What would you think if I made this a SherlockxOC? I've been hesitant, but let me know your thoughts.
FYI: Double page breaks will separate past events from present.
Case of The Bloody Guardsman
Sherlock faced a wall of information, not looking behind him as he spoke.
"Need to work on your half of the church, Mary. Looking a bit thin."
Mary sat at the desk behind him with a number of RSVPs she was going through in front of her, along with a scale model of the reception area for the wedding. John ignored the two as he skimmed his phone in his chair and Sam slept awkwardly sprawled across Sherlock's armchair; her cat resting on her stomach.
"Ah, orphan's lot. Friends, that's all I have. Lots of friends." Mary replied and Sherlock turned away from the lists and photos of Mary's wedding schedule with a minute frown.
"Schedule the organ music to begin precisely at 11:48." He said, making Mary roll her eyes.
"But the rehearsal's not for another two weeks. Just calm down."
"Calm? I am calm. I'm extremely calm." He argued, something she didn't believe for a minute as she spotted his eyes shift to Sam.
"Let's get back to the reception. Come on." She urged him and he reluctantly headed over so she could hand him a card. "John's cousin. Top table?"
"Hm, hates you. Can't even bear to think about you." He hummed, looking over the card.
"Seriously?"
"Second class post, cheap card." He inhaled and grimaced. "Bought at a petrol station. Look at the stamp: three attempts at licking. She's obviously unconsciously retaining saliva."
"Ah." Mary looked over her shoulder at John. "Let's stick her by the bogs."
"Oh, yes." Sherlock agreed, sitting beside her and she leaned over.
"Who else hates me?"
He handed her a list, making her mouth drop open as she gave a sarcastic retort.
"Oh, great. Thanks."
John spoke up then, going through cases offered to Sherlock. "Priceless painting nicked. Looks interesting."
"Table four…" Mary hummed as well.
"Done." Sherlock answered Mary. "And Sam did it before her impromptu nap." Sherlock drawled to answer John, who chuckled at the next one.
"'My husband is three people'."
"Table five…"
Sherlock frowned at a list of attendees. "Major James Sholto. Who's he?"
"Oh, John's old commanding officer. I don't think he's coming." Mary replied, but John looked up.
"He'll be there."
"Well, he needs to RSVP then."
"He'll be there." He repeated firmly, earning a hum in response as he went back to his phone. "'My husband is three people'. It's interesting. Says he has three distinct patterns of moles on his skin."
"Identical triplets. One in half a million births. Solved it without leaving the flat." Sherlock spat out quickly, pulling out a tray with differently shaped napkins out from under the coffee table he'd moved to. "Now, serviettes. Swan or Sydney Opera House?"
Mary blinked in shock. "Where'd you learn to do that?"
"Many unexpected skills required in the field of criminal investigation—"
"Fibbing, Sherlock." She called him out and he tried again.
"I once broke an alibi by demonstrating the exact severity of—"
"I'm not John. I can tell when you're fibbing."
"He learned it on YouTube." A tired voice spoke up, Sam stretching with a yawn as her cat hopped down with his own stretch and Sherlock huffed. "I can also do a rose, bird of paradise and a rabbit; if that helps."
"Showoff." Sherlock grumbled, before Mary suddenly pulled out her phone.
"Opera House, please, and maybe some bird of paradise too. You can do half and half. Oh, hang on. I'm buzzing." She lifted it to her ear and stood, heading for the kitchen. "Hello? Oh, hi… Beth! Yeah, yeah. I don't see why not."
John's gaze lifted from the phone at the name 'Beth' and he got up as well. "Actually, if that's Beth, it's probably for me too. Hang on."
Sherlock plopped down at the coffee table with the napkins as Sam sighed and headed over as well, lightly smacking his hand.
"No, that's the swan. You have to fold it this way if you want the bird of paradise."
"I know what I'm doing." He frowned, but she scoffed.
"Yeah, but you gave up halfway through the video to play with the fingers in the fridge. Just let me."
John briefly glanced at them before shaking his head and coming up beside Mary in the kitchen; both speaking in hushed tones.
"He knows we don't have a friend called Beth. He's gonna figure out that it's code."
"He's YouTubing serviettes." She hissed back. "They both are."
"They're thorough."
"They're terrified."
"'Course they're not. Sam probably knows what's going on anyway."
"Right. You know when you're scared of something, you start wishing it sooner just to get it all going? That's what they're doing." Mary argued. "And if she does know, then she wants to get it going even more than he does. She's bored."
"Why would he be scared that we're getting married? It's not gonna change anything. We'll still do stuff and he's got Sam."
"Well, you need to prove it to him, that you're still going to be around. Especially with Sam in the state she's in. You saw how he was looking at her just now. She's changed and he doesn't quite know what to do about it, and she's as stiff as a board around him now. They've eased up slightly, yes, but I can still see it and so should you. I told you to find them a new case."
"I'm trying."
"You need to run them, okay? Show Sherlock it's still the good old days and get Sam to relax."
She nodded encouragingly and he hesitated, so she shoved him into the living room again, only to find Sherlock and Sam sitting on the ground surrounded by elegantly folded napkins. They both turned and John caught the slightest tint of embarrassed pink on Sam's face as Sherlock gestured to the napkins.
"That just sort of… happened." He murmured and John made a face before stepping further into the room and addressing them.
"Sherlock, um, mate…" John said, trying to think up what to say as Sherlock stood and Sam pulled out her phone. "I-I… I've smelled eighteen perfumes. I've sampled… nine different slices of cake which all tasted identical. I like the bridesmaids in purple—"
"Lilac." Sherlock corrected as they sat at the desk.
"Lilac. Um, there are no more decisions left to make. I don't even understand the decisions that we have made. I'm faking opinions and it's exhausting. So please, before she comes back…" He looked to the kitchen before handing Sherlock his phone. "Pick something. Anything. Pick one."
"Pick what?"
John blinked, before laughing. "A case! Your inbox is bursting. Just… get me out of here."
Sherlock leaned in. "You want to go out on a case? N-Now?"
"Please, Sherlock. For me."
"Don't you worry about a thing. I'll get you out of this." Sherlock agreed, but Sam slipped her phone over before he could take Johns.
"This one." She said, tapping the table as the two looked at her, startled. "Trust me."
Sherlock took the phone, hesitantly. "Another one of your hints?"
She shrugged. "I know it's a good one. Can't tell you much more about it though. Just take me with you. I'm being driven up the bend being trapped in here for so long."
Sherlock nodded, looking over the case she'd offered and his eyes widened. "Oh…"
Dear Mr. Holmes,
My name is Bainbridge. I'm a Private in Her Majesty's Household Guard.
I'm writing to you about a personal matter.
One I don't care to bring before my superiors.
It would sound so trivial, but I think someone's stalking me.
I'm used to tourists. It's part of the job, but this is different.
Someone's watching me.
He's taking pictures of me every day.
Don't want to mention it to the major, but it's really preying on my mind.
Grenadier Bainbridge
"Uniform fetish." Sherlock declared, though something about the case irked him. "'All the nice girls like a soldier'."
"It's 'sailor'." John corrected his misunderstood lyrics. "And Bainbridge thinks his stalker is a bloke. Let's go and investigate. Please?"
"'Elite Guard'."
"Forty enlisted men and officers." John rattled off what he knew.
"Why this particular Grenadier? Curious."
"Now, you're talking." John grinned, glad that Sam had found a case that caught his attention.
"Okay."
They got up and made of the door just as Mary came out of the kitchen, hanging up with 'Beth'.
"Uh, we're just going to… I need, um, Sherlock to help me chose some, uh…" John stuttered out, playing his part. "…socks."
"Ties." Sherlock said at the same time as Mary looked between the two with a small smile.
"Why don't we go with socks?"
"Yeah…"
"I mean, you've got to get the right ones." She continued and John nodded.
"Exactly. To go with my outfit."
"Tie." Sherlock cut in again as Mary ignored the mistakes and looked to John.
"That'll take a while, right?"
John pointed to the kitchen. "My coat in there?"
"Yes."
He went to go get it as Sam moved upstairs to get her hoodie; Mary and Sherlock moving closer to speak in hushed tones.
"Just going to take them out for a bit. Run them."
"I know." Mary smiled as Sherlock returned the gesture. "You said you'd find them a case!"
"Mm."
John came back out. "Come on, Sherlock." He turned to the stairs. "Hurry up, Sam!"
"On it." She called down as they headed out and Mary grinned, giving the two men two thumbs-up without either knowing that she was doing it to both of them.
They headed down to the front door as Sam came down from upstairs and raised a brow at Mary's chuckles.
"Having fun?"
She nodded. "They're just too easy!"
Sam snorted, grabbing her coat to throw over her hoodie. "They would hate it if we ever teamed up against them."
"Oh, yes. I should think so." Mary smiled, as Sam went for the door. "Ah, wait!"
Sam paused and Mary headed over, straightening the young woman's coat lapels and lightly brushing a hand over the young woman's right hand; making her flinch. Mary paused, tugging the glove off and gave Sam a glance at the bruised knuckles she'd been hiding.
"This wasn't from your case." She questioned, though it came off sounding like a statement, as Sam grimaced.
"…No."
Mary sighed heavily, letting the woman go as she pulled her glove back on to hide the bruising. "I don't know what you're getting mixed up in, but try to take better care of yourself. He worries about you, you know, and if I can see the signs then you can be sure he does too. And don't think I've overlooked these ones."
Mary jabbed a finger into Sam's side, earning a painful grunt from the woman at the other bruising she'd discovered. Sam shot her a disgruntled look, but it was half-hearted; Mary could tell. The two were rather fond of each other and… they both knew the other had things—secrets—they didn't want the other knowing about. It helped knowing that. Brought them closer. But being close had its downfalls. Namely, both of them wanting to discuss their problems with the other, but not knowing how to go about it or even if they should.
"You can talk to me, if you want." Mary offered and Sam slowly nodded.
"…Maybe… soon." She shot the older woman a sad look. "I'll listen as well… Mary."
Mary's eyes narrowed slightly, body stiffening at the slight emphasis Sam used on her name, as though she was unsure about it.
"How much do you know?" Mary asked, remembering what John had told her about the young woman's knowledge of things and not wanting to believe it, but she couldn't help beginning to, with the proof before her.
Sam sighed heavily. Far too heavily for someone her age.
"More than I want."
I yawned as I leaned back on the bench Sherlock and John were seated on with me as we waited for Bainbridge to get off his guard duty. It was a bit boring, but I knew that things were about to get a little crazy in the next given hour. I simply had to decide whether I would be sneaking around with Sherlock, going the normal way with John, or taking my own path to the ultimate goal of the men's showers. I doubt my presence will help get respect from that guy John talks to, so I guess I'm with Sherlock. Wandering on my own doesn't sound fun. I drummed my fingers on my phone in my pocket; the device prepped to call an ambulance later as I idly listened to Sherlock and John talk.
"So, why don't you see him anymore?" Sherlock asked.
"Who?"
"Your previous commander, Sholto."
"'Previous commander…'"
Sherlock closed his eyes in frustration at the blunder. "I meant 'ex'."
"'Previous' suggests that I currently have a commander."
"Which you don't."
"Which I don't."
"Yeah, you do."
John leaned forward to eye me with a frown. "No, I don't."
I cracked an eye open to look at him. "Pretty sure Mary counts."
He flushed a bit at that, but Sherlock got him back to the question.
"He was decorated, wasn't he? A war hero."
"Not to everyone. He led a team of crows into battle."
"'Crows'?"
"New recruits." I answered for him, earning a nod of affirmation as John continued his story.
"It's standard procedure. Break the new boys in, but it went wrong. They died. He was the only survivor. The press and the families gave him hell. He gets more death threats than you."
I looked over at the crowd around Bainbridge in a daze, remembering those threats aimed at me.
"This is your fault!"
"It's all because of your job!"
"We told him not to get with you!"
"You're a danger to my son and now look what happened!"
"He's dead because of you!"
"You should have died, not him!"
"You killed him!"
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath and begrudgingly standing, catching the attention of the two men still conversing.
"I need a smoke." I informed them, heading a bit away and pulling the pack of cigarettes from my coat pocket and lighting one.
"You know I don't' blame you for what happened."
I closed my eyes with a grimace at Bobbie's echoing voice in my mind. "But your family does. I do. If I hadn't asked for those stupid…" I sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of my nose.
"I went to get those because I wanted to, Sam. You can't keep dwelling on the what-ifs. What happened, happened. It's done and over with. I'm gone and you can still make a living for yourself. Isn't that why you let Sherlock back in?"
"Don't go bringing him into this." I grumbled bitterly.
"Bringing who into what?"
I jumped, cursing as I dropped my cigarette on the ground and staring at it forlornly before snuffing it out and giving Sherlock a glare for sneaking up on me.
"You owe me a cigarette." I muttered, earning an eyeroll from him.
"I'll buy you a pack next time I'm out, though care to inform me what drew you to them this time?"
None of your business. I wanted to say, but we had promised to be a little more open with one another, so I huffed.
"Sholto's not the only one who's dealt with familial hate." I said, bitterly as we started for where the guards were marching.
"Bobbie's family, then?" He concluded and I gave a short nod.
"They didn't like that he was together with a druggie, despite him arguing for me. So, when he was killed…"
"They blamed you."
"Hm."
There was a beat of silence, before Sherlock scoffed.
"Well, aren't they idiots? Honestly, were they even paying attention to the news? A random thug killed him while he was out shopping. A thug who had no relation to you or your job at all. It could have been anyone."
"Yeah, well, that doesn't make what they said bother me any less." I breathed out, earning a curious look from Sherlock as he scooped up a bearskin someone had left lying around and plopped it on his head.
"Does it bother you?"
I shot him a look, giving his hat a once-over, before answering. "Does it bother you when Donavon calls you a freak?"
He frowned. "No."
"Then, no, it doesn't bother me." I replied, looking over at the group marching nearby where we were headed. "Though, now we both know we're lying, so let's move on, shall we?"
He hesitated, but dropped it, mimicking the marching soldiers as I trailed behind him more normally. He then removed his hat and ruffled his hair in an attempt to rid himself of any hat-hair as I rolled my eyes. The twat. He doesn't even know what that sort of thing does to people, does he? If his personality wasn't so… Sherlock, he'd have ladies falling at his feet. For whatever reason though, it was far too easy for us to get upstairs into the building, even with soldiers milling about. Sherlock kept turning away, as though not looking at them would hide us and—surprisingly—it worked. I suppose it's one of those 'act like you're supposed to be here and people won't be the wiser' things. Morons. The Queen would be ticked if she knew how terrible their security was. I checked my watch and tapped the screen as Sherlock poked his head into a wreck room.
"Hour's up." I chimed, earning a frustrated frown from him.
"John will get to talk to him. We need to find his locker or room or wherever he keeps his personal items."
I sighed as Sherlock rushed off, only to round the corner into a pair of soldiers, who frowned.
"Excuse me, sirs, but you're not supposed to be up here." One declared.
"Oh, well, we'll just get going then." Sherlock replied, quirking a smile and turning to me. "Come along, Sam."
He didn't get far though, before the man grabbed him by the arm and the other grabbed me.
"I don't think so. You're in a restricted area. We're taking you to the Major."
"Or, we could get caught. That works too." I muttered as we were led to the man's office.
The secretary there informed us that he'd gone to the showers for an emergency, and we were brought there instead; arms pinned behind our backs.
"Sir, we caught these two snooping around."
The Major turned angrily to John, whereas my eyes went straight to Bainbridge bleeding on the ground.
"Bobbie! Bobbie!"
I sucked a long breath through my teeth, trying to focus as the Major shouted.
"Is that what this was all about? Distracting me so that these two could get in here and kill Bainbridge?"
"Don't be—"
Sherlock jerked free of the soldier holding him, walking closer to Bainbridge.
"Kill him with what? Where's the weapon?" Sherlock asked the Major as he was pulled back again.
"What?"
"Where's the weapon? Go on, search us." Sherlock demanded, holding his arms out. "No weapon."
John quickly tried to help as well. "Bainbridge was on parade. He came off duty five minutes ago. When's this supposed to have happened?"
The Major eyed Sherlock and I. "You two obviously stabbed him before he got into the shower."
"No."
"No?!"
"He's soaking wet and there's still shampoo in his hair. He got into the shower, then someone stabbed him."
Or he was already stabbed, but didn't notice when he got in. I thought, moving my hand into my pocket and grabbing my phone.
"The cubicle was locked from the inside, sir. I had to break it open." The Duty Sergeant who'd found him informed.
"You must have climbed over the top."
"Well, then we'd be wet too, wouldn't we?" Sherlock snapped, annoyed with him as John raised his voice.
"Major, please! I'm John Watson, Fifth Northumberlan Fusiliers. Three years in Afghanistan, a veteran of Kandahar, Helmand and Bart's bloody Hospital." He snapped, insistent. "Let me examine this body."
The Major went quiet before begrudgingly nodding at the men holding John, and he removed his coat as the Duty Sergeant leaned toward Sherlock.
"Suicide?"
"No. The weapon again. No knife." Sherlock corrected him. "Sam, everything alright?"
I finally turned away from the blood on the ground and nodded. "Yeah, sorry." I raised my phone. "I've called for an ambulance."
Sherlock's brows furrowed. "What? Why?"
I shrugged, trying to play it off while in front of the soldiers. "So, we don't have to wait for it later. I'm sure they'd like for him out of here before someone else needs the showers."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed, but he let it go for now, gesturing for me to come with him to help examine the body.
"Hm, there's a wound to the abdomen; incredibly fine." John informed us.
"Man stabbed to death. No murder weapon. Door locked from the inside. Only one way in or out of here." Sherlock rambled alongside him. "Sam, anything?"
"Stabbed beforehand?" I offered, making Sherlock frown.
"By an intruder? A fellow soldier? Without him noticing?"
"Are you pointing fingers at my men now?" The Major growled and I gave him a calm look.
"I'm presenting options. Never said it was the right answer."
"Sam, how far is that ambulance?" John asked then and I turned back around.
"I called three minutes ago. Should be here in five to seven more minutes."
John looked up to the confused others. "G-Good, because… he's still breathing."
"Oh, my God." The Duty Sergeant muttered as Sherlock's eyes widened.
"What do we do?"
"Give me your scarf." John demanded and while Sherlock looked at him in confusion, I removed mine instead and shifted to John's side; pressing it to the wound. "Thank you, Sam."
"Don't thank me yet." I muttered. "Only saved us three minutes."
"That may be all he needs." John replied, looking to the sergeants in the room. "Make sure someone's out there waiting for that ambulance. They need to be brought here as soon as they arrive. Go!"
The men scuttled off and John turned to me.
"Put more pressure on that wound, nurse."
"Don't call me nurse." I grumbled, glaring at him as I put more of my weight onto the injury.
"Yeah, well, I'm making due. Stephen?" He called to Bainbridge, trying to get him responsive. "Stephen, stay with me."
Wedding
"Private Bainbridge had just come off guard duty. He'd stood there for hours, plenty of people watching, nothing apparently wrong. He came off duty and within minutes was nearly dead from a wound in his stomach, but there was no weapon. Where did it go? Ladies and gentlemen, I invite you to consider this: a murderer who can walk through walls, a weapon that can vanish – but in all of this there is only one element which can be said to be truly remarkable. Would anyone like to make a guess?" Sherlock asked his audience, a group of people having come for a wedding.
Not a murder-mystery story-telling.
"Come on, come on. There is actually an element of Q and A to all of this." Sherlock urged, clearing his throat before looking for someone. "Scotland Yard. Have you got a theory?"
Lestrade lifted his head, feeling very much like a deer in the headlights as everyone looked to him. An officer should have answers, shouldn't he?
"Yeah, you. You're a detective, broadly speaking. Got a theory?"
"Um, if the… uh, if the… I-If the blade was, uh, propelled through the, um… grating in the air vent… maybe a-a ballista or a… or a catapult. Um, somebody tiny c-could crawl in there." He sucked in an anxious breath. "So, yeah. We're look… We're looking for a-a-a dwarf."
Sherlock blinked. "Brilliant."
"Really?"
"No."
Lestrade dropped his head, looking back at his drink, only to hear a grunt and peer up. Sherlock was glaring at Sam with a small grimace of pain on his face. The woman herself had spotted Lestrade looking and lifted her glass in a silent toast to him; cheering him up somewhat after having kicked Sherlock under the table.
"Next!" Sherlock called, hearing whispering and turning to Molly's boyfriend, Tom.
"Tom. Got a theory?"
Tom slowly stood up, shuffling for a moment. "Um… attempted suicide with a blade made of compacted blood and bone; broke after piercing his abdomen… like a meat… dagger."
Molly made a face as Sherlock's brows furrowed.
"A meat dagger."
"Yes."
"Sit down." Molly hissed at her boyfriend as Sherlock responded.
"No."
Tom sank back down as Sam slid a napkin towards Sherlock with a single word scribbled on it.
Close.
He frowned, disbelieving, but she didn't give him any more hints, so he went on with his speech.
"There was one feature, and only one feature, of interest in the whole of this baffling case, and quite frankly it was the usual. John Watson, who—while I was trying to solve the murder—instead saved a life with Sam's assistance." He announced, making Mary laugh in delight and John smile. "The best and bravest man I know, and on top of that, he actually knows how to do stuff… except wedding planning and serviettes. He's rubbish at those."
"True." John laughed with the guests.
"The case itself remains the most ingenious and brilliantly-planned murder—or attempted murder—I've ever had the pleasure to encounter; the most perfect locked-room mystery of which I am aware. However, I'm not just here to praise John. I'm also here to embarrass him, so let's move on to some—" Sherlock started, only for Lestrade to cut in.
"No, no, wait. So, how was it… how was it done?"
"How was what done?"
"The stabbing."
Sherlock looked down awkwardly, hesitant before begrudgingly giving a response. "I'm afraid I don't know. I didn't solve that one. That's… It can happen sometimes. It's very… very disappointing." He took a moment for himself, before moving on. "Embarrassment leads me on to the stag night. Of course, there's hours of material here, but I've cut it down to the really good bits."
Stag Night
"Murder scenes?" Molly questioned at Sherlock's suggestion for a stag night. "Locations of… murders?"
"Mm, pub crawl; themed." He nodded.
"Yeah, but w-why can't you just do Underground stations?"
Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "Lacks the personal touch. We're going to go for a drink in every street where we—"
"—every street where you found a corpse." She finished off, getting the idea. "Delightful. Where do I come in?"
"Don't want to get ill. That would ruin it. Spoil the mood. Sam says John might want to get pissed, but I disagree."
Molly didn't, but went along with it. "You're a graduate chemist. Can't you just work it out?"
"I lack the practical experience."
Molly eyed him. "Meaning you think I like a drink."
"Occasionally. As does Sam, however, she lacks the skills with chemistry."
Molly ignored the comment on the other woman. "That I'm a drunk."
"No. No!" He argued poorly, unnerved by her gaze. "You look… well."
She cracked a smile at his awkwardness. "I am."
"How's…" Sherlock made a face, struggling to remember the man's name. "…Tom?"
"Not a sociopath."
"Still? Good."
"And we're having quite a lot of sex." She stated abruptly, stunning him at the information; not knowing that it was her trying to make him jealous.
Ever since Sam had returned and Sherlock came back from the dead, it didn't seem like he needed her much anymore. As young as Sam was, Molly didn't think it was too much of a stretch for her and Sherlock to become something special. Already, they seemed to share so much.
"Okay." Sherlock pulled out a folder full of files. "I want you to calculate John's ideal intake and mine, to remain in the sweet spot the whole evening."
Molly pulled out a few documents before raising a brow. "This one is Sam's."
Sherlock nodded. "Oh, right. I forgot to mention that. She may be joining us as well. She didn't get to go to the hen night with Mary and the others due to a job conflict, so Mary suggested she try with us. It was just going to be me and John anyway. So, we're going for light-headed being good…"
"Urinating in wardrobes, bad." Molly concluded, though not sounding entirely pleased anymore.
"Hm."
Sherlock brought over three large graduated cylinders over to where Sam and John were seated, earning a raised brow from the man, whereas the woman just accepted her slightly-less-filled one and began to chug it down. Bad day then. Sherlock concluded as he took out his phone and started up a stopwatch.
John eyed it as he took the cylinder. "What? Are we on a schedule?"
"You'll thank me."
The trio clinked their glasses and drank. Pub after pub, Sherlock kept track of the group's rising alcohol level and eventually pointing John towards the toilets when it was hitting about that time.
"What are you going to do… if it all turns to shit?" Sam asked, eyes half-lidded and chin propped up on the table.
She'd been sneaking harder drinks on the side when Sherlock wasn't paying attention; something John wouldn't start doing until the next pub.
"What?"
"Your little calculations." She muttered, wiggling a finger at his coat. "All it takes is for John to think he wants more to drink or something stronger. You didn't calculate the… the effects alcohol has on mindset. People don't like being cut off before they've had their fill."
Sherlock frowned, noticing the slight slurring to some of her words. "You shouldn't have inhibited speech functions yet."
She shrugged. "Snuck a few shots of whiskey."
Sherlock groaned, but she went on.
"In any case, I know my limits better than you." She huffed, sitting up and leaning back slightly in her seat. "And you didn't have to deal with a set of very upset, highly Christian parents who discovered that their homosexual daughter ran off with her girlfriend to the states; not running to a supposed secret boyfriend she had gotten pregnant with like they suspected. I deserve to be a little drunker than you right now."
"Fine." He bit out, begrudgingly deleting her info from the app he was using.
There was no point tracking her alcohol levels now.
"Although, you really should be careful." She hinted, catching his attention. "If he wants to sneak a drink, it won't be hard. I suggest… Nah, never mind."
"What?" Sherlock pressed, seeing that Sam knew something about this stag night that he wanted to know about before it turned on its head.
"It's more fun to let things happen this time round." Sam hummed instead, making Sherlock huff as John returned.
"Come on. We're going to the next one."
True to Sam's word, John started sneaking in shots without Sherlock's knowledge. Sam was right there beside him too, almost encouragingly, but she said nothing as John tipped a shot into one of the beer cylinders and accidentally gave it to Sherlock. Due to that error, at the next pub, Sherlock was a little tipsier than he should have been and was arguing with a man about ash.
"Don't tell me I don't!" He emphasized with a finger jabbed into the man's chest for each word before pushing him.
Said man retaliated, swinging a punch at Sherlock, who swayed backward when Sam pulled his coat; dodging the hit only for her to knock the attacker off his feet herself.
"Lay off, you lot." She snapped as the man was hefted up by his buddy. "He's pissed, just like the lot of ya. If you wanna fight, then go outside and I'll deal with you."
John grabbed her arm then as the men grumbled and began to leave. "Alright, enough. That's… come on." He slurred out, tugging her away from a possible barfight and getting her to help him pick up Sherlock.
They made for the exit, stumbling about as they caught a cab back to Baker Street. Sherlock and John collapsed on the stairs leading up, but Sam was sitting on the ground with her back to the wall as she smoked idly; eyes dazed still from the drinking.
"I have an international reputation." Sherlock mumbled. "Do you have an international reputation?"
"No, I don't have an international reputation." John answered.
"No." Sherlock agreed. "Sam?"
"I suppose I do." She answered, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. "I was a PI in New York. They knew me."
"I know ash." Sherlock slurred out, remembering something else he knew. "And I can't even remember what the reputation is for… Sss… Crime… something or other."
Mrs. Hudson popped out of her flat to take out the garbage and jolted in surprise at the group.
"Oh. What are you doing back? I thought you were going to be out late."
"Ah, Hudders." Sherlock announced in apparent recognition. "What time is it?"
"You've only been out two hours." She informed them, making Sherlock and John bolt upright.
It felt like ages to them.
"I thought it was three." Sam hummed, pushing herself up to a standing position using the wall; apparently soberer than they were, as she barely had a stumble in her step as she pushed past the two up the stairs. "Come on then. Time for games. I'll get the drinks."
At the word 'drinks' the two boys clambered up after her. After a brief explanation of the 'Who Am I' drinking game, the trio sat around with various names on paper stuck to their forehead and Scotch in their glasses. Sherlock had his own name plastered to his forehead and John had Cheese on his, while Sam had Madonna taped to hers.
"Am I a vegetable?" John asked.
"You? Or the thing?" Sherlock questioned, making the group snigger.
"Funny!"
Sherlock looked sheepish. "Thank you."
"You're not a vegetable." Sam answered John and he nodded to Sherlock.
"It's your go."
"Uh, am I human?"
"Sometimes." John quipped.
"Can't have 'sometimes'. Has to be, um…"
"Yeah, Sherlock. You're human." Sam slurred, drinking her Scotch.
"… 'yes' or 'no'." Sherlock finished his sentence, leaning forward. "Okay… and am I a man?"
"Yup."
"Tall?"
John held his hands up in a shrug. "Not as tall as people think."
"Hm, nice?"
"Ish."
"Clever?"
"The cleverest." Sam hummed, eyes closed as she leaned back in her chair; absentmindedly petting Smith on her lap.
"Really?" Sherlock questioned, pleased as John chuckled. "Mm, am I important?"
"To s-some people."
"Do people…" Sherlock used air quotes. "…like me?"
John reached for his glass, but missed. "Uh, no. They don't. You tend to rub 'em up the wrong way."
"Okay."
John and Sam sniggered at that.
"Am I the current King of England?"
"You don't have king." Sam scoffed. "Your brother doesn't count."
"Doesn't he?"
More laughter as John answered him.
"No."
"Your go." Sherlock said, turning to Sam and nearly falling out of his seat.
He braced himself on her leg, looking down awkwardly before pulling away. "Sorry."
Sam shrugged, though her cheeks were a bit pink; and not from the alcohol. "R-Right. Um, am I… a woman?"
"Yes."
"Am I… pretty?" She asked, wrinkling her nose slightly, before looking sad almost.
Sherlock frowned, looking for something to cheer her up. "Uh… Uh, beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences and role models."
Sam eyed him. "Okay… Is that a no?"
Sherlock squinted at the name written on her paper. "I don't know who you are. I don't know who you're supposed to be."
"You picked the name!" John complained as Sherlock waved him off. "Ah, but I picked it at random from the papers."
"You're not really getting the hang of this game, are you, Sherlock?" John huffed, slouching in his seat.
Sherlock looked upwards, trying to see his own paper. "So, I am human. I'm not as tall as people think I am. I-I'm nice-ish, clever, important to some people, but I tend to rub them up the wrong way." He chuckled. "Got it."
"Go on, then." John encouraged, curious to see what he'd come up with.
Because he wouldn't have been laughing if he had the right answer.
"I'm you, aren't I?" He said, gesturing to John as Sam sputtered into laughter and someone knocked on the door.
"Ooh, ohh." Mrs. Hudson called, making the trio look to her and the woman she was with. "Client."
"Hello." John smiled as Sherlock and Sam waved.
"Hello!"
"Come on." John waved her in and she looked to the three.
"Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?"
Grinning broadly, John and Sam both pointed to the paper on Sherlock's forehead as he smiled as well; none the wiser.
I knew her. My brain was muddled from the alcohol, but she was familiar. Where? Where do I know her from? I wondered as Sherlock stumbled around a living room we'd been brought to. Everything before this was a bit of a blur and, honestly, even now I was sort of dozing in and out. While I'd drank less than Sherlock and John, I knew I was nearing my limit. I wasn't exactly a heavyweight drinker and with my weight where it was right now, I may have overdone it a bit with the Scotch. I need to eat something.
"Mhmm, he's clueing for looks." John murmured, confusing the woman as the angry landlord of the property scowled at us.
He saw us for what we were in that moment. That being a trio of drunks. Sherlock already had fallen onto his face in the plush white carpet on the floor; snoring. The landlord had enough and hefted him up despite his complaints; threatening the police as the woman tried to stop him.
"This is a famous detective. It's Sherlock Holmes and his partner, John Hamish Watson and…" She looked to me as I frowned at the air.
"Sam." I answered her, waving it off. "I help him solve cases… Hamish…"
Something clicked in my head then as Sherlock complained, and I rushed over to a small plastic bin nearby.
"What do you think you're doing?" Sherlock snapped at the landlord. "Don't compromise the integrity of the—"
He stopped, turning around and doubling over just as I got the bin to him; allowing him to vomit in the rubbish bin and not on the floor.
"…crime scene!" John finished for him, lifting his hand for a high-five as Sherlock finished and I grimaced at the vomit in the bin.
I need to set this down, or I'm going to fill it next. I placed it to the side as Sherlock gestured to John.
"Yeah, that."
He slipped his magnifying glass closed and dabbed at a bit of vomit that was on his lips, before the landlord stomped out.
"That's it. I'm calling the cops."
Said cops were called and we were hauled off for the evening; the three of us placed in a cell where we eventually drifted off to sleep.
"Wakey-wakey!"
I jolted awake, reaching for my waist for my weapon, but meeting thin air. Right. I… left it at the flat… I groaned at the harshness of the light now as it burned my eyes and every noise seemed to buzz ten times louder in my ears.
"Oh my God." John grimaced as he looked to who had shouted. "Greg. Is that Greg?"
"Get up. I'm going to put you lot in a taxi." Lestrade said with a grin as I hefted myself to my feet. "Managed to square things with the desk sergeant."
"Thanks." I murmured as John painfully pulled himself up too and Lestrade cackled.
"What a couple of lightweights! You couldn't even make it to closing time!"
I winced at how loud he was and even John complained.
"Can you whisper?"
"Not really!" He shouted instead, making me snarl and step towards him threateningly as Sherlock bolted upright.
"You do that again, and I will gladly stay in here another night for assaulting an officer."
He raised a brow, but did lower his voice. "A bit tetchy then, aren't we? Thought you were supposed to help control them."
I scoffed, turning around to try and help the startled Sherlock onto his feet. "I had a bad day. Drank more than I should for my current weight and I think John accidentally passed me some of the beers he'd dropped whiskey shots into."
"I did what?" John questioned, apparently missing a portion of his night in the drunken haze.
"Shut up and go get our stuff." I waved him off, grabbing Sherlock's arm before he could tumble back onto the bench and leading him out as well. "I don't get paid enough for this babysitting crap."
Lestrade chuckled. "Tell me about it."
I shot him a look. "You don't live with him."
He winced. "Good point. Is there, uh, anything more I can do?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Call Mrs. Hudson. Ask her if she can make breakfast. If I don't eat something soon, I'm going to keel over and Sherlock and John might hurl… again."
"Will do."
I joined the other two and began pulling on my coat and grabbing my things as John cleared his throat.
"Well, thanks for a… you know… an evening."
Sherlock scowled as we began to leave. "It was awful."
"Yeah."
"I was going to pretend, but it was, truly."
"Would have been better if someone didn't want more to drink." I grumbled, eyeing John, who looked away sheepishly.
He apparently remembered that part.
"That woman, Tess." Sherlock said then, confusing John as I groaned and slapped a hand to my face.
"That's what I forgot!"
"What?"
"Dated a ghost. The most interesting case for months." Sherlock scowled. "What a wasted opportunity."
"…Okay, but what did you mean, Sam?" John asked.
"She's important for something later on." I muttered, catching Sherlock's attention. "Just keep looking into it."
He nodded and we climbed into the cab back to Baker Street.
Wedding
"Married." Sherlock declared, trying to go through the process he'd done back when dealing with the actual incident. "Obvious, really. Our Mayfly Man was trying to escape the suffocating chains of—" He grimaced, shooting Sam a glare for kicking him again.
She nodded towards the guests though and, upon taking a look around, Sherlock cleared his throat.
"On second thought, I probably should have told you about the Elephant in the Room. However, it does help to further illustrate how invaluable John is to me. I can read a crime scene the way he can understand a human being. I used to think that's what made me special. Quite frankly, I still do. But a word to the wise: should any of you require the services of any of us, Sam and I will solve your murder, but it takes John Watson to save your life. Trust me on that, I should know. He's saved mine so many times, and in so many ways." Sherlock held up his phone. "This blog is the story of two men, a young woman, and their frankly ridiculous adventures of murder, mystery and mayhem. But from now on, there's a new story; a bigger adventure." He turned to John and Mary. "Ladies and gentlemen, pray charge your glasses and be upstanding."
He lifted his glass as everyone stood, but spotted a napkin being slid over from Sam.
"Today begins the adventure of Mary Elizabeth Watson and John Hamish Watson."
Hamish.
"The two reasons why every single one of us is…"
It clicked in his head then; her hint. Tess had said that. She'd called John by his full name. By his middle name. One which John had refused to tell even him about until he dragged up the man's birth certificate. So, how did she… Oh, the only time it's been made public the wedding invitation.
"Enjoy the wedding." He remembered her saying when he'd messaged her along with the others tricked by the supposed ghost.
She knew about the wedding, seen a wedding invitation. Barely a hundred people had seen it. The Mayfly Man only saw five women. For one person to be in both groups… could be a coincidence. Sherlock mentally grimaced, hearing his brother in his ear chiding him for such a thought. He went through a lot of trouble to find out about this wedding, which implies criminal intent, intelligence, planning. The Mayfly Man… The Mayfly Man is…
"…here today."
Sherlock's glass fell to the ground and shattered, startling him out of his little daze.
"Oh, sorry. I…"
He struggled to think up something to say as another glass was passed to him by the Master of Ceremonies. Something is going to happen, right here, any second.
"Now, where were we?" He started, words sliding from his mouth like water, but unnoticed in the haze of information he was suddenly trying to take in of everyone in the room.
I have control of the room. I can't lose it now.
"Ah, yes. Raising glasses and standing up. Very good. Thank you."
A finger tapped the table making his eyes flicker down to the napkin once more.
Don't lose control.
"And down again." Sherlock said, gesturing for everyone to sit once more.
They did, with murmurs of confusion as he rambled on, trying to buy time.
"Ladies and gentlemen, people tell you not to milk a good speech. Get off early, leave them laughing. Wise advice I'll certainly try to bear in mind. But for now…" He jumped over the table, startling John and the others. "…part two."
Sam pulled out her phone and began texting under the table, making John glance at her as a few phones buzzed in the building.
Lestrade, something's wrong.
You need to discretely secure the building.
No one in or out.
"Part two is more action-based. I'm going to… walk around, shake things up a bit." Sherlock said, mind still racing as he looked over every guest and feared any one of them could have been the person he was looking for.
John, you need to be ready.
Battle stations.
And tell Mary she needs to remember
Everyone's rooms.
John frowned over at Sam, but did as she said as Lestrade got up to leave and Sherlock spun around with a clap of his hands.
"Wedding's are great! Love a wedding. And John's great too. Haven't said that enough. Barely scratched the surface. I could go on all night about the depth and complexity of his… jumpers. And he can cook. Does a thing… thing with peas, once. Might not be peas. Might not be him. But he's got a great singing voice… or somebody does."
Sam twitched at that, sending the final message and Sherlock whipped out his phone.
Calm down!
Look for the victim.
Work backward
And remember what I've said.
"Oh…" He breathed out, shoulders relaxing as he slipped his phone back into his pocket and turned around, smirking at the people at the head table. "Oh, it'll always be you, won't it? You two keep me right."
John stood up, back straight. "What do I do?"
"Well, you've already done it. Don't solve the murder. Save the life. And you." He turned to Sam as she stiffened as well. "You've got all the answers. Help me figure this out."
Her jaw tensed. "I've already given you hints and we have an audience. I don't want this to end up like… before."
Sherlock frowned at that, remembering how a few misplaced hints and nearly ended up with her in jail. "I won't let it happen again. I promise."
She hesitated—longer than her past self would have before those two long years—but sighed. "Fine. Let's knock heads."
Sherlock grinned at that, allowing her to join him on the other side of the table as he looked back over the crowd.
"Sorry. Off-piste a bit. Back now. Phew!" He clapped his hands together, smile falling; face serious. "Let's play a game. Let's play murder."
Mrs. Hudson let out a little complaint, but was ignored.
"Imagine someone's going to get murdered at a wedding. Who exactly would you pick?"
"I think you're a popular choice at the moment, dear." The elderly landlady grumbled.
"If someone could move Mrs. Hudson's glass just slightly out of reach, that would be lovely." Sherlock snapped. "More importantly, who could you only kill at a wedding?"
"Not someone easy." Sam said, fingers twitching slightly, but having no cigarettes on hand.
"Course not. Most people you can kill any old place. As a mental exercise, I've often planned the murder of friends and colleagues."
"Focus." Sam said sharply, seeing he was about to go off into a ramble again and Sherlock grit his teeth. "Who could you kill only here?"
"Someone who doesn't get out much."
"Obviously, but they came here."
"Planned social encounter known about months in advance. An exception. Unique opportunity."
Sam nodded. "We're in public. Lots of people. Makes things difficult, so—"
"So, killing them in private isn't an option." He concluded, narrowing down the guests bit by bit. "Someone who lives in an inaccessible or unknown location, then."
"Private person, obsessed with personal security. Hires vetted, private staff who are then made to keep a secret." Sam tacked on.
"Possibly someone under threat."
"He's about to be killed, so he's obviously under threat."
Sherlock eyed her for the comment. "Cheeky and a bit rude."
She shot him a glare. "Stressed."
Two sets of eyes then landed on the topic of the discussion, before Sherlock snatched a name card from off a table; scribbling on it and discretely placing it before Major Sholto.
It's you.
"There is another question that remains, however. A big one, a huge one… How would you do it? How would you kill someone in public?"
"It's complicated." Sam responded, following him around the room. "Doing it, anyway. You would have to plan it out. Practice it, to get it just right and account for any change or error that may occur."
"Mr. Holmes! Mr. Holmes!" Archie chirped and Sherlock lit up, remembering Sam's hint before about him.
He hurried over and bent forward eagerly. "Oh, hell again, Archie. What's your theory? Get this right and there's a headless nun in it for you."
"The invisible man could do it."
Sherlock's brows furrowed, lost. "The who, the what, the why, the when, the where?"
"The invisible man with the invisible knife. The one who tried to kill the Guardsman."
Sherlock's eyes widened in understanding; all those hints coming back to him.
"I wish there could have been something done earlier…"
"Listen to Archie."
"…has to do with a past case. A recent past case…"
Those ones made sense now. The Bloody Guardsman case that he hadn't solved before suddenly became clearer.
"…have to plan it out. Practice it…"
"Rehearsed." He breathed out, turning to watch the Major leave before rushing to try and end his control of the room and get out of there. "Ladies and gentlemen, there will now be a short interlude. The bride and groom!" He called out, holding up a glass as the guests questionably did the same.
Immediately after, Sherlock whipped around to John.
"Major Sholto's going to be murdered. I don't know how or by whom, but it's going to happen." He said quickly, moving to get past the guests in the center aisle and grabbing Sam on the way. "That was only some of the hints. What are the others for?"
Sam grimaced as she struggled to keep up with him. "T-The how was the napkin I pushed to you while you listened to theories. Then w-who was—God, hold on. Can I just…" Sam paused for a moment and chucked off her shoes with a sigh of relief as they continued to push past people. "The who was the comment about the cab case." She whipped around then, calling out above the noise. "Mary! Get your butt over here! We'll need you in a second!"
Sherlock shot her a confused look as John hurried to join them and Mary began to make her way over as well.
"What for?"
Sam rolled her eyes. "You shouldn't underestimate a woman. Some of the supposed 'useless information' we pack our heads with is actually helpful."
They reached the stairs just as Mary caught up with them.
"Sholto, room?" Sam questioned and the bride answered right away.
"207."
Sherlock kind of gaped at them in shock as they hurried ahead, John looking at him in similar disbelief.
"How can you not remember which room? You remember everything!"
"I have to delete something!" Sherlock complained, rushing along and soon overtaking the two women in dresses; rattling on the doorknob of room 207. "Major Sholto? Major Sholto! Major Sholto!"
"If someone's about to make an attempt on my life, it won't be the first time. I'm ready." Sholto called out from his room, undoubtedly having a weapon in hand.
Sherlock clenched and unclenched his hands, unsure of what to do as Joh moved to take his spot in front of the door.
"Major, let us in."
"Kick the door down." Mary added, but Sam shook her head.
"Not with a soldier."
The Major agreed. "I really wouldn't. I have a gun in my hand and a lifetime of unfortunate reflexes."
"You're not safe in there." Sherlock attempted again, though his mind was still focused on skimming through Sam's hints and the case to try and understand who was going to kill him, and how. "Whoever's after you, we know that a locked room doesn't stop him."
"'The invisible man with the invisible knife'." Sholto repeated.
"I don't know how he does it, so I can't stop him, and that means he'll do it again."
"Solve it, then." He demanded, making Sherlock stutter.
"I-I'm sorry?"
"You're the famous Mr. Holmes. Solve the case. On you go. Tell me how he did it and I'll open the door."
"Please!" John pressed. "This is no time for games. Just let us in! You're in danger!"
"So are you, so long as you're here. Please, leave me. Despite my reputation, I really don't approve of collateral damage."
Sherlock began pacing back and forth as Sam shuffled from foot to foot, grinding her teeth. Mary though, had enough.
"Solve it."
Sherlock paused to look at her. "Sorry?"
"Solve it, and he'll open the door, like he said."
Sherlock frowned. "If I couldn't solve it before, how can I solve it now?"
"Because it matters now."
"What are you talking about?" Sherlock turned to John. "What's she talking about? Get your wife under control."
"She's right."
"Oh, you've changed!"
"No, she is." John snapped, pointing at him stubbornly. "Shut up. You are not a puzzle solver. You never have been. You're a drama queen."
Sherlock's mouth dropped open in shock.
"Now, there is a man in there about to die. 'The game is on'. Solve it!"
"I…I can't."
Mary turned to Sam then. "Can you help?"
Sam stiffened, bristling like a startled cat. "No."
John, now, took a menacing step forward. "Sam, someone—my ex-commander, my friend—is about to die in there. I'm not about to stand back and watch another person die because you decided to play God and withhold information from us!"
Sam grit her teeth tighter, but stood her ground instead of shrinking away. "No."
"John." Mary warned, seeing the tension rising.
She had hoped he had learned his lesson from the last time he had fought with Sam about her foreknowledge, but evidently, he still harbored some resentment.
"I gave him hints. He'll connect the dots." Sam pressed, lifting her phone. "I've already called an ambulance."
That phrase clicked. Something in Sherlock's scrambled thinking process slipped into place and he remembered Sam having done the same action back with Bainbridge. He then remembered where the wound was and what could have possibly gone there; comparing the crime scene from back then to the one happening right in front of him. Then, the similarities were clear. Sam's hints were clear.
Sherlock rushed to the door, stopping the angered John from potentially getting more angry with Sam, as he shouted to Sholto.
"Major Sholto, no one's coming to kill you. I'm afraid you've already been killed several hours ago."
"What did you say?"
"Don't take off your belt."
A quick glance at Sam's relaxing posture informed Sherlock he was right and his gaze quickly snapped back to the door.
"My belt?"
"His belt, yes." Sherlock answered, turning to the group behind him to explain; though his eyes were narrowed in a glare at John. "Bainbridge was stabbed hours before we even saw him, but it was through his belt. Tight belt, worn high on the waist. Very easy to push a small blade through the fabric and you wouldn't even feel it."
"T-The belt would bind the flesh together when it was tied tight…" John breathed out in understanding.
"Exactly."
"And when you took it off…"
"Delayed action stabbing. All the time in the world to create an alibi." Sherlock agreed, eyes still narrowed at him. "Blaming Sam, honestly." He huffed, ignoring John's sheepish expression as he shook the door handle to Sholto's room. "Major Sholto?"
He had heard the explanation. "So, I was killed by my uniform. How appropriate."
"He solved the case, Major." Mary pressed, concerned as to why the door wasn't being opened. "You're supposed to open the door now. A deal is a deal."
"I'm not even supposed to have this anymore." Sholto sighed. "They gave me special dispensation to keep it. I couldn't imagine life out of this uniform. I suppose—given the circumstances—I don't have to. When so many want you dead, it hardly seems good manners to argue."
Sensing the man's downward spiral, John moved forward again. "Whatever you're doing in there, James, stop it. Right now. I will kick this door down."
"Mr. Holmes, you and I are similar, I think."
Sherlock moved to where John had been. "Yes, I think we are."
"There's a proper time to die, isn't there?"
"Of course, there is."
"And one should embrace it when it comes, like a soldier."
Sam moved to the door. "When the time is right, perhaps, but think, Major. Think about where you are at."
There was a pause as Sherlock continued Sam's thoughts.
"We wouldn't do this, would we? You and me? We would never do this to John Watson."
The pause grew and John removed his suit coat.
"I'm going to break it down."
Sam held out her hand though, stopping him just as the door slowly opened and Sholto looked to the group.
"I believe I am in need of medical attention."
"I believe I am your doctor." John sighed in relief, moving in the help the man get the basic first aid taken care of before the ambulance arrived.
He'd lost her. Again. The two of them were supposed to be the next couple to dance after John and Mary, yet Sam was nowhere to be found, so he was stuck practicing with the runner-up: Janine. He'd texted Mary, who had offered to go find the woman who'd snuck off, but for now, he was stuck.
"One, two, three. Duh, duh, duh… Ah, pretty good." He mused as they stopped and he quickly let the woman go. "Just… hold your nerve on your turning."
Janine adjusted her dress. "Why do we have to rehearse?"
"Because we are about to dance together in public if Mary cannot locate Sam in time, and your skills are appalling." He mused with a false grin.
Instead of taking his comment to heart, she laughed.
"Well, you're a good teacher."
"Mm." He hummed, brows furrowed. Sam mentioned that I needed to play nice with her, but never explained why. Annoying.
"And you're a brilliant dancer." Janine tacked on and Sherlock felt pride well up in his chest.
"I'll let you in on something, Janine."
She leaned in to whisper like they were a couple of school kids sharing secrets. "Go on, then."
"I love dancing. I've always loved it."
"Seriously?"
"Watch out."
She backed away, giving him the floor and he did a pirouette perfectly.
"Ooh! Woah!" Janine grinned as Sherlock cleared his throat, brushing off a wave of embarrassment as he thought of what he would have done if John or Sam had seen him.
"Never really comes up in crime work but, um, you know. I live in hope of the right case."
Janine sighed. "I wish you weren't… whatever it is you are."
"I know." Sherlock stated blandly, wondering how many others thought the same.
Thankfully, he was drawn from his thoughts of how tolerable Janine was compared to most woman, as John walked in.
"Well, glad to see you've pulled, Sherlock, what with murderers running riot at my wedding."
"One murder. One nearly murder." Sherlock corrected, leaning to Janine. "Loves to exaggerate. You should try living with him."
Lestrade then entered, holding a door open for the photographer. "Sherlock. Got him for you."
Sherlock clapped his hands, grinning as the excitement of the case returned. "Ah, the photographer. Excellent. Thank you." He reached over to he stunned young man. "Uh, may I have a look at your camera?"
"Uh…" The man hesitated, but then begrudgingly passed it over. "What's this about? I was halfway home!"
"You should have driven faster." Sherlock mused, slicking through the pictures before finding the one he wanted. "Ah, yes. Yes, very good. There, you see? Perfect."
"What is? You going to tell us?" Lestrade pressed and Sherlock passed the camera over.
"Try looking yourself."
John joined the constable, alongside Janine. "Um, look for what? Is the murderer in these photographs?"
"No."
All eyes went to a disgruntled Sam as she was lightly pushed in by a winking Mary.
"No?" John questioned, wincing when he got a blank look in return.
Sherlock went ahead and took over from there. "It's not what's in the photographs, it's what's not in them. Not in any of them."
"Sherlock? The showing off thing. We've discussed it before." John complained and Sherlock resisted rolling his eyes.
"There is always a man at a wedding who is not in any photograph but can go anywhere, and even carry an equipment bag around with him if he likes, and you never even see his face. Just like our taxi case, John, as Sam said." Sherlock hummed, as Sam moved to the photographer. "You only ever see the camera."
With a quick snap, the man had a handcuff on his wrist attaching him to a nearby luggage trolley.
"What are you doing? What is this!" The man demanded, jerking his hand as Sherlock held up his phone.
"Jonathan Small, today's substitute wedding photographer; known to us as the Mayfly Man. His brother was one of the raw recruits killed in that incursion. Jonny sought revenge on Sholto, worked his way through Sholto's staff, found what he needed. An invitation to a wedding. The one time Sholto would have to be out in public. So, he made his plan and rehearsed the murder making sure of every last detail. Brilliant, ruthless, almost certainly a monomaniac—though, in fairness, his photographs are actually quite good." He tossed his phone to Lestrade. "Everything you need's on that. You probably ought to… arrest him or something."
Mary, who had stayed by the door, ducked back in and headed for John as Janine leaned towards Sam.
"Do you always carry handcuffs?"
Sam blinked in surprise as the flirtatious look aimed her way. "I, uh… I'm a PI, so… yeah?"
Janine's smirk grew as Sherlock grumbled beside them.
"Down, girl."
The photographer though, was glaring at Sherlock. "It's not me you should be arresting, Mr. Holmes." His gaze snapped to Sam's. "Miss PI."
"Oh, we don't do the arresting." Sherlock nodded to Lestrade. "We just farm that out."
"Sholto. He's the killer, not me. I should have killed him quicker." Small smirked as Sam's hands clenched, before his smile faltered. "I shouldn't have tried to be clever."
"You should have driven faster." Sherlock spat back, holding out the crook of his elbow to Sam, but she wasn't paying attention; her dazed eyes locked onto Small as he glared heatedly back at her.
With a short sigh, Sherlock grabbed her hand instead, tugging her along after him with the others trailing behind. It was time for everyone to dance.
I closed my eyes, leaning up against the wall as I allowed Sherlock's violin playing to soothe the tension that had been growing in my shoulders the entire evening. I peered an eye open to watch John and Mary dance, feeling only slightly more comfortable in the crowd of people now that everyone was holding still. Claps and cheers rang out as John gave Mary a small dip back and Sherlock finished playing; tossing his buttonhole flower to the whooping Janine. I closed my eyes once more, ignoring the slice of pain that went through my chest at the act. Stupid. Don't bother being jealous. You know how things end up with those two, besides… it would never happen between us. He's what? Thirteen years my senior and with what happened—No. Why am I even thinking about this? God, I need a smoke, a drink, something.
"Ladies and gentlemen, just, uh, one last thing before the evening begins properly. Apologies for earlier. A crisis arose and was dealt with." Sherlock said over the microphone as I pinched the bridge of my nose. "More importantly, however, today we saw two people make vows. I've never made a vow in my life, and after tonight I never will again. So, here in front of you all, my first and last vow. Mary and John: whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on I swear I will always be there, always, for all three of you." He paused, stuttering. "Uh, I'm sorry. I mean, I mean two of you. All two of you. Both of you, in fact. I've miscounted."
I shot him a look, mouthing 'nice save' when he glanced my way, which only made him scowl.
"Anyway, it's time for dancing." He looked to the DJ. "Play the music again, please, thank you. Okay, everybody, just dance. Don't be shy."
He encouraged more people to move onto the dance floor and I grimaced, having to step over by where Mary and John were if only to avoid some of the tipsier dancers elbowing me in my—still tender—ribs. Sherlock was already there by the time I snuck through the crowd, looking sheepish.
"Sorry, that was one more deduction than I was really expecting." He apologized, earning a raised brow from Mary.
"'Deduction'?"
"Increased appetite, change of taste perception, and you were sick this morning. You assumed it was just wedding nerves. You got angry with me when I mentioned it to you. All the signs are there."
"'The signs'?"
Mary looked to me and I just looked to her stomach as Sherlock answered.
"The signs of three."
"What?!"
"Mary, I think you should do a pregnancy test." Sherlock suggested as she grinned and John doubled over slightly at the news. "T-The statistics for the first trimester are—"
"Shut up." John cut him off. "Just… shut up."
"Sorry."
John looked to his wife. "How did he notice before me? I'm a bloody doctor."
"It's your day off." Sherlock offered.
"It's your day off."
"John, calm down." I muttered.
"I am calm."
"Stop panicking." Sherlock added.
"I'm not panicking."
"I'm pregnant. I'm panicking!" Mary answered in return, both of the newlyweds looking stunned.
"Don't panic. None of you panic. Absolutely no reason to panic."
"Oh, and you'd know, of course." John huffed.
"Yes, I would. You're already the best parents in the world. Look at all the practice you've had!"
"What practice?"
"Well, you're hardly going to need us around now that you've got a real baby on the way." Sherlock smiled, finally getting John to laugh and smile in delight.
I saw the smile fading though, long before John noticed.
"Dance." I said suddenly, bringing their attention to me.
"Hm?"
I nodded to the dance floor where everyone was sort of dancing and shuffling around us. "Go on. If we keep standing around, people are going to question things."
"And what about you two?" Mary asked, brushing her hand over my arm, though I lightly tugged it away as John scoffed.
"Well, we can't all four dance. There are limits."
"Yes, there are." Sherlock agreed and John cleared his throat before Mary lightly tugged on his arm.
"Come on, husband. Let's go."
John, nervous about dancing, hesitated. "This isn't a waltz, is it?"
She chuckled as Sherlock smiled slightly.
"Don't worry, Mary, I have been tutoring him."
"He did, you know. Baker Street, behind closed curtains." John hummed, taking her hand in his. "Mrs. Hudson came in one time. Don't know how those rumors started."
John led Mary away from us, though she managed to mouth a thank you over his shoulder. I nodded alongside Sherlock, but mouthed something back in return.
"If you need me, I'll listen."
I knew better than to think Mary had stopped panicking. She was an ex-assassin being blackmailed by a terrible human being. Getting married was one thing, getting pregnant and having the responsibility of a whole new life, was something completely different. She lived a lonely life and lying every day would take its toll on her; something that would be made obvious when she would react to John finding out about her double life. I knew about her. I was more than willing to keep silent about it. I was the only one she could talk to about these things, and I planned on being that for her. Just as I planned to do everything I could to help keep her safe; timeline be damned.
As the dancing crowd closed in a bit, I began to get more uncomfortable and turned to go, only to bump into someone. I went to apologize, except it was Sherlock I had bumped into. He hadn't left my side. He's supposed to have put the music into an envelope and walked out, so why… A quick glance at the music stand said he had left to put the sheet music away, but as to why he was still here, I couldn't be sure. He looked down to me though and I swore my heart stopped. God, damn him. I looked away and grabbed his hand, muttering a 'come on' that couldn't have been heard over the loud music pumping in from the speakers. We grabbed our coats and he grabbed his scarf, stepping out into the chilly night air.
"I always thought it was sad." I muttered, once we were heading out towards the driveway.
"Hm?"
I refused to look at him as I sighed heavily. "Seeing you walk out of the wedding. Mrs. Hudson mentioned it too. How sad it was for someone to leave a wedding early."
"I simply do not wish to stay for festivities, as I'm sure you agree with, since you are leaving with me."
He had a point, but that didn't make it any less sad. We climbed into a cab and I winced, glad to be off my feet. The heels I had been forced into by Mary had already started up blisters and despite my short break from them earlier, I'd been in them the rest of the evening. I wouldn't be surprised to find if out the back of my heels were bleeding.
"Who is CAM?" Sherlock asked abruptly.
"A reptile." I murmured, remembering how much the man's face bothered me in my nightmares.
"He's a danger to Mary?"
"And a large number of others, yes."
Silence passed between us for a few minutes before he spoke again.
"Are you upset with John?"
I sighed heavily, crossing my arms over my chest. "I want to be, but… I understand his view of me. I can't get angry at someone who has every right to be angry in return."
"He should know that your knowledge—"
"Does not make it so that I am in control of everything." I cut him off, rubbing at my temples at the headache that had been growing all evening. I should have drunk more. "Telling you in that moment would have changed little to nothing in the future. It would have just pushed the timeline forward maybe a minute or two. No repercussions whatsoever other than you possibly being a little annoyed at having to be told instead of figuring it out yourself. There was no point in my keeping silent about it."
"However, you still did, meaning that there was a reason behind it."
I looked over at him with tired eyes. "A reason, yes. But not a reason good enough to risk a life for. It was stupid. He had every right to shout at me. I only kept silent because…" I looked away, out the window into the inky night beyond. "…because I can't have him keep asking me. If I give in once, he'll keep doing it. So long as I deny him answers, maybe he'll give up on asking me. Maybe the questions will stop."
"What do you know, Sammy?"
"Tell me!"
"Where did you get this information from?!"
"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. You should know better than to keep hiding things from me."
"I will find out, you know. You can't stay quiet forever."
I dragged a shaky hand down my face. "I didn't want this. I never wanted any of this. God, I just wanted you two to be safe."
Sherlock stayed silent the rest of the ride home and once back at Baker Street, he was the first up the stairs. I wasn't sure what to make of his actions until I entered our flat and a glass of Scotch was immediately pressed into my hands. Startled, I blinked up at Sherlock as he lifted a first aid kit.
"Let me see your ankles."
So, he noticed. I nodded slowly, moving to the couch and feeling more than a little awkward as he took my bare foot in his hands and began to clean and bandage the blisters. The Scotch helped numb me to the pain of the antiseptic and after a moment, my mind had calmed enough to see that Sherlock had planned this.
"Why are you being nice?" I questioned, speech slurred a bit now that I was going on a fourth glass.
"I do believe we had an agreement, did we not?" He replied, moving to pick up his violin and seating himself down in his chair. "Free to speak our minds with one another without fear of retribution or judgment."
I raised a brow at the judgment part and he paused.
"Perhaps maybe not that last one."
"Hm." I hummed, drinking more and getting up to change into something more comfortable than the dress I was in. "I need a smoke."
He frowned slightly, but didn't stop me even as I finished changing and laid back on the sofa with a lit cigarette. He strummed a few notes idly, waiting for me to speak and after a while, I did. And I kept speaking, with the occasional interjection from Sherlock. Today was just one of my nights. A 'danger day', if you would, and Sherlock was all I had. Or is it Bobbie? I can't remember. It just hurts. Everything hurts. Why? I'm so tired. So, upset, but I can't remember why? Tears streamed down my face, even as my eyes slipped closed and my mind slowed. A hand took my cigarette stub and snuffed it out in the crystal ashtray on the coffee table, moving my half-empty glass of Scotch to the table as well, so as to keep it from toppling over. Hands carefully and smoothly moved me further onto the couch and a blanket was soon draped over my form. I blearily glanced up at the figure hovering over me, lips quivering.
"I-I'm so sorry, Bobbie. 'm sorry. 'm so sorry."
My eyes slipped closed once more and something soft brushed over my forehead, a quiet murmur reaching my ears before everything went dark.
"It's not your fault, Sam. Not now, not ever."