Chapter 13 - Working With a Celebrity

October 2013

Sherlock pressed Send on his message to Violet. Gone were the days of a swift reply from her, or even the immediate phone call she would make upon assuming he was now contactable. How had their communication slipped from frequent Skype calls to infrequent text messages? He missed the conversations he had taken for granted in the early days of Violet on set—her enthusiastic recount of "wire work" or "blocking" or incidents she'd say would be relegated to the "blooper reel", whatever that was. Now all he received were texts proclaiming how tired she felt.

Sherlock scanned the platform at Euston Station, a figure catching his eye.

"You look chipper," John Watson said as he strode towards the Consulting Detective.

"I feel as if I'm on day release," Sherlock replied.

John fell into step beside him as they strode the length of the platform.

"Smile, you're on candid camera," John murmured, nodding in the direction of a figure further along the platform who was holding up a phone.

"Christ, they never stop," Sherlock muttered, before boarding the train.

"Must make working as a private detective quite challenging."

"Mm."

As usual, John made a point of squinting at the rows and letters for their seats, while Sherlock made a beeline straight for them. Why was it so difficult for ordinary minds to understand a simple carriage configuration?

"How is it?" John asked as they settled into their seats.

Sherlock knew exactly what his friend was talking about.

"You have no idea."

"I have popped in from time to time. I have some idea."

"You 'pop in' then escape after five minutes."

"So… that bad, huh?"

"Worse. So let's talk about something else during my day at large."

John huffed a laugh then reached into his jacket pocket, producing a snack bag of fruit and nuts, which explained his last second dash to the Simply Food at the station, Sherlock deduced.

He quickly readjusted his focus and said, in a voice pitched low, "Lauren Myrtle had several occupations prior to becoming an actress, many of them during her time at drama school."

"Any that stick out?"

"Just the usual pub gigs and coffee shops. Before drama school, she travelled as an au pair for a bit, dotted with several stints at different times in a call centre in Blackpool."

"Family?"

"Only child. Parents died several years ago, far too long a period to have instigated a revenge stitch-up on Jire."

"Boyfriends? Girlfriends?"

"Next on my list of people to investigate."

John munched thoughtfully for a while. Sherlock leant back in his seat, his gaze drifting through the window.

The West Midlands Police had a more comprehensive file on Lauren, which they were agreeable in allowing Sherlock to peruse, but only from the CID office in Coventry.

"I'm thinking of heading to Blackpool after we've finished."

"Why?"

"Lauren's place of birth. Have to start somewhere."

"Are you aware we will be spending most of the day on trains?"

Sherlock quirked a smile. "Mycroft gave me twenty-four hours," he said. "I want to make the most of it."

"By getting as far away from London as possible."

"No. As far away from London as possible would be Australia." Sherlock sighed at the thought, his chest aching. "And it's not as if I have many other cases with which to distract myself."

"What about the snake in the ventilation shaft case?"

"It was a snake in the ventilation shaft."

"Yeah, but who put it there?"

"Doctor Roylott."

"Oh," John said, with a tiny nod. "Guess that seems obvious."

"Elementary."

"And the Spice case?"

"Letting it drop for now."

"What about Kabuki's nightclub?" John asked. "Dan pleased with the results?"

"Yes. He'll blacklist the undercover officers I identified and dismiss the bouncer and bartender involved. Case closed. Nobody ends up at the bottom of the Thames."

A smile grew on John's face.

"But you didn't invoice him," he stated.

"What better person to owe me a favour? I told him 'a friend of Violet's' and all that."

"'A friend of Violet's…'?" prompted John.

"…is in a perfect position for handing me the rope with which to hang Jacob Venucci," Sherlock finished. "But you didn't hear me say that."

"No. Violet would have your balls for Christmas decorations."

Smiling indulgently, Sherlock redirected his gaze through the train window.

"Do you miss her?"

Sherlock blinked against the light dappling through the foliage on the side of the tracks. The question took him by surprise.

"I can't even remember the last time we had sex," he replied, briefly distracted by distant memories. "I suspect it took place between a single-stick battle and a cup of tea."

John snorted out a laugh, prompting Sherlock to clear his throat when he realised his admission. He sat up taller. But what did he care, really? He was talking to his supposed best friend after all.

"I sleep on one side of the bed," he went on, "instead of the middle. When she first left, I was constantly surprised there was still hot water whenever I ran a bath. My bedroom floor was clear of clutter and my time researching and experimenting was quiet and uninterrupted."

"Not so much these days."

"Unfortunately, not."

"But one side of the bed is still cold."

"Yes, it is," Sherlock lamented.

John chuckled.

"Well, you've changed," he said.

"I'd prefer to say 'enlightened'. How about you? Married life must suit you. You've put on seven pounds since the wedding."

"No… no. This is a new shirt. Mary bought it for me. Bit small."

Leaning in, Sherlock said, "Are you forgetting who I am?"

"Desperately trying to."

#

Having finished shooting on location at a shopping mall at three in the morning, Violet fell into bed, fully clothed. The idea that she could ring Sherlock at a reasonable hour (London-time) clashed with her decision to keep things simple through texting. Skype calls were now out of the question, because he'd read her expression in seconds. Voice calls were also dismissed, because that went the same for her tone of voice. She knew if she heard his voice or saw him, she'd burst into tears, even though weeks had passed since her 'meeting'.

Violet climbed under the covers, then irately sat up to remove her shirt and bra before wrestling with her jeans as well. Discarding all items, she sagged in disappointment that Sherlock's night shirt was all the way over on the other side of the room. What did it matter; it no longer smellt like him.

She closed her eyes, the familiar debate battering her mind. If she told Sherlock about Hersch Gleitzman, he'd be on the plane to Australia's east coast immediately. While she'd love that, he'd become frustrated that he couldn't do anything about the sleazy film producer who, by now, resided back in the states. What could he do, anyway? What could anyone do?

But she desperately needed someone to talk to; someone who would share in her outrage.

Timothy Killaney had been her closest confidante, asking her what he could do for her when they spoke about it again during a break in filming.

"I've spent my entire career avoiding the guy," he'd said. "I received advice early on never to work with him."

"I feel as though I need to tell someone in authority," Violet said.

"Like who? He's the CEO of his own company."

"The studio then. Etienne-Lumiere."

"They want a stake in Glitz and Gomorrah. They're not going to ruffle his feathers."

"The police."

"Let me play Devil's Advocate," Tim said. "You went to a film producer's hotel suite in the evening, while he was getting ready to leave. He'd already been interrupted in the shower by a phone call. He told you that. That explained his appearance. He jokingly invited you into the shower and you both laughed. Then you leave, saying you look forward to hearing from him about the role. What do you think they'd say to that?"

"That was the only way I could think of to get out of an uncomfortable situation!"

"Violet, you and I know that, but are you hearing how it would sound coming from his mouth?"

Violet brooded for a moment, before Tim added, "Look, I'll see who I can talk to about this, in the meantime, tell someone you trust, who's in a position of power themselves—preferably a female. I'm not going to let this rest either."

Tim had gathered Violet up in his arms in a reassuring hug while he was dressed as Apophis, the evil serpent deity of the Underworld, while Violet was dressed as Satis, the Nile goddess. At which point, Joseph Irkhardt, the bull deity, embraced them both, saying, "Aw, look at you pommies. I thought you were all stiff-upper-lipped and emotionless."

"Fuck off," Tim replied, good-naturedly.

Violet had found a female in which to confide—Julia Clare-Smithson, the second unit director. Although, they had only worked on one block of scenes together, Violet found her easy to talk to. Unfortunately, Julia had laughed at Violet's method of escaping Gleitzman's clutches. She patted Violet's arm affectionately and said, "He sounds positively awful. I'm so glad you handled it yourself," before wandering off.

Violet had felt completely deflated and bewildered at the time. Her encounter with Gleitzman played on her mind repeatedly since that fateful evening. Just how many times had he tried that pathetic come on? How many times had it actually worked? And was she taking this far too seriously? This was Hollywood, after all.

Her head full of confusing thoughts, Violet fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. She had a day off, apart from fight choreography in the late afternoon. The following three days were extra early calls for full costume, hair and makeup. They were shooting a scene on the studio's backlot, which had been transformed into an office block that had been levelled by Apophis's evil forces. It was a gruelling morning, blocking the action and then filming various shots of the same scene.

During a reset, Mandi waved her phone in front of her. Violet glanced around, hoping none of the ADs spotted her personal assistant bringing her a phone call. Violet quickly reached for the phone, her heart stuttering at the thought that it could be Sherlock. Her on set hair stylist, Charlotte, was adjusting the ends of her wig. Violet held the phone half an inch away from her ear, due to the fake brick dust in which she was covered.

"Hello?"

"Violet. Jim Moriarty." Initially stunned to hear his voice, Violet's insides bubbled in expectation. "I haven't caught you at an inopportune moment, have I?"

"I have a couple of minutes," she replied, "before I fight to the death with Tim."

"Ah," Jim said, laughing lightly. "Sounds like fun. Well, I had a rather pleasant afternoon tea with the lovely Stacia Jecks yesterday."

Violet's head buzzed. Stacia Jecks, the recluse?

"And she's warming to the idea of Canning Town on the big screen," Jim went on. "She'll option the audio and visual rights."

"I.. I'm stunned," Violet said, eventually finding her voice. "I didn't think she'd come round."

"Well, that still doesn't guarantee us an in. I'm on the hunt for a script writer, but I had hoped to have been further along with development before I called you about it. In truth, that isn't the reason I phoned." He paused, while Violet waited with baited breath, wondering if she should prompt him. Charlotte tugged on the end of her wig, causing Violet to wince. Jim cleared his throat. "I heard you had a meeting with Hersch Gleitzman," he said.

Violet's breath hitched on the way in. Another tug on her wig, which in turn, pulled her hair at the roots.

"Ow!" Violet exclaimed. Holding up a hand, she snapped, "Just give me a minute!"

Charlotte held up her own hands in surrender and backed away.

"I'm sorry?" Jim asked.

"No, no, not you," Violet said. And she moved into the shadows, further away from the background actors who were milling about, and strived to avoid several technicians resetting props. "Yes," she answered. "I did meet with him. Not that you could call it a meeting."

Across the set, she spied Timothy Killaney. Two wardrobe assistants were adjusting his costume, while he chatted to them, occasionally sharing a laugh with a couple of extras. Violet kept her gaze on him when Jim spoke again.

"Yes, I heard that. I just want you to know you can leave it with me."

"We're going again people!" yelled the first assistant director.

"What do you mean?" Violet asked. Her face felt pinched and hot.

"I'm saying: don't worry about any repercussions as a result of you walking out on Gleitzman."

"Final checks!" the 1st AD called.

Several yards away, Charlotte frantically gestured to Violet, holding up what looked like a curling wand of sorts.

"What sort of… what does that mean?" Violet asked Jim as Mandi materialised in front of her, holding out her hand for the phone.

"Just leave it with me."

Mandi all but yanked the phone from Violet's ear.

"Mandi!"

Her assistant strode away, apologising into the phone.

"First positions!"

Violet strode towards the stairs that led to a stack of concrete slabs on which she needed to lie, the hair stylist hot on her heels. Charlotte grabbed at Violet's wig just as the actress made it to the last step, startling Violet in the process.

Whirling around, Violet yelled, "Just leave the fucking wig alone!"

Charlotte froze before scurrying away and there was a momentary silence on set. Violet took her position at the edge of the top slab, lying on her back with her long locks dangling over the precipice. She couldn't stop her heart from racing, but perhaps that was a good thing. Timothy joined her, reclining on his side next to her. She felt Harry, the head hair stylist rearranging the strands of hair below.

"Everything all right?" Tim whispered.

"Here we go. Pictures up!"

"No. If she tugs it again like that, I'll fucking deck her."

"Quiet please!"

"Did you tell Jim?" Violet asked Timothy. It took him a split second before he understood the question, then he nodded, a glint in his eye.

"Everything will be fine," he whispered back, before his fingers gripped her neck. Violet's eyes began to moisten.

"Roll sound and camera!"

With a sly grin, Tim winked at her, before schooling his features into a hardened visage.

"Sound speed."

"Camera speed."

Violet allowed a mild panic to rise inside her, the one the scene dictated. She easily summoned more tears.

"Scene 24 Bravo, Take 3."

"Marker."

This time, the emotions were already on the surface and easily accessible. Jim's phone call and his and Timothy's assurances told her one thing.

"Set."

"Background, action!"

Her life was no longer in her own hands.

"And… action!"

#

November 2013

"Yes, here, here, and… here," John said, pulling three photos together, one of Lauren Myrtle, the next of Daisy Firmington and the last: Violet Hunter.

He straightened up, puffing out his chest.

"Mm," mused Sherlock, unconvinced. "I still don't see why you've brought Violet into the equation." He dragged over a photo of Chenoa Burton and placed it between Daisy and Violet. Meanwhile, his phoned bleeped a single tone.

"Nope," said John. "Not even close. Violet looks like Lauren and Daisy in this pose. Especially when she was blonde. Chenoa doesn't even come into the equation."

"Yes, but Violet wasn't the one assaulted in the same manner as Lauren Myrtle."

"What's going on?" demanded Mrs Hudson as she entered her kitchen. "What are all these photos doing on my kitchen table?"

"We're working, Mrs H," John replied. "Away from the… you know." He pointed a finger towards the ceiling.

Sherlock's phone beeped again and he tapped the table thoughtfully.

"You're going to have to go," John said. "That's the… fourth message?"

Sherlock heaved out a breath in frustration.

"Yes. Yes." He waved at the contents of the table. "I don't know where Mary's headed with this theory of hers. She needs another brainwave. One that doesn't involve my girlfriend."

His phone chirruped one more time.

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

"Sherlock!" called his landlady. "Language!"

"Okay, I'm going."

He strode towards the passageway, leaving John to gather up the photos.

"I hear Munich's lovely at this time of year," John remarked, a half smile on his face.

"Sherlock," lamented Mrs Hudson, since the detective had paused in the doorway. "How much longer do we have to put up with this?" As John had done, she pointed a finger towards the ceiling.

"You'll have to ask my brother," Sherlock replied. "I'm sure this is the last one."

"You said that after Prague," John remarked.

"Munich is the big one. And after that, our lives will go back to normal."

"Certainly hope so," said John. "Isn't Violet due back soon?"

"Mm," Sherlock agreed. "And with that, I bid you Auf Wiedersehen!"

#

"And that's a wrap!" called Max Burnott, the director. Cast and crew clapped. "We'll see you all in Brisbane!"

Violet hugged Ethan, hi-fived Scott, their stunt coordinator, then received a pat on the back from Max. Walking across the lot, listening to Mandi and Charlotte chattering, she tugged at her neckline, the lycra sticking to her skin. The sooner she undressed and showered, the better.

They called in to the hair and makeup trailer, where Charlotte began the delicate operation of removing Violet's wig. As she did so, Mandi outlined the logistics she'd received from the studio publicist for Violet's visit to the Gold Coast Children's Hospital along with Joe and Tim the next morning.

Once finished, Violet made a beeline for her trailer to be peeled out of her costume by Lucy from wardrobe. At last, the water from the shower nozzle pelted her head, and she lifted her face to the spray. Tension melted away. Another milestone complete, and now production was moving to Brisbane to film scenes around the city centre.

"One week to go," Sherlock had said, his smiled stretched wide, enough to make her insides flutter with eager anticipation. The fact that he was counting down the days as well filled her with an unquantifiable thrill.

They'd finally skyped that morning—well, morning on the Gold Coast, while Sherlock flicked up his collar against the rapidly chilling night time air in London.

"Why are you smoking on the rooftop at Bart's?" Violet had asked him, flexing her toes while she still lay under the covers.

"Because I'm not allowed to smoke inside."

She gave him a resigned smile. Still half asleep, she was only minutes away from having to rise, shower and dress before transport would pick her up for her last 5am call at the studio to undergo the long process of attaching her wig.

"I'm sorry we haven't spoken much this last month," he said.

"It's not just you," Violet quickly interjected. "I've had some pretty long days and nights, as well." Not to mention she hadn't wanted him to see her attempting to process her encounter with Hersch Gleitzman. There was that.

"One case in particular, it's…" He looked away, his hair picking up a slight breeze as he sat leaning against a low wall. "It's been a fucking nightmare, really. But I'll tell you all about it when you return."

Violet's heart had skipped a beat. She'd love to curl up beside him as he recounted the cases he'd worked on while she'd been away. And how would it feel to wake up beside Sherlock every morning!

"It will be better once I'm back," she said, hauling herself to a sitting position against the headboard. "You can use me as your skull, like you used to. And at least I'll get to come home each night after shooting. I really miss working on cases with you."

"You do?"

He sounded surprised again.

"Perhaps after Improbity…" Violet began.

"But you have that one in New York after that."

"I'm not sure what's happening with Arthur Avenue. They're stalling, I think. I don't suppose you could find out? I know it's not your area of expertise, but—"

"I know how to gather information."

"Yes." Violet's mind scrambled to calculate the risk… of asking him… if it was plausible to get him to… "And there's another one, while you're at it," she said. "A film called Glitz and Gomorrah."

"Sounds… intriguing."

"Yes, well, I've heard they've already cast it, but that hasn't been confirmed anywhere official. A man called… um… Hersch Gleitzman, he's the Executive Producer… well, h-he suggested I might be perfect for the lead role. And I haven't heard anything for a while. I'm definitely interested. I just don't want to get my hopes up."

"Okay. Anything else?"

Sherlock quirked a brow, a smile playing on his lips. Well, if he was going to give the impression of being interested, she may as well continue.

"Canning Town," she said.

"That's the novel you carry around with you all the time."

"Yes! And Stacia Jecks—she's the author—she's never been willing to sign away the film rights, but I heard a whisper that she's talking to someone, so…"

"You want to know if there's any truth to the rumour."

"Yes, please. Are you writing any of this down?"

"Do you think I need to? Arthur Avenue, Glitz and Gomorrah, and Canning Town. Filed away." He tapped at his temple. "Sounds like you'll be busy for the whole of next year."

"I may not get to have anything to do with the last two. But I will get a break around Christmas, partway through filming Improbity."

"Mm."

Sherlock took another drag on his cigarette, leaving Violet to ponder what that would mean for them.

"What are we doing for Christmas?" she asked.

"We?" Sherlock asked, deep furrows appearing in his brow. "I mean… I haven't thought about it."

Violet tried not to take his initial reaction to heart.

"Last year I went to Bolton and spent it with Simon," she said. "My friends and I were supposed to do something—an orphans' Christmas, we said—but…"

"What about your dad?"

"What about him? Don't forget he doesn't like spending time with me, if he can help it, and he never celebrates Christmas anyway. I wouldn't be surprised if he escaped to India this year. What about you? You have a family thing, don't you?"

She could see Sherlock's weary sigh from across the globe before he scratched at one eyebrow.

"Yes," he replied.

"So, maybe, we can… or I can…" She didn't want to have to ask him—to invite herself to his family's Christmas do. "Is there something we can do together?" she finally asked.

Sherlock leant his head back against the wall.

"Well… I don't suppose you…" he began. "No, stupid idea. Forget that."

"You don't suppose what?" Violet asked, holding her breath.

"You'd like to spend Christmas at my… my parents'? That's… with my parents. And me. And Mycroft."

"Oh, Sherlock!"

"Sometimes, there's an extra relative or two. Or three. Don't know the exact nature of their plans for this year."

"It sounds wonderful!"

"It does? So, is that a yes?"

He looked worried, but Violet was quite mindful of appearing too keen.

"Of course," she said. "I'm looking forward to it. We can talk about logistics when I get back."

"Logistics?"

"When I get back, yes."

Violet used every last ounce of self-control not to quiz Sherlock about his parents and how the family celebrated Christmas. She could just imagine Sherlock shutting down, declaring it too hard, then taking back his invitation and the two of them spending Christmas alone in Baker Street. Not that that would be so bad, but this was an opportunity to finally meet Sherlock's mum and dad!

A ringing phone caught Sherlock's attention, and he looked off to the side, absorbed in something.

"Was that another phone?" Violet asked.

"I've been summoned."

The screen jolted as Sherlock rose to his feet.

"Do you have two phones?"

"Look, I'll tell you all about it when y—"

"—when I get back. Yes. Fine."

Sherlock's smile stretched wide.

"One week to go," he said, his eyes twinkling.

They bid each other goodbye, the conversation giving Violet a buzz that had lasted the entire day.

She left the shower and began drying herself. Frantic knocking on the bathroom door startled her.

"Yes?" she asked.

"You've got a meeting," Mandi called through the door.

"Who with?"

"That.. that Jim Moriarty guy."

Violet's insides twisted.

"He's back in Australia?"

"I don't know. Did he leave? One of the P.A.s from the office stopped by. He said to go whenever you were ready. He's using Lynda's office."

Violet finished towel-drying her hair, then wrapped her bathtowel around her. Sticking her head out the door, she asked, "Mandi, can you please lay out my—"

Mandi gestured towards the day bed, upon which Violet's outfit lay.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," she said to her P.A.

"I know."

Violet combed through her hair, wondering what Jim could want, and why he was back in Australia when he originally thought it unlikely. Hopefully, he had good news about Canning Town. Violet's heart thumped in anticipation. Today was turning out to be a wonderful day, indeed.

#

Author's Note:

I've slightly condensed the actions on a large film set (the rolling call, etc.) for the sake of narrative brevity, but I'm sure you get the picture. And the "snake in the ventilation shaft" case is a nod to ACD's The Speckled Band.