John's hope was in vain. After a routine raid of their client/primary suspect, they found a few telling pieces of evidence, each indicating an unhealthy level of obsession with Amelia. After a brief, unofficial interrogation the stepfather admitted that his relationship with Amelia's mother was just an act to get closer to the girl. The authorities were informed and the detective and the doctor walked away not a cent richer than before. Literally, as they hadn't money for cab fare.
"Remind me again why we took this case?" Sherlock sighed gloomily during the long walk home.
"We did a civil service. Took a bad man off the streets." John reasoned, whether for his benefit or Sherlock's he couldn't be entirely sure
"That's not what you said when you asked me to take this case." Sherlock said with a smug sort of misery. "You said- oh dear how did you put it again? It was such a clever line, I'd hate to get it wrong."
"Sherlock, please."
"Good thing I mentally recorded it in case of this very occasion- 'It's bound to pay well'." The vampire growled through his teeth, stomping childishly across the street.
"Well, how was I supposed to know he was a predatory pedophile? I thought that was your job." John grunted back as he turned a corner.
"No, this way." Sherlock matched on forward.
"But this is the way to Baker Street."
"Well, we're taking a brief detour." Sherlock explained unhelpfully, turning down a random street. John followed a few feet behind, a habit he was becoming increasingly familiar with. They weaved through alleyways and shadowed streets to a more fashionable side of town. The kind of place that even tourists would find a bit too pricey. Sherlock, with his understated elegance and subtle dramatics, fit in like a drop in a rainstorm. John tried his best to hide in his shadow.
They ducked swiftly into a jewelry shop. The kind of shop that sells diamond rings at twice the price of a house and half the weight. The kind of shop that celebrities find extravagant.
"Good evening sirs. How can we help you today?" A young man with a diamond bright smile and hair styled within an inch of it's life asked breezily.
"I'm here to speak to Mr. Herald." Sherlock said with a cold precision, not giving him a spare glance.
The man chuckled nervously. "I'm afraid he's not available today. Perhaps if you mad-"
"Yes he is. Tell him it's Sherlock Holmes. I'll be waiting." The vampire stated definitively, leaving no room for further questions.
"A-alright." The man said, his smiled faltering slightly.
Less than a minute later, an elderly man John could only assume to be Mr. Herald walked up to them, beaming with teeth polished so brightly that John wouldn't have been surprised to find them displayed in one of the glass cases surrounding the room.
"Sherlock! My favorite customer!" He said with all the sincerity of a Shakespearean actor. He glanced at John with a strange expression of surprised amusement that put him mildly off balance. "How have you been? It's been too long since I've seen you last."
"Let's cut to the chase, you know how much I dislike pleasantries," Sherlock replied with a drawn out eye-roll. He pulled a pocket watch from his coat pocket and held it up for the Jeweler's inspection. "Solid silver, all original fittings, no later than early 17th century. Still keeps impeccable time."
Harold curled a bony hand around it. "What are you asking?
After an athletic bout of haggling, involving a not entirely insignificant amount thinly veiled insults, Sherlock swept out of the store counting a stack of cash so thick he having some difficulty wrapping his hand around it. "Of course it's all in ones, the self-indulgent, greedy old relic."
"You didn't do that just for me, did you? I mean, I appreciate the gesture, but your mother's watc-"
"Oh calm down, I nicked it off Mycroft last time he visited." Sherlock barked, cutting John off as he attempted to stuff the wad into his coat pocket. "I was going to wait awhile longer, hoping that would make a random visit here a little less suspicious. But he probably already knows anyways, so what would the point be?"
John chuckled at the siblings' antics. "Do you do that often? Sell off his stuff while he's not looking?"
"Not as often as I used to." Sherlock smirked, impishly. "Hungry?"
"Starving."
