Chapter 7

I returned to the hotel room around seven, after a rather productive shopping experience. Even though I didn't find the clothes I purchased particularly endearing (translation: I wouldn't be caught dead in them normally), I figured that they would serve the purpose of club appropriate wear quite well. I even planned ahead and bought multiple outfits, as I figured we would be bar hopping multiple nights. And, if I could tell anything about Maggie (who I was supposed to emulate for a few nights), it would be that she would never be caught dead in the same outfit.

In the room, Holmes had taken over the high-backed chair, his feet propped on the desk, and was completely immersed in some papers.

"Hey, Jake," I greeted him, as I set the shopping bags down by the closet and proceeded to put away the clothes.

He seemed rather engrossed, as he didn't even look up from whatever he was doing. "Laura. I hope you found something appropriate to wear. We'll be hitting most of Bourbon Street in a bit."

"What about dinner?" my stomach had began to murmur its dissent, and I really wanted to get some food before I went bar hopping (as unpleasant memories of drinking without eating began to resurface).

"I need to stay in and finish looking over these papers from Carlos, so I ordered room service already. It should be here any moment."

"Did you get anything for me?"

He looked up, slightly offended. "Do I really seem so heartless to you? I'm not going to let you starve."

I laughed lightly. "Thanks, Holmes."

"It's Jake, Laura," he corrected, without a trace of his usual smugness, as he immersed himself in the papers again.

I bit my lip, and continued to hang up clothes, briefly pondering what my role was tonight before a quick knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.

Holmes got up from his chair, and answered the door. He pushed the room service cart into the room a few minutes later, and began taking the lids of the dishes. "So how about some dinner?" Holmes asked me.

"Sure, what did you order?"

He grinned. "Lots of good stuff." I was greeted by a flavorful aroma of various colorful dishes. One absolute delight about this trip would have to be the meals- I'd never had such wonderful food in my life.


Dinner with Holmes that night was quite a treat after he put down the papers. We chatted about everything not pertaining to the case at hand. He regaled me with stories of his childhood, about stories of the misadventures of his brother and himself. He was a fabulous storyteller, with plenty of anecdotes about Brian and his brother as rookie FBI agents. It was one of the most pleasant (and surprisingly superficial) conversations I had ever had with Holmes.

He was charming, attentive, and a good listener throughout all of dinner. If he wasn't Holmes, if I wasn't in New Orleans to prevent Holmes from doing something rash and avenging his brother's death, and if our friendship wasn't based solely around crimes and catching criminals, I would have called it a date. I found myself becoming more smitten by the minute. Dangerous territory¸ I kept trying to remind myself. The reality of the situation, I scolded my daydreaming tendencies, was that this was all just pretend.

But it didn't work. Not being able to stop myself from staring starry-eyed at Holmes as he launched into another tale, I finally excused myself to get ready for the night, locking myself in the bathroom. I put quite an effort in making myself look "appropriate," even putting on makeup and putting my hair up in hot rollers.

I emerged from the bathroom fully dressed forty minutes later, clad in a skimpy low cut burgundy halter top and dark jeans that clung tightly to me. My hair fell in soft waves to my shoulders, and I was wearing a thick layer of makeup.

Holmes had gone back to the same papers, perched in the same high-backed chair. However, he had changed into a gray collared shirt (that he left unbuttoned around his neck) and black pants, his long legs propped up on the table in front of him. I swallowed nervously, realizing that it was going to be a very long, emotionally awkward night. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome tonight, and I was swooning. Even if it was just pretend.

"Is this what you mean by appropriate?" I managed to eek out, anxious about what his reaction would be.

He looked up from the papers, his gaze settling on me. I felt rather uncomfortable, as I felt like he was scrutinizing me from head to toe. I expected him to pass a judgment quickly, per usual, but he just kept staring.

"Well?" I pressed, after a few minutes, feeling like I was about to burst.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah." Was it my imagination, or did I just hear some nervousness in his voice? "You look - appropriate." Why would he be nervous?

He stood up and crossed the room to me. "Ready to go?" He reached into the closet and handed me my coat and purse.

I nodded and put on my coat and took my purse, and followed him wordlessly out of the hotel room. It looked to be a long night.


Holmes wasn't kidding when he said we would be hitting a lot of the bars on Bourbon Street. It was a Thursday night in the French Quarter, and the area was bustling, full of throngs of people out for a good time. The plan, Holmes explained to me, was to figure out if Carl Sebastian, posing under the name Jack Johnson, was a bartender in the establishment, and if so, when his hours were. The best way to do that, he tried to persuade me, was for me to charm it out of the current bartender on duty.

After the second establishment, Holmes pulled me aside. "You're not doing it right, Laura."

"What do you mean?" I was pretty miffed. From what I figured, I managed to do so just fine- both the bartenders answered in the negative.

He shook his head. "It's taking too long for you to chat with them. We need to speed up if we're going to finish the list tonight."

"How would you propose doing it better?" I was rather miffed. Here I was working my butt off (while Holmes had the easy job of scoping out the establishment and chatting with bouncers and security guards and other staff), and he still had complaints.

Holmes sighed. "You know, use your…" was he blushing? "-assets," he finished, his face scarlet.

I almost choked on the beer I was drinking. "Sure, ok." I stammered. If I wasn't so shocked, I would have laughed myself back to Los Angeles.

Holmes recovered quite nicely. "That way, you won't have to spend all this time trying to justify why you're looking for him. They'll think it's just a- what do you call, it, a booty call?"

I raised my eyebrows, but couldn't say anything, as I was afraid I'd just burst out laughing and be unable to continue the rest of the night. I was going to be acting like Holmes' little prostitute. Of course, it'd fit into his persona as Jake Young quite well, but boy, he'd owe me big time.

The next establishment we went into, I made sure the bartender, an oversized burly man with a hairy chest no different than a chimpanzee, got a good look at my cleavage as I leaned suggestively over the bar when I inquired about the whereabouts of Jack Johnson. Holmes was right, as the answers to my questions came much faster. I didn't even have to answer any nosy questions about why I was looking for the bastard bartender.


At around two in the morning, Holmes was still charging ahead at full steam. I was getting really tired and ready to head back to the hotel, but we didn't have anything to show for a whole night's sleuth work.

Holmes, despite all his faults, could be rather perceptive about the well-being of those around him. "You ready to head back, Laura? You seem tired." We were in the second to last establishment on his list for tonight. The bartender had just answered negative to all Jack Johnson questions, and Holmes had joined me at the bar after talking to some security staff. The bar was also beginning to empty.

I shrugged. "I'm ok. One more, right?" I was holding my seventh beer of the night, and I was starting to get really sleepy.

Holmes smiled gratefully at me as he traded the beer in my hand for a bottle of water. "You're too tired. Let's go." He offered me his arm, and I, tipsy from a whole night's worth of bar hopping, took it, and the two of us headed back to the hotel.


When we arrived back at our room, I headed straight for the shower, wishing to wash away all traces of the night's drudgery. I wasn't used to spending my nights working bars, and was eternally grateful for the strong jets of steaming hot water.

"So what's the plan?" I asked, fully content after a long shower. Holmes had taken up the high-backed chair again, his eyes half-closed, brow furrowed slightly.

He handed me a sheet of paper. "Here's the list for tomorrow. We'll hit the bars in the hotels in the morning, and these restaurants in the afternoon. Then the nightclubs after that. Make sure to bring a change of clothes- I don't want you wearing the same thing the whole day. It'd draw too much attention to you."

I nodded, indicating my understanding. Holmes then got up, walked past me, and locked himself in the bathroom. I heard the shower running, and I took the opportunity to turn off the lights, climb into the bed, making a point to be under the sheets, and close to the edge of the bed as possible.

I felt myself drifting off by the time Holmes got of the bathroom and got into bed. True to his word, he slept on top of the sheets, albeit under the comforter. Not that I was complaining- it had already been a difficult night, and I didn't need the temptation.


Holmes and I spent the next day and night scouring the rest of New Orleans' bars, restaurants, and nightclubs in and around the Quarter, but still failed to come up with the whereabouts of Carl Sebastian, aka Jack Johnson. Holmes became more and more impatient as the number of bars visited increased, but we still didn't get any answers. The meeting tomorrow with drug dealer turned bioweapons connoisseur Ramirez, Maggie's boss was the unofficial impending deadline, and Holmes, on the day before the meeting, still had no idea of what Sebastian was up to.

Frustrated, he had left the hotel room before I woke up on the day of the meeting, leaving me a short note stating that he would be back by five in the afternoon, right before the dinner meeting with Ramirez. The list of bars for me to visit today was attached. Oh, and PS. I was on my own for lunch.

I crawled back into bed, hoping that I could get an extra ten minutes of sleep after reading the note, as the two consecutive late nights were beginning to catch up with me. We had stopped by so many places yesterday that when I woke up this morning, I prayed that there was an end in sight to New Orlean's numerous bars. Unfortunately, Holmes just kept coming up with longer lists, as evidenced by the long list he left beside this morning, which he wanted me to hit today (by myself, I presumed).

I could sense his desperation, as last night, he was just irritable and frankly, very cranky. I didn't have any ideas about how we could have shortened this aspect of the investigation, but I stayed in bed for a few minutes, pondering possible courses of action. Holmes could still technically get away with going to the Ramirez meeting before knowing what Sebastian was up to. But Holmes was also not the type to do anything without adequate information.

My thoughts were interrupted by my cell phone ringing. Groaning, I picked it up, crossing my fingers and hoping that it wasn't Holmes, and that he didn't have a sudden epiphany that involved adding fifty more places to my list. It looked to be the start of a very bad day.

"Dr. Watson," I mumbled groggily.

A familiar deep voice greeted me. "Good morning Laura. This is Brian."

I blinked, still half not quite awake, before I realized who it was. "Agent Morstan?"

"Call me Brian, please. So how is New Orleans, Laura? Are you and Jake having fun?"

"You know we're here?" I asked.

He chuckled. "Oh, Laura. You're so cute. Yes, I knew that Jake would go the moment I told him. I was just surprised that you'd go with him."

"Well, you told me to watch out for him, remember?" I sat up, trying to clear my head.

Brian's laugh was infectious. "Yeah, I remember. Anyway, how's it all going? How are you holding up?"

I went on to fill Brian in on the unsuccessful search for Sebastian, and Holmes' current depression. I deliberately left out the bit about Ramirez, Maggie, anthrax, and anything that might remotely sound criminal. Surprisingly, Brian was very understanding, and didn't seem to object once to how we were looking for Sebastian. It seemed a far cry from that night at Pedro's in Los Angeles, when he insisted that Holmes would not go looking for Sebastian.

Brian seemed to be holding back, and I figured it was worth a shot to try and figure it out. "Are you still in LA?" I asked coolly after there was a pause in the conversation.

He seemed surprised. "Actually, I'm not," he admitted.

"You're in New Orleans yourself, right?" I grinned. Guys like Brian were an easy read, even over the phone.

"Actually, I am. But how did you know? Does Jake know?" He seemed flustered. Oh, how the tables have turned.

I laughed to myself. "Actually, I guessed. I haven't told Jake yet. Should I tell him that you actually followed him to New Orleans?"

"Don't you dare." Brian tried to sound menacing, but failed miserably.

I grinned, playing my trump card. "Then tell me where Sebastian is. Look, Brian, Jake's not planning anything illegal. He just needs closure. Aren't you his friend? Don't you want Jake to put this behind him?"

Silence. I waited patiently. "Please?" I added in a sugary voice. "It'd mean so much to me too."

His voice was gruff, but relenting. "I'll see what I can do." And Brian hung up.

I grinned. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all.


AN: Thanks to my reviewers! You guys have been such good motivation. Good news- I've finally sat down and figured out most of the plot kinks and twists and what not, so the chapters should be coming much faster, especially since I wrote the ending already (I have a habit of writing the ending before I finish the story, so I have sort of a motivation to tie the whole story together and finish it). So, onward!

Kittenchatter- Yeah, Jake can be so stupidly stubborn at times… and here's a longer chapter (I think) for ya. Personally, I love writing Maggie, because she's always in the spotlight. Hope you enjoyed Jake's reaction, even if it was slightly delayed.

Cap'n Cory- Yay, YOU'RE BACK! Glad you're enjoying this story so far. I try to add as much as I can of the 19th century Holmes as I can, to keep this fanfiction, and to keep his character in check. Especially hard to do so with this story because it's labeled romance…

snowwolf- Yeah, sorry to load up on the anthrax info- can you tell what I'm leaning about in school?

Kenta Divina- I totally agree with you- pumpkin!?! It's just to indicate how inept Jake is with these things :-P. I'd love to write more about their relationship and all the angst/awkwardness on Laura's part, but as a hint for the future, I suppose, it's time to get on with the rest of the story, anthrax, bad guys, certain FBI agents, and double crossings (gasp!) are yet to come…

Queen of Spain- Thanks for the encouragement (especially with updating!).