The Best Man was a role. A responsibility. It was a title Sherlock never expected to be appointed, but it was one he wanted to make sure he did right. Since John had asked him, he had researched diligently; The best man must assist the groom in choosing the suits. The best man must be aware of who the ushers are and their duties. The best man must prepare a speech. The best man must take care of the rings. The best man must organise a stag do.
A stag do. Sherlock sighed at the prospect. He sat at his table with a notebook, pen poised between his finger and thumb, but nothing came. He pushed the pad and pen to one side and pulled his laptop close, searching: 'how to organise a stag do'. He clicked the first link and read carefully:
'Choose a date that's suitable for the groom and guests.' He picked up his phone and called John.
"John, when is Mary's hen party?" He asked immediately.
"Hello to you too, Sherlock. She's having it next Saturday," John replied.
"Okay, so you'll be free that day since she's unavailable. Great, save the date; it will be your stag do."
"Oh, oka- hang on… wh–"
Sherlock ended the call and placed his phone back on the table. Choose a date – check.
He returned to his laptop and scrolled down the list. 'Personalise the stag do to the groom.' He clicked on the list of examples and scanned them, discounting each suggestion until one caught his eye. 'A pub crawl around places with significance to the groom.' Brilliant, he thought, pulling out a map of London that was scattered with red ink crosses. Each one symbolising a place where they had found a dead body. It didn't take him long to locate a pub near each cross on the map. He organised them into an order they could travel through, writing the list in his notebook. Check.
'Invite all of the groom's closest friends and relatives.' He stood up and turned to face the mirror.
"Would you like to attend John's stag night?" He asked his reflection. "Yes," he replied to himself before sitting back down. Invite guests – Check.
'Allow the groom to let loose and get drunk, but make sure you look after him.' Easy, he thought, as he walked to the kitchen. He bent down and fished through the cupboard under the sink before pulling out two tall, thin chemistry beakers. He sniffed them, trying to decipher what chemical they last contained. It smelled noxious – possibly poisonous.
"Best to give them a rinse," he said to himself.
III
The Saturday of Mary's hen do finally arrived. Mrs Hudson stood in the doorway with Vaughan on her hip. She was wearing an apron over her clothes, her wrinkled cheeks lightly rouged with her favourite blush. She had been to many hen parties over the years, she told Margaux, none of them ever ended well. So for this one she didn't mind babysitting instead. In fact, she was excited to spend her night with him. They waved Margaux off as she climbed into a taxi before going back inside to start their quiet night together.
Margaux hurried out of the cab and into the restaurant. The host showed her to the large table at the back where Mary and her friends sat laughing over wine. The table had been reserved – decorated in silver balloons and glittery confetti. Mary had been dressed in a bright pink 'bride to be' sash and a puffy white veil. She saw Margaux walking towards them and pointed to her ridiculous veil with a laugh. Margaux laughed too as she approached the table and leaned over, greeting Mary with a kiss on the cheek.
"Everyone, this is Margaux," said Mary.
"Are you the murder detective?" said one of her friends.
"Forensic investigator," Margaux corrected politely.
"Doesn't sound as exciting."
"This is Janine. She's my maid of honour," said Mary.
Margaux smiled at Janine as she sat down.
"and this is… Andrea, Claire, Jenny, Louise, Saira, Wendy, Danielle, other Claire and Kara."
The women around the table waved.
"You're just in time," said one of them before pulling out a naked blow-up doll with John's face stuck on it.
Mary squealed in embarrassment and covered her face with her hands.
III
Daylight poured through the windows of the pub. John stood at a table checking his phone while he waited for Sherlock to buy the first round of drinks. He was wearing his smart brown jacket over a checked shirt and blue jumper and had sprayed himself with Mary's favourite cologne. Nights out were something he and Sherlock almost never did. He was excited to see his friend loosen up, silently questioning if it were even possible. He looked up from his phone to see two large chemistry beakers of beer on the table. For a moment he was perplexed, then he remembered he was on a night out with Sherlock Holmes and suddenly it all seemed a touch more normal.
Molly had provided Sherlock with both his and John's ideal intake of alcohol to keep them modestly tipsy for the entire night. Exactly 443.7ml of beer was to be drank at every location within a specific amount of time. No more, no less. Sherlock had developed a chart to keep track of everything that went in and out of the body. Organised fun. He started the timer on his phone.
John sighed and picked up his beer. "What? Are we on a schedule?" he asked.
"You'll thank me," he replied.
They clinked their beakers and began to drink.
III
They made Mary carry the blow-up doll everywhere she went. From the restaurant to the bar across the road, and from that bar to the next. The streetlights flickered to life as the darkening streets became littered with drunken Londoners looking for their next place to buy a drink. People cheered and sang at Mary as they passed her in the street, and each time Mary would cheer and sing with them. Charisma radiated from Mary, so strong it was as if Margaux could reach out and touch it. They walked into a night club and headed for an empty booth.
"My round," Margaux shouted over the loud, thumping music.
"Champagne!" They shouted.
"Tell 'em it's a hen do, they might do it cheap," one of the women added.
Margaux laughed and walked to the bar.
"She's pretty," said Janine as they watched her push through the crowded dancefloor. "How do you know her again?"
"Oh, it's too complicated when I'm sober, never mind when I've been drinking since one o'clock."
Margaux returned with a tray carrying two bottles of champagne and glasses for the group. They popped the corks and shared out the drink; clinking their glasses together to toast to Mary and her future husband.
She found herself checking her phone periodically through the night. It was like a tic. Being away from Vaughan was something she was getting better at. For so long she had been by herself; besides Rose and the preschool, Margaux had never left him anyone. Mostly because she had no one else to leave him with. It had taken time to get used to having a network of people around them. This was what having a happy, loving family felt like, although this one was somewhat unconventional. She unlocked her phone again and began to compose a new text.
'Hi, how is your night going? Mrs Hudson said Vaughan's fast asleep. I don't know, I just thought you'd like to know that… I miss you.' I miss you? She was definitely drunk.
"Truth or dare!" said Mary's friend.
"How old are we? Sixteen!?"
"It wouldn't be a hen do without some risqué games," Margaux teased.
"Oh go on then… truth," said Mary.
"What was your first night with John like?"
The group made a simultaneous 'oooh', so loud it could be heard over the club's music.
"We went to a pub and got a bit too drunk. I invited him back to mine and he fell over the doorstep into the house knocking me over on the way," she laughed at the memory. "We lay there on the floor in my hall for ages just giggling. Then we went upstairs and it was all just really… lovely."
"Oh come on, truths are meant to be embarrassing!"
"Well sorry! I can't help that John's perfect," Mary replied jokingly smug.
They played round after round of truth or dare; revealing all their gruesome secrets. Next, it was Margaux's turn.
"Dare," she said, immediately regretting her decision.
They deliberated for a moment before turning to her. "Walk up to the man you find most attractive and give him your worst pick up line."
She downed her champagne and stood up, brushing off her thighs and flicking her hair off her shoulders. She looked around the club until she spotted him standing at a tall table; he had broad shoulders, sandy hair and a handsome face blanketed with a layer of stubble. She took a deep breath and headed straight for him. She patted him on the arm. He stopped talking to his friend and turned to her.
"Yeah?" he said.
"Can you laugh and tell me to go away so they think I've done my dare?" She said bluntly.
He laughed, "who dared you to talk to me?"
"They did," she gestured to the booth of women behind her. "They told me to find the man I'm most attracted to and use a bad chat up line. But I don't know any chat up lines so…"
He glanced to the booth and back to her, then he laughed. "You were most attracted to me, eh?"
"I'll be honest with you. Sober me would never admit that. But I'm very tipsy right now so yes. Yes I was."
"I'm Jay," he said with a smile.
III
John left Sherlock standing awkwardly at a table as he went to the bar for their next 443.7ml's of beer. He was feeling fuzzy; tipsy and lightheaded like Sherlock had planned. But that wasn't enough. He ordered a round of shots, downing half at the bar and pouring the rest into Sherlock's beer.
They left soon after. The cold, quiet street feeling like another world compared to the hot, loud club they had stepped out of. Sherlock took out his phone, two screens. No, one screen. Why were they swirling like that? Walking in a straight line was hard. He stopped and squinted, applying all his effort to unlock the home screen.
"What's the matter?" John slurred, stopping next to him.
"I'm looking for the map with our next pub. But this… thingy is in the way."
John looked at the phone. "That means you've got a text."
"Ah," said Sherlock.
He clicked on the text and read over it several times before the words would stick.
'Hi, how is your night going? Mrs Hudson said Vaughan's fast asleep. I don't know, I just thought you'd like to know that… I miss you.'
He made a strange noise in his throat.
"What? What is it?" asked John.
"I miss you," he said.
"Well thanks, mate, but I'm right here."
"No, that's… that's what she said." He tapped his finger against the screen heavily, pointing at the text.
John took the phone and read the message.
"Tell her you miss her too."
"Why would I do that?"
"I don't know. Because that's what people who like each other do."
They walked the fifteen-minute journey to the next location. Sherlock clutched his phone in his hand the whole time. When they got to the entrance he read the message again before clicking 'dismiss' and returning the phone to his pocket.
III
Margaux stood waiting for the bartender to serve her. She checked her phone again. Still nothing. She sighed and placed it on the bar in front of her, feeling a shift in the space beside her. She looked up to see Jay smiling with a drink in each hand. She felt her cheeks flush as she took one and followed him to an empty table. They sat down and clinked their glasses together.
"He's cute," said Jay, pointing at the picture of Vaughan on the lock screen of Margaux's phone.
"Ah, thanks," she replied. "My son. He's a dream."
He took out his phone and showed her a picture of a little girl with long sandy hair and big brown eyes.
"My daughter," he said with a proud smile.
Margaux felt the muscles in her back loosen and her posture relax into a comfortable position. They fell into flowing conversation – laughing, sharing stories, flirting, touching. He offered to buy her another drink. She accepted and watched him walk away to the bar before running back over to the booth where Mary and her hen party were still celebrating.
"He is bloody gorgeous," said Mary enthusiastically.
"And he's so nice. And really interesting. Oh, and get this, he has a daughter!"
"Fate!"
They laughed. Margaux checked her phone again. '0 new messages.' Her stomach felt heavy. She put it away and forced a smile.
"He's gone to get us more drinks. What do I do, Mary? It's been so long since I did this."
Mary grasped Margaux's arms and looked deep into her eyes. "You deserve this," she said. "Remember… Do. Not. Wait."
Margaux nodded, remembering back to their conversation in the café. She returned to the table where Jay was sitting again.
"Sorry, was just catching up with the bride," she said, touching his arm softly as she sat down.
"Sorry?" he pointed in the air, gesturing to the loud music.
She shuffled closer, "I was just talking to my friend about you," she shouted in his ear.
"Good things, I hope."
"Most definitely."
His mouth curved into a smile. There was a small gap between his two front teeth. It suited him, making him seem even more charming. He noticed her glancing down at his teeth and back up to his eyes, taking it as permission to kiss her. She accepted it calmly, though inside her heart was thudding. She leaned into the kiss and deepened it slowly as his hand found its way to her cheek, her's to his thigh. This was good, she thought. She wanted this.
III
"I know ash!" Sherlock shouted drunkenly over the booming music.
John covered his face with his hand, this couldn't be good.
"Don't. Tell. Me. I. Don't!" Sherlock continued, poking a disgruntled man in the chest with every word.
The man swung a punch at Sherlock who swayed and staggered back, missing the blow. The man stumbled forward into a table before his friend rushed to help him. John jumped up from his seat and grabbed Sherlock, pulling him away from the men as he flailed his arms as if ready to fight them.
"Alright, enough! That's…" John's words trailed off into a slur as he propped him up. "Stand up straight."
Sherlock pointed towards the men. "Ashtray. I know ashtray."
They got a cab back to Baker Street, making it as far as the stairs in the hall before lying down next to one another; defeated by alcohol.
"I have an international reputation," said Sherlock.
John opened his eyes for a moment, saying nothing.
"Do you have an international reputation?" Sherlock mumbled again.
"No, I don't have an international reputation."
"No." He stopped for a moment before turning his head to John, his eyes remaining closed. "And I can't even remember what for. Sss… crime… something or other." He settled his head back down.
The door to 221A creaked open as Mrs Hudson stepped out, a bag of rubbish in her hand, and stopped at the sight of them.
"Oh! What are you doing back? I thought you were going to be out late," she said.
"Ah, Hudders. What time is it?" Sherlock slurred.
Mrs Hudson checked her watch. "You've only been out two hours."
The men tried to sit up, wedged between the wall and bannister. Sherlock slipped down onto the next step with a thud.
"You better get yourself together, Sherlock. If you wake that little boy you'll be getting something extra in your morning tea," Mrs Hudson warned.
Sherlock and John turned to each other and began to giggle.
"Go on upstairs, the pair of you."
In the flat, they decided to play a game. They sat opposite each other, a piece of paper stuck to each of their heads. On John's was written 'Madonna', on Sherlock's 'Sherlock Holmes'.
"Am I a vegetable?" asked John.
"You, or the thing?" said Sherlock, holding a glass of whiskey.
They both giggled.
"Funny," said John.
"Thank you."
"Come on…"
"No, you're not a vegetable."
"It's your go."
"Er, am I human?"
"Sometimes."
"Can't have sometimes," Sherlock corrected. "Has to be, erm…" He shifted in his chair, struggling to stay upright.
"Yes you're human."
"Yes or no… okay, am I a man?"
"Yep."
"Tall?"
"Not as tall as people think." John raised his hands.
"Hm, nice?"
"Ish."
"Clever?"
"I'd say so."
"You would?"
John giggled.
"Am I important?" Sherlock continued.
"To some people."
"Do people… like me?"
"Er, no they don't. You tend to rub 'em up the wrong way."
"Okay. Am I the current King of England?"
"Are you…" John burst into laughter. "You know we don't have a king?"
"Don't we?"
"No."
"Your go."
"Am I a woman?"
Sherlock regarded John's paper for a moment, letting out a snort of laughter.
"What?" asked John.
"Yes."
"Am I… pretty?"
"Er, er, beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences and role models."
"Yeah, but am I a pretty lady?" He blinked at Sherlock who leant forward, squinting at the paper again.
"I don't know who you are," said Sherlock. "I don't know who you're supposed to be."
"You picked the name!"
"Ah, but I picked it at random from the papers."
"You're not really getting the hang of this game, are you, Sherlock?"
Sherlock paused for a moment. "So I am human, I'm not as tall as people think I am, I'm- I'm nice-ish… clever, important to some people, but I tend to rub them up the wrong way." He laughed. "Got it."
"Go on then."
"I'm you, aren't I."
A knock on the door disturbed them. They turned around to see Mrs Hudson standing in the doorway holding a baby monitor. Next to her stood a woman in a nurse's uniform.
"Client!" said Mrs Hudson. "Sorry, got to get back." She pointed to the baby monitor before hurrying back downstairs.
"Hello!" said John.
"Hello!" Sherlock copied, waving at the woman.
"Come on." John gestured for the woman to come in and take a seat.
"Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?" She asked timidly.
Taking on a case while intoxicated was not one of Sherlock's brighter ideas, but that didn't stop him from trying.
III
It was early hours of the morning. Margaux stood outside the club in the cold, dark street. Her arms were folded across her chest as she puffed on a cigarette. Like she had done all night, she checked her phone again, no longer surprised to see 0 new messages. She took a long drag of her cigarette and blew out the smoke with a sigh. Jay stepped out of the club and joined her.
"I never took you for a smoker," he said.
"It's an 'every now and again' thing," she replied. "Mostly when alcohol or stress is involved."
"Ah."
They turned to face each other. Jay leaned down and kissed her, unbothered by the taste of fresh smoke on her lips. She wrapped her arms around the back of his neck as they kissed; welcoming the feeling of his hands on her waist, his body pressing against hers.
"This place is closing soon, where are you heading after here?" he asked, resting his forehead against hers.
"I'm probably going to go home," she replied, almost whispering. "Do you want to come with me?" She couldn't believe she'd said it. But she didn't care. It felt right. She wanted this.
Inside, Mary and her friends were at the center of the dancefloor; cheering and singing, dancing with their drinks in hand. Margaux pushed through the crowd to find Mary. She tapped her on the shoulder.
"I'm going home with Jay!" she shouted over the music.
Mary stopped dancing immediately. "Really? Are you sure?"
"Yes, I really am! Thank you so much for inviting me, Mary. I've had an amazing night."
They hugged each other before parting ways. As Mary returned to dancing, Margaux made her way to the exit. She found Jay waiting at a cab. He held out his hand, she took it in hers and they climbed inside together.
III
The fluorescent light burned through John's eyelids. The door of the holding cell clinked loudly as it opened. John grimaced at the sound as it bellowed through his fragile head.
"Wakey, wakey," said a cheerful voice.
"Oh my god," said John, struggling to keep his eyes open as he looked towards the door. "Greg? Is that Greg?"
On a bench near John, Sherlock lay fast asleep.
"Get up," said Lestrade. "I'm gonna put you two in a taxi. Managed to square things with the desk sergeant."
John struggled climbing to his feet. Lestrade laughed.
"What a couple of lightweights. You couldn't even make it to closing time!"
"Can you whisper?" said John as he walked towards the door.
"Not really!" Lestrade shouted in his ear.
Sherlock startled awake, sitting upright immediately. He glanced around the cell.
"Come on."
III
They walked up the stairs and into 221B, flopping themselves on whatever furniture they got to first.
"Never again," John muttered, his face buried in a cushion.
"I'll be having a word with Molly. Her calculations were well off."
Mrs Hudson knocked on the door. The two men groaned at the sound. She rolled her eyes and stepped into the flat.
"You two look worse than Mr Hudson. And he's dead," she said.
Sherlock was curled on his side in his armchair, he turned his body around, noticing Vaughan standing next to her.
"Ah, hello, Vaughan," he said, as if he were greeting a fellow adult.
"Hi," he replied.
"John, I just rang Mary to let her know you're back. She's on her way round," said Mrs Hudson. "How about some nice breakfast? A full English should sort this right out."
They groaned again. She didn't seem to notice.
It wasn't long before Mary arrived. She looked pale and tired. Her short hair was hidden under a hat and there were smudges of glitter around her eyes.
"You two look how I feel," she said as she walked into the flat.
She shifted John's legs to make room for her on the couch, sitting down and leaning back with a sigh. "How the bloody hell did you end up in the police station?"
"Something about a case… I don't remember," said John.
"Most interesting case in ages and I blew it," Sherlock added.
"How was your night, love?" asked John.
"It was great. Drank too much, laughed too much, danced too much."
Mrs Hudson came back upstairs with Vaughan. "The breakfast's cooking, come down when you're ready," she said.
"Oh, hello Vaughan," said Mary in a soft, high pitched voice.
"Hi."
"What are you doing here?"
"We're just waiting for your mummy to come and get you, aren't we," said Mrs Hudson. "She sounded a bit rough on the phone as well."
"Yeah I'm not surprised. She went home with a guy last night so she's probably had no sleep," Mary laughed at her own crude joke. But it wasn't long until she realised she was the only one laughing.
"Margaux went home with a guy?" asked John.
"Oh dear," Mrs Hudson mumbled as she took Vaughan's hand and went back downstairs.
"Yeah. She met him last night. They really hit it off."
Mary kept glancing over at Sherlock as she spoke; assessing him. Observing his reaction. Wishing for something to click. But there was no reaction. Not so much as a blink or a sigh. Instead, he remained curled up in his chair, eyes closed, arms crossed. Stoic. She shook her head and stood up.
"Right, I'm off. See you at home." She bent down and kissed John on the forehead.
"I'm going down to Mrs Hudson's so I'll walk you to the door," he replied, rolling slowly off the couch onto the floor. She helped him stand up and they began to leave.
"Bye, Sherlock," she said.
"Mhm."
Sherlock suddenly became very aware that he was alone. The flat was quiet. So quiet, he could hear the clocks ticking out of sync with one another. He remained still for as long as he could. Partly because moving hurt his head, but mostly because he felt like his chest was full of glass marbles. Heavy and clattering, yet fragile and breakable. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, reading the message again.
'I miss you.'