talk about my family a great deal. Of course, being stabbed by your mother doesn't exactly help, and nearly seeing your sister be killed... I had my reasons.
"Sorry. My parents are probably going to get divorced. They fight a lot as of late," Christine told me. I smiled weakly at her. Kline grinned happily.
"My parents are funky. I swear, my mom is legally insane! And my dad kills animals!" Kline broadcasted. Watson picked up her napkin.
"My parents are divorced, and hate each other's guts. And my mom is nearly broke, while my dad swims in money. I'm sorry, I just find that odd," she said. Kline cleared her throat.
"My turn. Great, I don't know what to ask. Yes I do... Sherlock, why didn't you tell us it was your birthday?" she asked suddenly. My head shot up and I stared at them. They smiled at me happily.
"Now, since you didn't tell us, only Jenny had a gift for you. Jen?" Kline gestured towards Watson and she tossed a package into my lap. It was small, and wrapped in newspaper, which showed that they were obviously rushed. I opened it curiously and smiled at what was inside.
It was a gold pocket watch. I thought they had just bought it, until I saw what was on the chain. A sovereign. I nearly dropped the heirloom in my surprise, but then peered closer at it. It was true. This was my great-great-great grandfathers watch. On the side was carved tiny initials. S.H. Sherlock Holmes. I looked up at Watson.
"Where-?" I broke off. Watson grinned.
"Your greatx3 grandfather gave my greatx3 grandfather his watch on the day he died. It's been passed down for a while. My father found out the other day that it was your birthday, and he found this in the attic. He decided it was time to give it back to it's rightful owner," Watson answered. I bit back any emotions and smiled at the three of them.
"Thank you," I replied simply. Kline cleared her throat once more.
"And I'm paying the bill. That's my gift. I didn't know until today, give me a break!" she protested at Watson's looks. The all turned their gaze onto Christine, who raised her hands helplessly into the air.
"Come on people. If Kline didn't know, how was I supposed to know? I suppose, however, I can give you this..." she stopped, turned to me, and kissed my on the cheek. Watson's jaw dropped open in shock, Kline burst into laughter, Christine blushed a good deal, and sat in my seat numbly. Watson recovered first.
"Christine! He's my boyfriend!" she shrieked. A few customers looked at us disapprovingly.
"Well, it wasn't my choice! And it was only on the cheek! I would never try to steal your boyfriend!" disputed Christine. Kline's laughter became louder.
"Yeah right!" Watson yelled. Christine winced.
"It's true! You know how I feel about guys! They're cruel, and heartless. Well, most of them anyway. And I have better things to do with my time," whimpered Christine. My shock wore off and I came to Christine's defense, much to my surprise.
"It was only on the cheek, Watson. No harm done," I soothed. Watson calmed down a great deal, leaving Christine darkly amused, and Kline was now on the floor with laughter. We all stared at her, and after a minute or two she finally crawled back it her seat.
"Christine! Such a man stealer!" she choked. Christine hit her arm and returned her stare towards the table. However, something had intrigued me.
"Christine, how do you feel about men?" I asked cautiously. Her head snapped up and I saw her frown.
"No, trust me, I do like guys. I'm not... uh, queer," she reassured. I laughed.
"I wasn't implying that. But why do you dislike men so much?" I pressed. Her eyes darkened.
"I've been hurt by them enough to know not to trust them. Besides, I'll wait for the perfect guy, quite happily. All though, I have resigned myself to being a spinster. I just don't trust them, is all. They're loud, obnoxious, half the time not even smart enough to add small numbers, and they don't appreciate anything I do," she answered simply. I nodded. Christine turned to Kline.
"Your turn to spill some deep, dark secret, Kline. Why do you shroud yourself in mystery?" Christine asked. Kline, who had been playing with a fork, dropped the fork onto the tablecloth.
"Uh, no reason. I just don't feel that people need to know everything about me. And that is the truth," she told us. It seemed honest enough, and Christine let it drop. Suddenly, a waiter came up to us.
"Pardon me, monsieur, mademoiselles, dinner is served," said the waiter with an accent. And so the food arrived.
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The air had grown brisk and cold. It was odd, since it was July. We strolled through the park happily enough, and were returning home.
For once, Watson and I were first to be dropped off, not the other way around. But our restful evening was soon to be turned to chaos.
We stood at the doorstep of Watson's house, when the door flew open and out came a frantic Sophia.
"Jenny! Thank the Lord you're here! Your father went out an hour ago. The bartender called a few minutes ago telling me he was drunk. And with the recent killings... you have to find him! I don't want my baby brother to be murdered!" sobbed Sophia. Watson froze in horror.
"Dad went out, and got drunk?" she whispered. Sophia nodded her large head. Kline stepped forward.
"We'll find him, Aunt Sophia. We promise," she said boldly. Christine, Watson, and I backed her up and directed Sophia back inside. After making sure she was all right on the couch, we dashed out the door.
"Wolves Tavern?" asked Christine. I nodded.
"He'll be there. If we hurry, we might catch him in time," I shouted. We were running by then, and I was far ahead of them all.
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"You again? Yeah, Greg Watson left ten minutes ago drunk," the barkeeper said angrily. He had most of his face bandaged from where I had hit him. I smiled at him.
"Did he leave with anyone?" I asked. The barkeeper narrowed his eyes at me.
"You're underage, ain't ya? And to imagine I gave you a beer," he mumbled. I sighed.
"Sir, did he leave with anyone?" I repeated. The man rubbed his scraggly beard.
"Yeah, as a matter of fact he did! Some small woman. Red hair," he answered. I felt the blood drain from my face. I down the hall to where the girls were changing. Dress clothes were not appropriate for chasing criminals. I knocked on the ladies room.
"One minute," called Kline. I leaned against the wall and stared at my pocket watch. After a minute the girls came about again. I had to say I was impressed by their choice of clothing.
Kline wore her 'pursuing villains' clothes, which were forest green. Her hair was tied up in a yellow bow. Christine was wearing all black, and had piled her hair into a black hat. Watson wore shorts and a t-shirt. I smiled at them and quickly related my information to them.
"So Dad is next on the victims list unless we find him?" Watson asked. I nodded.
"But we pretty much know where they're going. And we can follow the footprints," I reminded her. She took a deep breath, and we ran outside.
It was intolerably muddy out, and hard to distinguish anything in the mud, but I knew what I was looking for.
"No. No. Where is it? That is to small, to large, not the right shoe. That person is walking in a perfectly straight line..."
After a minute of peering at the horrible ground, I found the footprints.
"Here she is! Small heel, blunt toe. And sneakers. That is Greg and Jane all right," I muttered. I got down on my hands and knees and followed them like that until they were farther away from any confusing prints. I rose to my feet and pointed out the tracks.
"These are the tracks. Follow these," I declared. The girls nodded, and so began the pursuit.
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"Left. Right. Right. Left. Stop!" I shouted. We had arrived at our destination point.
The warehouse where many of the others had been found was the perfect place to kill someone. Not original, conceivably, but it was far away from the town.
We entered cautiously enough, but abandoned that in a few minutes. It was only a two room place, and when we entered the other room, we got the biggest shock of our young lives.
"Good evening Mr. Holmes," said a familiar voice. "So glad you could make it."
"It-it can't be!" I yelled.
