A/N: Happy New Year! Let's pretend it hasn't been over two months since my last update. We're still friends, right?
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Chapter 49 – Let's Have Dinner
"And so I told the man," Janine said after she'd taken another sip of her drink, "that if he didn't get another twenty desserts into the conference room by the time the mains were finished…"
Sherlock tuned out, but he was able to keep his eyes bright and focussed on the PA for the duration of her anecdote about a business luncheon she had to organise the day before. Sherlock assumed the role of an attentive listener. He even cued his laughter to match hers.
He'd arranged to meet Janine Hawkins for a drink after she had finished work. She had advised Sherlock that she was waiting on a text from her boss and may be called away at any moment. Sherlock remarked that he faced the same problem with the potential for new cases, so it wasn't an issue.
He'd met with Tonya Small again that morning, thanks to Rose. He had tried to engage Rose in conversation about his impending drinks with Magnussen's PA, but she had brushed him off, saying she was late for work. He could tell that she was a bit apprehensive about his meeting.
"Date," Rose had said, correcting him as she drew on her coat.
"It's not a date. Why are you insisting it's a date?"
"Do you even know what a date is?"
Rose had remained pre-occupied with checking the contents of her handbag as Sherlock continued to shuffle papers relating to the media giant's corporation. Then she had almost left without instigating their goodbye ritual.
"Rose," he said, as the deadbolts snapped aside.
"What?"
Sherlock left the table and crossed the floor to the doorway.
"Goodbye?" he said.
She sighed heavily, as if this were an inconvenience. She silently drew Sherlock in for a hug, and they remained that way while it seemed that Rose didn't know what to say next. Eventually Sherlock himself asked, "Do you love me?"
Rose immediately drew back. Her brow was furrowed when she replied, "Of course I do."
These words were little comfort to Sherlock, with the way she had spoken them.
"Do you love me?" Rose asked Sherlock, as if the question were a challenge and one he would have to think about.
"Yes," he replied instantly. And he studied her eyes, wondering what was going on behind them. She was obviously concerned, but about what?
"You know I'm worried about this, don't you?" she said, as if answering his unspoken question.
"Yes. Worried over nothing."
"So that's exactly why I'm worried. Because you don't think there's anything to worry about. After everything you've told me about her—"
"She's very flirtatious and would like to get me into bed."
"Exactly."
"But she won't succeed."
"Sherlock," Rose said, sighing deeply. She withdrew from his embrace. "You've never dated before. You're very inexperienced when it comes to women. You were a virgin when I met you—"
"Virgin, yes. Idiot, no."
Sherlock had always known when he was being flirted at. Hadn't he? Irene Adler may have used obscure phrases such as Let's have dinner, but he still knew her angle. And he had always been well aware of Molly Hooper's feelings for him and had used that to his advantage on many occasions. Probably too many, in hindsight.
Did Rose think he would end up naked and underneath Janine Hawkins without any realisation as to how he got there?
"Could you at least talk to Tonya about Janine?" Rose asked.
"Why would I talk to Tonya? Her idea of dating requires an oven and a carving knife. Plus a willing donor."
"Sherlock."
"Okay. Fine."
Morning tea with the Clarence House Cannibal didn't elicit anything Sherlock didn't already know, except for the information Ms Small volunteered about herself. Sherlock had finished describing the woman that comprised Janine Hawkins over a cup of tea as Tonya bustled about her kitchen.
"I know the type, darling," Tonya remarked. "In fact, just under twenty years ago I knew such a person intimately." And when Sherlock raised his eyebrows out of obligatory interest, Tonya added, "Me. I was exactly like that, so I know how you can manipulate her."
"You were able to be manipulated?" Sherlock asked disbelievingly, and leaning back into his chair.
"Yes. I was young and foolish and oversexed. He was clever, charming and a compulsive liar." Tonya bent over and whispered into Sherlock's ear. "And you fit the mold perfectly."
Sherlock initially rolled his eyes, but Tonya preceded to give him advice as to how to behave around Janine. It wasn't anything he hadn't already planned on doing. Janine was hardly young and foolish. Oversexed, yes. Mary's maid of honour was already attracted to him. He just had to reveal small chinks in his armour. Tonya's suggestions went along the same lines.
Janine had been only too keen to have drinks with Sherlock after their semi-flirtatious email exchange regarding handcuffs, pairs of them. During the first few minutes of the not-a-date, while Janine was describing her working week, she hadn't even said anything flirtatious. That was, until Sherlock's phone chimed with a message. Before he could help himself or even contemplate whether or not it was discourteous, he picked up his phone and glanced at the message. Janine stopped talking while Sherlock's attention was redirected elsewhere.
It was a message from Rose.
Having drinks after closing the shop with Mel and Sunil. Back later for dinner. Will you be at my place by then?
Sherlock swiftly tapped out a reply.
Still having drinks with Janine and who knows where that will lead? —SH
The second he hit Send, Sherlock realised how his message could be read. And of course he hadn't meant anything seedy. He was hoping he'd get Janine talking about her work, with the best case scenario ending with her giving him a tour of Magnussen's office after hours. However that seemed very unlikely.
"A case?" Janine asked, as Sherlock attempted to chase the first message with a suitable addendum.
"Mmm?" he asked, without looking up.
"Do you have a case?"
Sherlock glanced up at Janine. She made a point of eyeing the device in his hand.
"Oh..." he said, his mind still preoccupied with fixing the mistake in his message.
And I don't mean anything sexual by that last message. —SH
"Um..." he said again in an effort to recall what it was Janine had asked him. "Oh. No. Not a case."
"Girlfriend, then?" Janine probed, quirking an eyebrow. The faint smile on her lips told Sherlock that she wouldn't believe him even if he answered in the affirmative.
Janine was fairly intelligent, Sherlock had concluded. She would never fall for a complete personality overhaul, therefore he had to remain in character and just reveal vulnerabilities and tiny improvements every time they met. But he wouldn't appear too cold; there had to be a reason in Janine's mind for Sherlock Holmes to want her company.
He leant forward, with his elbows resting on the table. Closing the gap between them would suggest a certain level of intimacy.
"If there's one thing you should know about me then it's this: I consider myself married to my work. John Watson can attest to that."
"A married man, hey?" she chided. "Ever thought of getting yourself a mistress?"
And here we are, Sherlock thought. Standing at the edge of the precipice.
"If by mistress, you're using the term figuratively and you actually mean me getting another job on the side, then no."
"No, actually," she replied, mirroring Sherlock's pose by also leaning forward, thus revealing a little more of her cleavage. "By mistress I'm referring to the warm-blooded type."
The smile again. Sweet, yet her bedroom is only a block away.
A scathing remark was on the tip of Sherlock's tongue. He quickly dismissed it for something a little less potent. He made sure one corner of his mouth suggested the beginnings of a smile before he replied.
"You're misinterpreting my request to spend an afternoon at the pub with you, contemplating the whereabouts of the newly-wedded Watsons, for wanting to jump into your bed."
Her smile broadened. Clearly she found his so-called innocence a little bit charming.
"Well, not all at once," she said demurely. "Baby steps, Mr Holmes."
Sherlock leant back in his chair, as if he were contemplating such a suggestion. He decided to change the subject, so it would appear as if he hadn't dismissed the invitation outright.
"Mr Holmes?" he repeated, deepening his voice a little. "Surely by now you can call me Sherlock."
Janine shrugged unapologetically. "Sherlock sounds far too formal."
Sherlock emitted a weak laugh, as if he were a bit embarrassed to volunteer this next snippet of information.
"And Mr Holmes isn't too formal? It sounds like you're addressing my brother."
Janine's eyes sparkled and widened a little. "You have a brother?"
"Down girl."
They exchanged warm smiles. Flirting was child's play. And he was in complete control. What was Rose worried about, for God's sake.
"Well, I can't call you Sherlock," Janine said, reaching for her drink. "I'll have to shorten it to Sherl."
Sherlock's insides roiled in horror. How was he going to endure such nonsense? As Janine sipped her drink, he made a point of rolling his eyes in an exaggerated show of distaste. And that would be all the protesting he would do about the nickname. It would bind them just that little bit closer.
"Ooh, that's me, sorry," Janine said suddenly when her phone chimed from the confines of the handbag she had perched on a seat between them. "Yeah, my boss," she added upon checking the screen.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes just a little, as if he could focus all his deductive powers on the device Janine now held in her hand as she read the text from Charles Augustus Magnussen.
"So I'd better be off," she said, rising from her chair. "Thanks so much for the drink."
Sherlock stood up as well. He hadn't failed to notice that Janine's deportment had become a little stiffer, obviously tensing up at the prospect of facing her boss.
"Perhaps we could continue our conversation another time," Sherlock said, smiling pleasantly.
"That would be nice," Janine replied. She dropped her phone into her bag, and hauled the designer satchel from the chair. "Perhaps dinner sometime?"
"Tonight?" Sherlock said. Overly keen, he thought. A sprinkle of hope in his voice. A bit of desperation from the otherwise cold, confident detective needed to come out now and again.
Thankfully, Sherlock's query brought a smile to Janine's face.
"We could do. If you put those detective skills to work and find out where my office is."
"Well you are being overly mysterious about your occupation," he said, a faint smiling gracing his lips. "Quite clearly you're a personal assistant of some description, for an executive, a male most likely—balance of probability; he works you too hard and leaves you with little time for a personal life hence your desperation to find a bed mate during any down time you can get."
Janine chuckled lightly, a little nervously, Sherlock thought, but he continued on anyway.
"You arrive before everyone else and you're the last to leave. Your hours are unpredictable and you're required to travel at the drop of a hat. You must be the centre of all knowledge in your workplace, not just for your boss—you're phone hasn't stopped beeping with messages since you sat down, but you've been ignoring all but the last, which sounded different. Your boss has a personalised text alert noise, then. Everyone else can wait. Your handbag is over-sized. It contains not one but two diaries. So you manage a diary for somebody else. Old-fashioned. Doesn't trust an electronic schedule. Therefore a man over the age of fifty. The length and shape of your nails are wildly inappropriate for manual work, confirming you're an office worker. Your designer suit, made for business but low cut enough that suggests you need to charm people, means you're an executive assistant in a media corporation. Am I right?"
Sherlock knew that he would've deduced Janine's occupation eventually had he not already known her. The suit and the nails weren't specific to media at all, but he thought that particular deduction would be a nice touch. He was still out to impress her after all.
There was a slight pause before Janine broke into a laugh.
"Oh my God," she exclaimed, then she reached out and lightly touched Sherlock's arm. "Can I take you home?"
"You know my thoughts on that already."
Janine's smile in response was one of affection, Sherlock thought. He had her; that bit was easy. The next step was harder: getting her to trust him enough to reveal confidentialities about her workplace.
"So, dinner?" he asked. He raised his eyebrows, hoping to prompt Janine to elaborate on her suggestion because he had derailed her train of thought with his brilliant deduction.
"Oh, yes."
Janine swapped her bag into her other hand, which Sherlock took as a signal that she was getting anxious about having to leave. He gestured toward the door, and they began to make their way to the entrance as Janine continued talking.
"So, there's a restaurant around the corner from my building. I usually order food to take home, but it's a nice enough place to dine in. I'll be there in…" Janine paused to glance at her watch. "…an hour and a half."
They both stopped outside the pub and Janine distractedly looked up and down the street for a cab.
"If you find my work," she continued, "and can meet me there, we'll have dinner together. Otherwise, I'll order food, take it home and ring a couple of girlfriends to join me. Then of course us girls will head out on the town. It is Friday night after all, and I'm a single girl who doesn't have enough down time in order to find a man to shag. So that's my plans, unless I get a better offer?"
It never ends, Sherlock thought, his mind scrambling for a suitable retort. This game of coquetry would be well served with a quick return volley of Consulting Detective insults. But no. He had to play the game. Best stay in character then.
Sherlock summoned a good deal of embarrassed flustering. A stammer. A step backwards. Subconsciously wanting to escape. Good.
"Ah… I won't do anything about your need to shag, but I'm happy to buy you dinner at least."
This seemed to appease the sexual beast within. Janine's smile had remained on her face. They stepped toward the kerb where Sherlock raised an arm for the next cab.
"I guess I could forgo the bedroom romp for a decent meal," Janine said. "This time." The taxi pulled up at the kerb and Janine approached the rear door. Turning to Sherlock, she said, "If you can find me, I'll see you at eight o'clock. You'll have to give me a head start, so no cheating."
"I never cheat."
Janine narrowed the gap between them.
"Never say never," she whispered, "Sherlock Holmes." Then she gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and turned back to the cab.
Sherlock opened the door for her and as Janine climbed in, he exhaled deeply. He hadn't realised he'd been holding his breath as well as his tongue. Janine glanced up at him and gave him another knowing, hint of a smile. Sherlock gave her a lopsided one in return before closing the door on her.
As the taxi pulled away from the kerb, Sherlock slowly began walking along the street in the opposite direction. He had an hour and half to spare. It wasn't as if he needed the time to stalk Janine to her workplace; he knew exactly where the main offices of CAM Global News were located.
With a stagger in his heart, he realised he hadn't received a message back from Rose. So, to Leinster Gardens then. And he hoped he wouldn't have a lot of explaining to do.
As he walked through the still air of Rose's flat, Sherlock knew she wasn't there. Probably still at the pub with her workmates. Should he ring her?
I'm here. You're not.
No. He would then have to explain that he wouldn't be there for long because he had a dinner not-a-date with Janine in just under an hour.
Best leave quietly, then.
Sherlock left the residence via his usual circuitous route, lest he was followed. It added a considerable amount of time both getting to and leaving Rose's flat, but he knew such precautions were worth it. Once he reached Bayswater Road, Sherlock hailed a cab and bid the driver to take him a block from the CAM Global News headquarters, located close to London Bridge in Southwark.
It took him less than fifteen minutes to scout the area in search of Janine's elusive 'restaurant'. The only one that came close to allowing the purchase of takeaway food was the Pret a Manger, but surely she didn't mean they could dine in there.
Sherlock eyed the premises, in great distaste, from his vantage point on the other side of the street. While he was one for occasionally buying fish and chips from the shop on the Marylebone Road (because he received extra portions) or ordering Chinese takeaway with Rose (and in a previous life, with John Watson), he would never choose to eat in a place such as this, despite the fact that Pret a Manger restaurants seemed to be the modern equivalent of a milestone, marking the streets of the London at regular intervals, from here to Kensington and Chelsea and beyond. He tried to suppress the memories of the places he'd been forced to scavenge for food during his travels in Europe. He might lose his appetite altogether, such that it was.
With twitching fingers and a lightly buzzing head, Sherlock fought the urge to find the nearest tobacconist. Probably not a good idea to show up to their not-a-date reeking of cigarette smoke. Usually he wouldn't care though.
Sherlock was about to continue along the street, deciding to wait outside the CAM Global News building instead of this so-called restaurant, when he spied Janine rounding the corner. Her head was bowed slightly as she strode purposefully toward the doors. She paused, and Sherlock could see that she was talking on her mobile phone. Sherlock made it to the kerb just as Janine dropped her phone into her bag and entered the restaurant.
"I don't suppose you like Indian?" he asked Janine, dropping his voice as he stood behind her.
She turned to face him, already smiling.
"Do you know a good place?"
"Soups, mainly," Janine confessed to Sherlock once they were seated in the small, dark, basement restaurant a couple of blocks away from where they'd started. "Stops me getting some unhealthy convenience food that's just around the corner," she added, continuing to explain to the detective why she frequented the Pret a Manger for dinner. "And they give me a free second coffee, which is handy. Each morning I buy one for myself, and the extra one goes to my boss. He likes it. He thinks it's French."
She smiled at the joke on her boss while Sherlock furrowed his brow. Did Charles Augustus Magnussen enjoy drinking mediocre coffee? Now here was an opening, an opportunity to bring the conversation around.
"So," Sherlock said, leaning forward across the menu he had abandoned perusing, "Do you work for the man at the top, or one of his executive underlings?"
Janine emitted a half smile before taking a sip of her white wine.
"What makes you think the person at the top is a man?"
Sherlock quickly navigated through his phone then turned the screen around to Janine.
"Because the company website says so."
Janine chuckled lightly. "Okay," she said, smiling sheepishly as Sherlock took back his phone. "So you did follow me."
"Of course I did. It wasn't too difficult. Charles Augustus Magnussen, the CAM in CAM Global News. Are you his PA?"
"Now you're just guessing."
"I never guess."
Janine had been leaning onto the table, subconsciously mirroring Sherlock. Now she folded one hand over the other and gave Sherlock a weak smile.
A defensive posture, thought Sherlock. He ought to back off a little.
The detective casually leant back into his chair, as if pondering something. He leant forward again, furrowed his brow, and said, "I have a confession to make."
"Oh, really?"
Janine lifted her wine glass to her lips once more and took a sip, her eyebrows raised in expectation.
"I was quite interested to find out that you work for a newspaper owner. This particular newspaper owner. You see, a potential client approached me about a case that relates to your boss. Now is this a coincidence?"
Janine fiddled with her glass, one corner of her mouth desperately trying to keep her rapidly dying smile alive.
"My brother doesn't believe in coincidences," Sherlock said airily before Janine sought to fill the silence with a pitiful remark. Sherlock accompanied his statement with a barely stifled eyeroll, and casually leant back into his chair again. "He believes the universe conspires with fate to bring us intellectually satisfying puzzles to solve." Sherlock sighed deeply, as if lamenting his lot in life. "He really is a rubbish big brother."
A tiny laugh escaped Janine, and Sherlock was relieved to find her warm smile genuine again.
He shrugged nonchalantly and said, "I probably won't take on this case." With a flippant wave of his hand he added, "It sounds dull in the extreme, but Janine..." He leant forward onto his elbows and lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. "Tell me. Are you working for a blackmailer?"
Janine gaped a little, caught by surprise no doubt.
"Sherl," she said, successfully recomposing herself and plastering a playful smile onto her face. "I can't talk about my boss. Everything about my work is confidential."
"Pity. He sounds far more interesting than the Member of Parliament whose only redeeming feature is that she has a husband who likes to have sex with women other than herself. Do you want to eat?"
They both perused their menus in silence, with Sherlock stealing a quick glance at Janine. She was smiling faintly. Satisfied that he'd seemingly laid his cards on the table with regard to his knowledge about the identity of her employer and partially revealing a potential client who had a connection to said employer, Sherlock was keen to move onto the second phase in his bid to gain Ms Hawkins' confidence.
Sherlock tightened his throat so that emotion would creep into his voice. He coughed lightly, laid down the menu, picked it up again, flipped to the back cover, then placed it onto the table once more.
"Janine," he said, then he shifted in his chair, uneasily he hoped. He gazed fixedly at the stem of Janine's wine glass when she raised her eyes from her own menu. "You... didn't quite answer my question earlier, at the pub."
"Sorry?"
"When we first arrived." He 'braved' a glance at Janine, and then let his eyes roam the restaurant.
"When we first arrived?"
"At the pub. Yes."
Janine narrowed her eyes in thought as Sherlock redirected his attention to her.
"Oh," she said, "You were asking if I'd seen John and Mary. And I said no, I hadn't."
"You said no, but you'd had a crap week at work. Then you preceded to tell me all about your working week. Not that I..." He tried to fix his companion with a reassuring smile. "Not that I didn't want to hear that, of course. But..."
Janine still looked stumped.
"What?"
"So you haven't... seen or heard from Mary?"
"No. I haven't. Why?"
Sherlock fidgeted with his napkin and rearranged his feet underneath the table.
"I haven't heard from John either," he said in a voice barely above a whisper.
"What?" Janine chuckled lightly, and then she rearranged her expression when Sherlock knitted his brows together. "They just got married," she hastily added. "And... you know... newly weds..." She attempted to smile again, but Sherlock wasn't having any of it.
Good, he thought. She's scrambling to make excuses on behalf of John and Mary to make me feel better. She wants to cheer me up.
Sherlock kept his self-satisfied thoughts from marring his faux-sombre expression.
"I don't understand," he said. "Have I done something wrong? Is John angry with me for some reason?"
He hoped his eyes were sufficiently wide, his eyebrows making an arc of confusion.
Say the words, he thought, staring fixedly at Janine. Her own eyes grew larger, mirroring his and she reached for his hand.
Giving it a squeeze she said, "Oh, Sherl."
Bingo.
He was hoping for Oh, Sherlock, but... this was close enough.
Sherlock set his jaw, a coldness creeping into his visage. He pulled his hand away and quickly raised his menu.
"Do you like naan bread?" he gushed. "I'm thinking of getting naan bread and a selection of dips."
From the other side of his menu, he heard Janine emit a tiny sigh. He had her. Phase two complete.
Sherlock allowed one corner of his mouth to stretch into a miniscule smile, hidden by his raised menu.
The stage is set, the curtain rises, we are ready to begin.
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A/N: I'd love to hear your thoughts! I found this chapter really really difficult to write. I procrastinated a lot! (I even edited chapters 1 thru 12 just to avoid writing this!).
Is anyone still around?
(But I couldn't resist adding a line from the Special at the end there... That episode killed me, btw. Still haven't recovered...)
