EPISODE 4:
A SCANDAL IN DERPING
Emily awoke to a steady beeping noise. Although rather disoriented at first, after several minutes she was able to successfully deduce that a) she was lying on a hospital bed, b) she had been drugged to the point of not feeling a single thing below her waist, and c) a boy almost her exact same age had fallen asleep in a rolling stool beside her bed, bent forward with his face planted firmly on the mattress.
"Scottie?" she croaked, her voice weak. Emily cleared her throat and tried again. "Scottie?" When her friend still didn't answer, she tried kicking at him, but couldn't seem to get her leg to move. Now growing frustrated, Emily pulled out the pillow from behind her and smacked it over his head.
"IT WASN'T MY FAULT!" Scottie yelled, popping up. "THEY MADE ME DO IT, I-" He stopped suddenly, blinked, and only then seemed to notice the girl's consciousness. "Emily!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Oh, thank God! I didn't think you were ever going to wake up!" For half a second Scottie looked like he was going to hug Emily, but quickly realized that would be difficult given the circumstances. Recognizing this, Emily forced herself upright anyway so that he could go through with the action. Once satisfied, Scottie sat back down again.
"What even happened back there?" Emily asked, admittedly surprised that she was still alive.
"You made to charge at the world's only known consulting criminal and miraculously lived to tell the tale," a baritone voice said from the doorway. Both teenagers glanced up to see Sherlock and John standing there with obvious looks of relief.
Emily shrugged. "You sound surprised."
"I am surprised. But your little act of stupidity aside," Sherlock went on, coming closer, "everyone else managed to get away unscathed. Jim Moriarty received a phone call at a most opportune moment and ordered his dogs to stand down. John applied pressure to your wound and thankfully the ambulance arrived before you had time to bleed out."
"Oh, good; still on schedule."
"It's too bad Willow went back with him," Scottie muttered half to himself. "The whole situation has given us a blind spot. Plus I have, like, a million and one things to ask about our favorite consulting criminal and the questionable relationship with his sniper buddy!"
"And I've already spoken to Scottie, but your half of the discussion on why you two aren't allowed to intervene on rather pressing life and death situations is still pending," Sherlock threatened.
"Yeah, yeah. Looking forward to it."
"How are you feeling?" asked John. "Pain-wise, I mean."
Emily shrugged yet again. "Fine. Can't feel much of anything, actually. But that's good, right?" The girl remembered something then and began laughing softly to herself. Sherlock and John exchanged slightly confused glances.
Scottie frowned. "What?" he demanded. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing, nothing," chuckled Emily. "It's just… Well, you know how we were cosplaying as Sherlock and John earlier this week?"
"Yeah…?"
"Well, now John and I really are twinning. We both got shot!" She then erupted into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, to which the rest of the room seemed to have little to say. After several seconds the laughing died down again and Emily's face fell. "What? Too soon?"
A couple days passed before Emily was allowed to leave the hospital, at which point she was advised to refrain from walking anywhere for up to a week. This would have been near impossible for her, except that John seemed willing enough to fetch anything for her anyway. Well, near anything - Emily rather quickly got into the habit of testing out to what ridiculous extent he was willing to pamper her, and that ranged anywhere from bringing over something just out of reach to giving piggyback rides up and down the stairs to tucking her into bed so that the blanket wrapped perfectly around her legs like a fuzzy burrito. More time passed, and soon enough the girl was good as new and more than eager to show off the 'battle scar' on her calf.
Ever since Moriarty had slunk back into the shadows, things continued on as usual at Baker Street. By May the kids had been there for about a year now, and since they hadn't been booted out onto the streets yet, chances were they never would be. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months, and Sherlock and co. had gotten well into the habit of meeting with various clients: a woman suspicious of her husband and vice versa, an old fellow convinced that his aunt's ashes have been swapped out, a businessman who had important files stolen from him, so on and so forth.
John started to get some internet fame for his blog's retelling of cases such as "The Geek Interpreter" and "The Speckled Blonde" (and every so often this was hacked with fanfiction cases, only some of which were ever discovered and taken down). Sherlock seemed to dislike this attention for the most part, but that only encouraged his blogger. Scottie and Emily kept themselves busy in the usual ways, not going to school and instead goofing around at crime scenes the majority of the time.
September rolled around, and with it their birthdays. Mrs. Hudson helped John throw the two of them a combined party halfway through the month, much at Emily's urging and to Scottie's annoyance. Although the add-ins to the TV show were sixteen the night before they woke up in that hotel room, after extensive research and cross-checking with various calendars Scottie was convinced that there had been a slight time jump in getting there that caused them both to miss their seventeenth birthdays, and as such, they were actually turning eighteen. Of course they were unable to fully explain this to anyone else, but no one appeared to actually remember their ages in the first place and they weren't questioned on it. It's also worth mentioning that as a birthday present Emily received the replica pink phone that had been used in the events of The Great Game, which they since had refurbished to dispel any possibility of Moriarty being able to tap into the device and upon which she had given Scottie her old "primitive" phone in an attempt to pass it off as her own gift to him. Scottie also got a new copy of the Sims, which he immediately set to work on using to recreate 221B Baker Street and its residents.
Not all that long afterwards and on a day like any other (which admittedly isn't saying much), Sherlock had picked up a client who told him a story about the dead man he found by a river in the country while in the midst of car troubles. The following morning the detective sent John in his place to have a look at it, and some time later Emily and Scottie were reentering the flat when they practically collided with Mrs. Hudson.
"And where've you two been so early in the morning?" she questioned.
"Driving!" Emily said happily. "I went and got myself a permit last week, remember? Molly's teaching me, since she seems to be the only willing person around here who actually owns a car. Which is kind of ridiculous if you ask me, because I'm fairly certain that the price of gas has got nothing on the taxi fares Sherlock and John have fallen victim to."
"Still don't know how you did it," Scottie rolled his eyes. "She failed the damn thing. Actually failed it, and yet the lady handed over a learner's permit anyway. Can you believe that? It's ridiculous!"
"Oh, shut up. Everyone's backwards from what I'm used to here. And in my defense, the test is even harder and less lenient if you're not a minor. Or have proper documentation..."
"Well, you be careful, alright?" Mrs. Hudson said. "Way too many accidents are caused by youngsters such as yourselves being careless."
"Of course," Emily smiled.
"Always are!" Scottie chimed in cheerily.
After saying goodbye to Mrs. Hudson the crime observing duo came upstairs to find the great Sherlock Holmes in the middle of a video conference in a white bedsheet. Scottie let out a high-pitched inhuman screech and Emily briefly wondered if this was because he knew where they were in the show's timeline again or because he knew exactly what Sherlock was (or, y'know, wasn't) wearing underneath that thing of cloth.
"Exciting to see me as ever, I see," the man droned with a glance over his shoulder as they came in.
"Don't think I don't know you're naked underneath that," Emily said. For some reason the whole predicament was a lot more awkward when she was in the same room as it.
"Of course. Everyone's naked underneath."
Scottie snorted. "Nobody move, I'm gonna go grab a bedsheet too!"
"Oh no you don't, you little shit!" Emily called after her friend, but he was already halfway back down the stairwell. She chased after him, and by the time she'd reached their own flat Scottie had already changed into a bedsheet toga that he had fashioned himself. Emily pinched at the bridge of her nose. "I'm surrounded by children," she groaned.
"Says the girl who flipped over the Game of Life board and yelled 'earthquake' when she realized someone was about to win in the next turn and it wasn't her," Scottie snickered.
Emily wrinkled her nose. "Fine. You want me to join in on this idiotic barely clothed part, then that's exactly what I'll do!" Scottie was, of course, wearing clothing under his his own sheet, but Emily didn't know this. Regardless, Emily proceeded to dig through her half of the closet, disappear into the bathroom, and then return a couple minutes later with her own interpretation of the dress code.
"Oh, come on," Scottie rolled his eyes. "A bikini? Really? And you aren't even covered in a giant while blanket! That's cheating!"
"It isn't cheating, you uncultured swine. It's called playing by my own rules."
"Slytherin," Scottie muttered under his breath.
They stepped out of their own flat when the front doorbell rang. Scottie and Emily looked towards the door, then promptly ignored it. When the two of them reentered 221B, Emily suddenly realized that it was far too cold to be walking around the flat in nothing but a swimsuit and, without asking, pulled Sherlock's coat down from where it was hanging and covered herself with it.
"What's in the stream?" a man's voice came from the computer.
"Go and see."
There was a rustling of the laptop behind handed back to John. Sherlock waited patiently and sipped at a mug of tea. Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs then, two suit-clad men standing behind her. "Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson called out as she stepped into the living room. "You weren't answering the doorbell."
One of the two males used a thumb to point in the direction of the kitchen. "His room's through the back," he told his colleague. "Get him some clothes."
Sherlock looked up unhappily. "Who the hell are you?"
"Sorry, Mr. Holmes. You're coming with us." The man then reached forward and shut Sherlock's laptop.
"Rude," gasped Scottie.
Sherlock relocated himself. He now noticed Emily in his coat and looked unhappy about it, but said nothing. Several minutes later the second man returned and placed a folded pile of clothing and a pair of shoes down on the table in front of him. Sherlock raised his eyebrows and shrugged with disinterest.
"Please, Mr. Holmes," the first man said. "Where you're going you'll want to be dressed."
Sherlock squinted at the man, obviously having silently slipped into his deducing mode. A couple seconds passed and he smiled at him smugly. "Oh, I know exactly where I'm going."
Without taking the clothing, he allowed himself to be escorted out of the room. The second man grabbed the clothes just in case, and Scottie jumped up, making to follow them out. The first gentleman turned around and stopped him in the doorway.
"Sorry, kid. We're here for Mr. Holmes only."
Scottie raised an eyebrow. "Eloquently put, sir, but tough."
"I wouldn't bother," Sherlock spoke up. "The boy doesn't take 'no' for an answer any more than I do. He's also a friend of my brother's. More or less."
The man in the suit hesitated for a moment before dropping his hand again. "Fine. But grab him a change of clothes as well."
Emily quickly slipped on a pair of Uggs and scurried after the group.
The trio was taken to Buckingham Palace, where they were asked to wait in an ornate lounge. Sherlock took a seat on a sofa and his and Scottie's shoes and clothing were placed on a round coffee table in front of them. "And you're seriously not going to get changed either?" Emily prodded, claiming a spot at the other end of the couch.
"Nope!" Scottie declared happily, throwing himself down so close that he was just about on top of her, despite having several feet of sitting space left unclaimed.
It wasn't all that long until John arrived. Sherlock looked to him calmly, and in response threw his arms out to the side in a 'what the hell?' kind of gesture. Sherlock shrugged disinterestedly and looked away again. John crept in hesitantly and then took a seat in the gap between Sherlock and Scottie and Emily. No one spoke but there were obvious signs of suppressed giggles from all four of them. John's eyes shifted towards Sherlock's backside.
"Are you wearing any pants?" he finally asked.
"No."
"Okay."
Sherlock and John exchanged glances and then burst into uncontrollable laughter.
"We're not either," Emily laughed along with them. Sherlock tensed up for a moment at this, but because she didn't ask, Scottie decided not to correct her on the slight error going from American English to British English.
After attempting to compose himself again John gestured to the building. "At Buckingham Palace. Fine." Still not entirely composed, he took a couple breaths. "Oh, I'm seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray." Sherlock still wasn't pleased to think that Emily was wearing his coat without any articles of clothing underneath, but he chuckled again at this. "What are we doing here, Sherlock? Seriously, what?"
"I don't know."
"Here to see the Queen?"
With flawless timing Mycroft stepped in from the next room. "Oh, apparently yes," Sherlock smiled. The uncontrollable laughter continued.
Mycroft shot them a look of exasperation. "Just once, can you two behave like grown-ups? This is the sort of behavior I'd expect from the little ones, but you two have no excuse."
"We solve crimes with our adopted teenagers, I blog about it and he forgets his pants," John beamed, "so I wouldn't hold out too much hope."
All humor left Sherlock's face at once as his brother came further into the room. "I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft."
"What, the hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report. Bit obvious, surely?"
"Transparent."
"Time to move on, then." Mycroft bent forward and picked up Sherlock and Scottie's clothes, turning to offer them to the two men. Sherlock looked down at them with little interest and Mycroft sighed. "We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on."
Sherlock shrugged defiantly. "What for?"
"Your client."
"And my client is?" the detective asked, standing up.
"Illustrious," an unidentified man chimed in, "in the extreme." Now John stood. "And remaining - I have to inform you - entirely anonymous." He looked to the elder Holmes brother in greeting. "Mycroft!"
"Harry." He walked over and shook the newcomer's hand. "May I just apologise for the state of my little brother? It's these children, I'd assume. He's become somewhat of a full-time babysitter and they have such a profound influence on him."
"Full-time occupation indeed," Harry replied. "That must be them, then. Scottie and Emily, if I recall correctly, and you are Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."
John reached out and shook Harry's hand. "Hello, yes." Scottie and Emily didn't feel entirely wanted in the situation, and responded to this by not budging an inch or speaking up.
"My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog," Harry went on.
John looked started. "Your employer?"
"Particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminium crutch."
"Thank you!"
"A-loo-min-eum," Emily whispered to Scottie.
"You sound so surprised every time," he rolled his eyes.
Harry cleared his throat and turned his attention back to Sherlock. "And Mr. Holmes the younger. You look taller in your photographs."
"I take the precaution of a good coat and rather short friends. Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at one end of my cases. Both ends is too much work. Good morning." And with that the detective made to leave the room. Mycroft, however, made to prevent this by stomping his foot down on the bit of Sherlock's bedsheet that was trailing behind. Sherlock quickly grabbed at the sheet just in time and attempted to pull it back around himself. Scottie and Emily subconsciously leaned forward, just in case it slipped any more.
"This is a matter of national importance," pressed Mycroft. "Grow up."
"Get off my sheet!"
"Or what?"
"Or... I'll just walk away."
Scottie and Emily leaned further.
"I'll let you."
...and further still.
"Boys, please," John interrupted. "Not here."
"Who. Is. My. CLIENT?" Sherlock hissed.
"Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now, for God's sake… put your clothes on!"
Sherlock closed his eyes, obviously bubbling with anger. It was quite terrifying, actually. The detective pulled in a sharp breath, finally admitting defeat. Sherlock marched up to the table and snatched up the pile of clothes. Harry escorted him and Scottie to someplace where they could change in privacy. Emily stayed behind and an uncomfortable silence fell over the room where she waited with John and Mycroft.
"Do you really think that's any more appropriate, miss?" John questioned, joining her on the sofa again.
Emily shrugged. "I can take it off if you'd like."
"No!" both men shouted simultaneously and started to jump forward. Emily looked confused. She still had no idea that earlier she'd implied she was naked underneath.
"Well, I was joking, but you didn't have to react that strongly…"
When the others returned a tea set was brought into the room as well. "I'll be mother," Mycroft said, pouring it.
"And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell," Sherlock mocked. Mycroft glared back and set the tea kettle down.
"My employer has a problem," Harry brought them back on topic.
"A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature, and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen."
"Why? You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally Secret Service. Why come to me?"
"People do come to you for help, don't they, Mr. Holmes?"
"Not, to date, anyone with a Navy."
"This is a matter of the highest security, and therefore of trust."
"Well this has been fascinating," Scottie announced, "but do you think you can hurry it up a little and get to the point?"
Mycroft made a face at this. "Yes, of course." The man opened up his briefcase and took from it a glossy photograph. He handed it to Sherlock. "What do you know about this woman?"
"Nothing whatsoever."
"Then you should be paying more attention. She's been at the center of two political scandals in the last year, and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both participants separately."
"You go, girl." Emily leaned over to have a look at the picture.
Sherlock handed the thing off to the girl with disinterest. "You know I don't concern myself with trivia. Who is she?"
"Irene Adler, professionally known as-"
"The Woman," Scottie and Emily said, both glancing over the photograph.
Mycroft furrowed his brows. "Oh? Heard of her, have we?"
"No," Emily denied.
"Yes," confessed Scottie at the same time.
"I mean, only a bit," corrected Emily.
"No, I misspoke," Scottie also corrected. Again, at the same time. They both glared at one another.
Mycroft sighed. "Well, while you two are busy getting your stories straight… There are many names for what she does. She prefers 'dominatrix'."
"Dominatrix," Sherlock repeated thoughtfully.
"Don't be alarmed," Mycroft cooed. "It's to do with sex."
"Sex doesn't alarm me."
Mycroft pursed his lips into a snide smile. "How would you know?"
"How would you know?" Scottie threw back just loud enough for Mycroft to hear.
Mycroft's smile faded. He went on regardless: "She provides, shall we say, recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it." The gentleman then reached into his briefcase again and handed several more photographs to his brother. "These are all from her website."
Sherlock flipped through the pictures. Once he had finished the detective started to pass these off to Scottie and Emily as well, but John intercepted the exchange with a warning glance. "And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs," Sherlock guessed.
"You're very quick, Mr. Holmes," purred Harry.
"Hardly a difficult deduction. Photographs of whom?"
"ME." Scottie puffed up his chest proudly. John elbowed him and Emily snickered.
"A person of significance to my employer - not you - but we'd prefer not to say any more at this time."
"You can't tell us anything?" asked John.
"Ooh ooh, can we play 20 Questions for it!" exclaimed Emily.
Mycroft tilted his head somewhat. "I can tell you it's a young person."
"Me," Scottie whispered. John rolled his eyes, sipping at his teacup.
"A young female person."
"M-oh wait." Scottie's eyes now darted to Emily. This time she was the one to jab him with her elbow. John's eyes widened at this news and Sherlock merely smirked.
"How many photographs?" the detective inquired.
"A considerable number, apparently."
"Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?"
"Yes, they do."
"And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios."
"An imaginative range, we are assured."
"But what a plot twist if it actually were you," Scottie teased, leaning towards Emily. She didn't elbow him again, but certainly considered it whilst finishing her drink.
Sherlock glanced over at John and realized that he hadn't stopped staring blankly at Mycroft, teacup still half raised. "John. You might want to put that cup back in your saucer now."
"Can you help us, Mr. Holmes?"
"How?"
"Will you take the case?"
"What case? Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, "Know when you are beaten". Sherlock made to grab his coat, and then remembered that Emily was still wearing it. He pulled his hand back in with a mix of dismay and annoyance.
"She doesn't want anything," Mycroft clarified. Sherlock turned to face him again. For the first time since they'd arrived a look of genuine interest flashed across his face. "She got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favor."
"Oh, a power play," Sherlock mused. "A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn't it?"
"Sherlock…" John warned.
"Hm. Where is she?"
"Uh, in London currently. She's staying-"
"Text me the details." Sherlock got up, not waiting for his brother to finish. "I'll be in touch by the end of the day." Everyone jumped to their feet at once as he made his exit.
"Do you really think you'll have news by then?"
"No, I think I'll have the photographs."
Harry pursed his lips. "One can only hope you're as good as you seem to think."
Sherlock stopped to glance at the man up and down, obviously deducing the shit out of him just to prove a prove a point to himself. "Alright, alright, you keep that ego in check," Emily purred, giving him a nudge out the door.
John unlocked the door to 221B Baker Street and all four of them filed in. "Oh, you'll probably be wanting this back," Emily realized, referring to Sherlock's coat.
Sherlock looked over and made a face. "Um. Actually, why don't you hold onto that for now and I'll retrieve it after Mrs. Hudson's put it through the wash."
"Oh, come on. I couldn't have even been wearing it for much more than an hour," Emily rolled her eyes.
"It has nothing to do with how long-" But before Sherlock could make it apparent that he still thought she had nothing on underneath, Emily started to undo the coat buttons. Sherlock and John immediately spun around as to avert their eyes. After a couple seconds John started to tilt his head back, to which Sherlock slapped a hand over the other man's face.
"Whelp, I'm gonna go put clothes back on," Emily announced, leaving Sherlock's coat on the floor as she went back downstairs. Scottie was apparently the only one who knew what was actually going on and struggled to hold back laughter.
"Why did you peek?" Sherlock hissed to John.
"I didn't mean to look," he shot back. "But I didn't see anything anyway, so it wasn't that bad!"
"That bad? She's seventeen!"
"No, we went over this. She's eighteen."
"Like that makes much of a difference."
"I don't know, I'd say it makes a whole lot of a difference."
Sherlock shook his head. "You know what, never mind. Just forget I said anything. I have more important things to worry about than your uncontrollable urge to stare at anything with breasts." The detective spun around dramatically and made for his bedroom.
"I wasn't-" John called after him, his mouth still ajar as if he'd been offended. "I wasn't checking her out," he told Scottie sternly. "I wasn't."
The boy smirked. "She'd take it as a compliment if you were."
"WASN'T."
A good fifteen minutes went by, during which Sherlock threw a series of clothes and their hangers about his room. He made a fair amount of racket in doing so, and eventually even John looked up from the kitchen table out of curiosity.
"What are you doing?"
"Going into battle, John. I need the right armor."
Emily came back into the flat having changed into jeans and a blouse. She joined Scottie on the couch, where he was sitting with his laptop out and the Sims open.
"Is that supposed to be us?" the girl asked, leaning over to see.
Sherlock came out again. "Ready?" he asked John on his way through the kitchen.
"Wh-Now?"
"Yes now." Sherlock went into the living room and retrieved his usual coat.
"Wait wait wait - we're coming too, right?" Emily sounded hopeful.
Sherlock glanced up from tying on his scarf with a half-smile. "You're asking as if I've ever had any luck stopping the both of you from doing so in the past."
"Touche."
"You're taking them along to see a… a dominatrix? Are you sure that's such a good idea?" John quested from the kitchen doorway.
"Afraid we'll start getting ideas now that we're legal?" Scottie raised an eyebrow.
Emily grinned mischieviously. "Actually, I did have a couple questions about toys, and I'm sure Miss Adler would be just the person to answer them."
"Don't even joke about that," John warned, passing by them on his way to the coat rack.
The four of them exited the building and John hailed a cab that passed by in no time at all. Scottie called not-shotgun (as was usually the case whenever they traveled as a group) and Emily came up front while the other three squished into the back row of the taxi. Sherlock recited the address he'd been given to the driver and they set out.
"So, what's the plan?" John asked after sitting in silence for several blocks.
Sherlock kept his eyes fixed out the cab window. "We know her address."
"What, just ring her doorbell?"
"Maybe we can dress up as Boy Scouts and pretend we're selling cookies?" Emily suggested, leaning over the seat to face them.
John tilted his head. "Sorry?"
"Why Boy Scouts?" Scottie questioned.
"Um, because it'd be easier for me to pass off as a boy than all four of us pretend to be girls. Duh."
"Except that Boy Scouts don't sell cookies."
"...Girl Scouts it is then."
"Since you apparently don't seem to be aware, they're called Girl Guides here," Sherlock pointed out matter-of-factly. "You also probably ought to refer to them as biscuits to avoid culture confusion. Not that it matters, because Girl Guides don't sell biscuits like yours seem to in the states."
Wrinkling her nose, Emily turned back around in her seat. "That's disappointing. I don't suppose we can try purchasing them online when cookie season rolls back around?"
"Just here, please," Sherlock told to cab driver.
"You didn't even change your clothes," muttered John.
"Then it's time to add a splash of color."
The group climbed out of the cab and only John was surprised that they seemed to be headed down a narrow street. Sherlock pulled off his scarf while walking and then stopped suddenly, whirling around to face John.
"Are we here?" the doctor asked absently.
"Two streets away, but this'll do."
"For what?"
Sherlock pointed a finger at his own cheek. "Punch me in the face."
John blinked in surprise. "Punch you?" he echoed.
"I'll do it if he won't," Emily volunteered. Scottie looked at her questioningly. She shrugged.
"In front of the kids?" John went on.
"They've seen blood before," Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Aren't we supposed to be their role models or something?"
"John, we haven't the time for a discussion on proper parental figures. Now hurry up and punch me. In the face. Didn't you hear me?"
John pursed his lips together. "I always hear 'punch me in the face' when you're speaking, but it's usually subtext."
"Oh, God's sakes." Sherlock now took this opportunity to launch his own fist at his flatmate's face, knocking him backwards a bit. Once he'd regained his balance, John then threw a punch back in Sherlock's direction.
Sherlock straightened up again and touched his fingers to the new cut on his cheek. "Thank you," the man breathed. "That was… that was…" But John wasn't finished just yet. The doctor hurled another attack, this time directed at Sherlock's stomach, and this blow knocked Sherlock off his feet.
Emily gave her companion a sidelong glance. "If you're not gonna jump in I will."
"Emily. No."
"Oh c'mon; how many opportunities does a person have to get in the middle of a fistfight with John Watson and Sherlock fucking Holmes?"
Scottie looked disgusted. "Do I even know you?"
"Suit yourself," the girl shrugged just before throwing herself into the fray. Scottie stood there looking conflicted for a couple seconds before he, too, ran forward with a defeated "fuck".
"You wanna remember, Sherlock: I was a soldier," John was in the middle of saying, his arms wrapped tightly around Sherlock from behind and doubled over. "I killed people!"
"You were a doctor!"
"I had bad days!"
"I just wanna be included!" Emily let out, sprinting at them both and then jumping up at the last second so that she was now in a piggyback on John, her own arms clinging to his still around Sherlock's and legs wrapped around them both to keep from falling over.
Scottie was now behind the display, digging his heels into the ground and pulling at Emily's sweatshirt hood to try and get her down. This effectively choked her and, after a couple seconds of tugging with all his might, Sherlock and John were thrown off-balance and all three of them came toppling down on top of Scottie.
"Can we be done now?" Sherlock wheezed, rolling off of the top of the pile they'd made. John struggled to his feet shortly after him and Scottie used his foot to kick Emily off of himself as soon as she was no longer pinned down by the others.
Once back on two feet Scottie brushed himself off and shot a glare at Emily, who was still sprawled out across the cement with a satisfied grin. "I hope you're pleased with yourself," he muttered.
"No regrets," she purred back. John offered out a hand to the girl, and she took it and allowed him to help her back onto her feet. "Thanks," Emily smiled. "Although I wish I had a hairbrush with me now."
"Are you alright?" Scottie asked Sherlock.
The detective nodded but didn't meet his eyes (he rarely did this anyways). "Well. Now that that's out of the way, we can move on."
"What was the point of that, anyway?"
"You'll see."
Sherlock led his flatmates a couple blocks further and in front of a large residence, where he instructed John to wait a little ways behind them. After ringing the front doorbell he uncharacteristically ushered Scottie and Emily in front of himself and held a protective hand over each of their shoulders. The teenagers exchanged somewhat confused looks as a woman's voice came from over the intercom.
"Hello?"
The detective's eyes widened and began to tear up as he slipped into character. "Ooh! Um, sorry to disturb you. Um. I was out with my kids, and, um, we've just been attacked, um, and, um, I… I told them to run, so that they wouldn't get hurt to, but uh.. I think they… they took my wallet and, um, and my phone. Um, please, could you help me?"
"I can phone the police if you want," the woman answered after a thoughtful pause.
Still with a firm grasp on the both of them, Sherlock shook his arms and made Scottie and Emily sway a bit in a way that implied he was grateful and they should be, too. "Thank you!" he let out. "Thank you! Could you, please?" The man took a step backwards, finally dropping his hands. Scottie and Emily continued to stand there awkwardly, not saying anything that would throw off his act. "Oh, would you… would you mind if I let my children wait here, just until they come?" Sherlock went on. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
Sherlock, dressed as a vicar and most definitely overdoing the part, pressed a handkerchief to his injured cheek and waited patiently as they were buzzed in. Holding out a hand to invite Scottie and Emily inside first, Sherlock followed the kids in.
"Thank you," he told Kate, the woman who had let them in, once more.
John invited himself inside and shut the door behind himself. "I-I saw it all happen," he explained. "It's okay; I'm a doctor. Now, have you got a first aid kit?"
"In the kitchen," Kate told him, nodding. She held out a hand to show Sherlock into the front room. "Please."
"Oh! Thank you!" Sherlock let out. "Scottie, Emily… Why don't you two wait for me here?"
"Thank you," John smiled gratefully. This look faded as he passed by Scottie and Emily, who were still standing near the front door. "Don't touch anything or cause any sort of trouble, you hear?" he whispered harshly just before following Sherlock and Kate into the next room.
Emily pursed her lips together. "Guess that rules out scavenger hunt for sex toys to mortify John with later."
"I don't see what the big deal is," pouted Scottie. "Why shouldn't we be allowed to meet Irene too?"
"I dunno, he thinks we'd be a distraction?"
"Well. We totally would but that's beside the point."
"We'll get our chance soon enough. I'm sure you don't really wanna see a naked Irene anyway." Emily took out the pink phone and waved it at Scottie. "Wanna snoop around upstairs while we wait?"
"Do I ever!"
Just under twenty minutes had passed, but the teenagers had long since gotten bored. Scottie was currently lying down sideways in an armchair and staring up at the ceiling as Emily hovered close to the open door, just close enough to the stairwell so that she could have a fair warning if Kate was coming to escort them back into the foyer (which had happened once already).
"That actually wasn't as great as I'd hoped it would be," Scottie admitted.
"Looks like we're right on schedule, though," Emily mused. She took a step outside of the room to peer over the railing at John down below. It was difficult to make out exactly what he was holding from up above, but the girl already knew that it would be a magazine, smoke protruding from its rolled end. "Three… two…" The smoke alarm went of and Emily smirked, finishing her countdown: "one."
"Uh, Emily?"
"Mm?" Emily went, not looking back at her friend just yet.
"Emily," Scottie tried again. His voice sounded strained, and so she spun around, only to find that their company had been joined by three more Americans. One of them had a gun fixed on Scottie, and a second point his weapon at her.
"Um. Irene's downstairs," Emily said loud enough to be heard over the shrieking of the fire alarm.
The one that appeared to be in charge of the group nodded his head towards the bottom of the stairwell, and keeping their hands raised defensively, the kids were then lead back into the foyer. John was in the midst of fussing with his smokey magazine roll, smacking it against a table to try and completely put the thing out, when they came closer into view. One of the men shot at the alarm, effectively shutting it off with a silencer so large that they barely even heard the weapon go off. John stopped what he was doing and instantly raised his own arms.
"Thank you," he managed.
Still without commentary, the three armed men herded John and the kids towards the sitting room where Irene and Sherlock currently were. One of them came forward and kicked the door open, then came fully into the room with his pistol now raised at Sherlock.
"Hands behind your head," this man instructed. And then to Irene: "On the floor." He glanced at Scottie and Emily. "You both, too. Keep it still."
Emily felt the barrel of a gun prod into her back, but she didn't need to be told twice. The girl and Scottie dropped to their knees and crawled towards Irene, who remained standing and looked at them both as if she already knew who they were. The man who had touched Emily with his firearm followed the two of them in and kept his gun out and facing their general direction.
John made a face. "Sorry, Sherlock."
"Ms. Adler, on the floor," the leader of the Americans repeated. His partner walked around Scottie and Emily and shoved Irene to her knees. The third man, who had been behind Scottie before, approached John in a similar manner. Once kneeling on the ground the doctor held both hands behind his head.
"Don't you want me on the floor too?" Sherlock asked.
"No, sir. I want you to open the safe."
"American. Interesting. Why would you care?"
Irene put her hands behind her head now. Emily noticed her doing this and elbowed Scottie in the process of her mirroring the action, implying that he should, too.
"Sir. The safe. Now, please."
"I don't know the code," Sherlock shot back.
The man seemed unconvinced. "We've been listening. She said she told you."
"Well, if you'd been listening, you'd know she didn't."
"I'm assuming I missed something. From your reputation, I'm assuming you didn't, Mr. Holmes."
"For God's sake," grumbled John. "She's the one who knows the code; ask HER."
"Yes, sir. She also knows the code that automatically calls the police and sets off the burglar alarm. I've learned not to trust this woman."
Irene opened her mouth to speak: "Mr. Holmes doesn't-"
"Shut up," the American interrupted. "One more word out of you, just one, and I will decorate that wall with the insides of your head. That, for me, will not be a hardship. Oh, so many to choose from… Mr. Archer. At the count of three shoot the boy."
Scottie sat up slightly taller in alarm. "H-Hold on a minute, that's not…"
"Hang on, he's just a kid," John argued. "If there's anyone you should be holding hostage-"
"You'll get your chance soon enough if Mr. Holmes doesn't cooperate," the other man promised.
"I don't have the code," Sherlock said as seriously as he could. Scottie felt the cool tip of the gun touch against his neck and he lowered his head somewhat as he heard it cock.
"One."
"I don't know the code."
"Two."
"She didn't tell me," Sherlock continued to plead. "I don't know it!"
"I'm prepared to believe you any second now."
"Three."
"NO, STOP!"
The man in charge held up his free hand and Scottie released the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding on to. Sherlock slowly turned towards the safe in question and lowered his hands. The detective hesitated for a moment or two before punching a couple numbers into the keypad, waiting, putting in four more, and stopping yet again before pushing the final two digits. A beep came from the safe and it unlocked. Irene smiled to herself and Sherlock let out a sigh, closing his eyes.
"Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Open it, please."
Sherlock took his time in twisting a button on the safe. He hesitated once more to glance back at Irene before and loudly shouted "Vatican cameos" just before thrusting open the safe. Upon hearing the codeword, John immediately lunged sideways, grabbing Scottie and Emily by whatever he could easiest reach, and yanked them both towards the floor and out of the way of a bullet that had come from inside the safe and hit Mr. Archer square in his chest. Sherlock and Irene sprung into action, easily disarming and knocking the remaining two men to the ground while John, Scottie, and Emily mostly watched from the ground in stunned silence.
"D'you mind?" Sherlock asked Irene.
"Not at all," came her response. The fellow she'd just taken down had begun to pick himself up again, which she quickly reversed by smacking the gun she'd confiscated across his face, sending him into the realm of unconsciousness.
"That was SO FUCKING BADASS!" Scottie wheezed, flopping onto his backside and grinning. "Let's do it again!"
"Oh yeah, I just love getting unceremoniously dragged into rooms at gunpoint and then having to sit around and watch a stranger threaten to blow my best friend to bits," Emily choked. "Because that's totally not traumatizing or anything like that."
"He's dead," John muttered, referring to Mr. Archer.
Irene kept her pistol fixed on the blacked out man. "Thank you," she told Sherlock. "You were very observant."
"Observant?" John echoed.
"I'm flattered."
"Don't be," Sherlock shot back.
"Flattered?" John parroted again. Scottie reached for the deceased Mr. Archer's weapon and John slapped his hand away, taking the thing for himself.
"There'll be more of them. They'll be keeping an eye on the building." Sherlock removed the silencer from his gun and hurried out of the room. John darted after him. Irene went over to the safe and Scottie and Emily picked themselves up. Moments later they heard five gunshots from just outside, courtesy of Sherlock.
Emily watched Irene with interest. "I'm Emily, by the way," she finally said. "And the guy you nearly contributed to the murder of, that's Scottie."
"I know who you are," Irene mused, turning around.
Sherlock and John came back into the room. "Check the rest of the house. See how they got in," Sherlock instructed. John nodded and exited again. Once he'd left Sherlock took a phone he'd retrieved from the safe out from his pocket and tossed it into the air and caught it again playfully. "Well, that's the knighthood in the bag."
"Ah. And that's mine." Irene held out a hand and was promptly ignored.
"All the photographs are on here, I presume."
"I have copies, of course."
"No you don't. You'll have permanently disabled any kind of uplink or connection. Unless the contents of this phone are proveably unique, you wouldn't be able to sell them."
Irene let her hand drop. "Who said I'm selling?"
"Well, why would they be interested?" Sherlock asked, looking around at the bodies. "Whatever's on the phone, it's clearly not just photographs."
"That camera phone is my life, Mr. Holmes. I'd die before I let you take it." She came closer to the detective, her hand out once more. "It's my protection."
"Sexual tension much?" Emily whispered to Scottie, who promptly shushed her.
John's voice rang out from outside the sitting room: "Sherlock!"
"It was," Sherlock corrected, pulling the phone back and turning around. The remaining three of them in the room followed him out and joined John upstairs. They found him kneeling beside an unconscious Kate in a bedroom.
"Must have come in this way," the doctor theorized.
"Clearly." Sherlock went to the bathroom window as Irene came towards Kate's body, suddenly looking anxious.
"It's alright," John told her. "She's just out cold."
"Well, God knows she's used to that. There's a back door. Better check it out, Doctor Watson."
"Sure."
"Take the kids with you. Don't want them feeling left out."
"Oh? Oh, alright. C'mon." John motioned with his head and Scottie and Emily exchanged looks before following him out.
"You sure we should leave Sherlock alone with her like that?" Scottie asked Emily, his voice low so that John couldn't hear. "I mean. We both know what she's planning and why she wanted us out of the room for it."
"Eh, it all works out in the end. Also last time we intentionally got in the middle of something, I was shot, remember?"
"Afraid Irene might stick you with a syringe too?" Scottie teased.
"Y'know, for someone who just had a gun pointed at his own head, you're disturbingly cheery."
The two of them followed John around to the other end of the second floor, where at the end of a hallway they located a door leading outside with a wooden staircase attached to the back of the house and going down to the ground level.
"Bingo," John muttered to himself, turning around and pushing through Scottie and Emily back the way he'd come. With a sigh, the teenager whirled around and followed after him. They nearly crashed into his backside when he stopped suddenly in the doorway to the room they'd started in, saying, "Jesus. What are you doing?"
"He'll sleep for a few hours," Irene explained calmly from inside. "Make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit. It makes for a very unattractive corpse."
The three of them came further into the room. Irene headed over to the bathroom and sat down on its windowsill as John went over to Sherlock, who was currently sprawled across the floor, and took up a syringe that was lying next to him.
"What's this? What have you given him? Sherlock!"
"He'll be fine. I've used it on loads of my friends."
John was now kneeling beside his flatmate and hunched over him. "Sherlock, can you hear me?"
"You know, I was wrong about him," Irene went on. "He did know where to look."
John picked himself up again and turned to face her. "For what? What are you talking about?" he demanded.
"The key code to my safe."
"What is it?"
The woman's eyes shifted over to Sherlock, who was staring back at her angrily and trying with no such luck to stand up again. "Shall I tell him?" Irene purred. They could hear sirens outside now. Irene smiled. "My measurements." And on that note she pushed her feet against the edge of the bathtub and rolled backwards out of the open window, clinging to a cord on her way down. John's eyes widened and he rushed over to where she'd been sitting just moments before to stuck his head out of the window in astonishment.
There was a hush that came over the room, save the continuous string of sirens from outside. "I'll… I'd better go out there and explain what's happened," John announced, coming away from the window again. "You two stay put," he instructed with a warning finger on his way past Scottie and Emily out of the room.
A devious look overcame the girl and without saying anything she bounded over to the bathroom cabinets. Scottie raised an eyebrow and peered into the room. "What're you…?" She came out again with her hands full and plopped down next to the barely conscious Sherlock. Mouth still slightly ajar, Scottie came to her side again and melted onto his knees.
"What do you think?" Emily asked, spreading out an array of supplies on the floor in front of her. "Firetruck red or more of a maroon?"
"Is that… Are you planning on putting makeup on Sherlock?!"
Emily looked at Scottie determinedly. "Today is a day of many opportunities. Now quick, I don't know how much time we have; pick one."
Scottie pursed his lips. "This is wrong on so many levels."
"Fine. I'll go with the maroon. More Smaug, less Mushu." The girl uncapped the lipstick and leaned over Sherlock to put it on. It was hard to determine just how much of what was going on he could comprehend, but he moved his head slightly and Emily pulled away to keep from smearing the stuff. "Hey, hold him in place for me, would you?"
Scottie shook his head quickly. "I want no part of this."
With a sigh, Emily crawled directly on top of Sherlock, pinning his head in place with her knees, and continued on with her work. Once finished she capped the lipstick, contemplated tossing it aside, and then stuck it into a back pocket instead and held her open palm out to the side. "Liquid liner please." When Scottie didn't assist her, Emily made a face and reached over to retrieve the next tool herself.
"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" a familiar voice let out from behind them. Instead of stopping, Emily hurried to complete several finishing touches on her masterpiece before a hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her to sideways onto the floor. John snatched the pencil liner away and shot her a betrayed look.
"Oh my God." Lestrade was standing at the entrance to the room now. He cupped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.
"What were you thinking?" hissed John. "Sherlock's been drugged. He doesn't need you harassing him on top of everything!"
"I don't know," Lestrade mused. "That color really works on him. Brings out his eyes."
Emily grinned. "I know, right?"
John scowled and began struggling to pick up Sherlock. "Give me a hand, will you?" he asked Scottie, who hesitated for a moment before coming over to John and helped by putting one of Sherlock's arms around himself. Emily crouched down and started to reach for the detective's leg when John stopped her, saying "Not you!" The girl frowned at this and stepped back, her arms crossed.
"Hang on, I've got to document this," Lestrade chuckled to himself, taking out a camera phone. "Smile, everybody!"
Sherlock started to moan something, but it was incoherent and difficult to make out. Emily popped her head into the frame with a cheesy grin.
"I love it," Lestrade smirked, looking at the picture he'd just taken.
"Greg," John warned.
"What? Oh. Right. Sorry." Lestrade put his phone away and came forward to help John carry Sherlock out of the room.
Sherlock had apparently forgotten about his makeover the following morning, well after John had taken the last of it off. But John didn't, and the punishment he found fitting enough was to have Emily cook breakfast for them. This she wasn't entirely excited about, but she complied easily enough and there were plenty of pancakes for everyone. John was seated at kitchen table working on his while Sherlock sat nearby, looking over a newspaper.
Mycroft had stopped by not that long ago. He hovered in the doorway to the kitchen and refused a plate of Emily's pancakes, which offended her. Now she was busying herself washing the dishes they had finished with and had somehow managed to get Scottie's help in the task.
"The photographs are perfectly safe," Sherlock was telling his brother.
"In the hands of a fugitive sex worker," Mycroft pointed out bitterly.
"She's not interested in blackmail. She wants… protection, for some reason. I take it you've stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?"
"How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied."
"She'd applaud your choice of words," Sherlock mused. Scottie snickered at this. "You see how this works: the camera phone is her Get Out of Jail Free card. You have to leave her alone. Treat her like royalty, Mycroft."
"Though not the way she treats royalty," John muttered through a mouthful of his breakfast. He glanced up at Mycroft with a smug grin. Mycroft returned the look with a humorless smile.
Suddenly Sherlock's phone went off, the text alert now being the sound of a loud and rather sexual woman's sigh. It was a sound that Scottie was very familiar with - except something was different about it now. It wasn't the same sound as he was expecting.
John looked startled. "Um. Emily?"
"Not me," Emily answered, looking over her shoulder somewhat.
"Text," Sherlock answered calmly.
"But what was that noise?"
"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Scottie whispered to Emily.
"I'm a little busy," she shot back.
"Now." Scottie started into the living room, pulling the girl along with him. Emily let out an exasperated sigh and threw her dish towel back down on the kitchen counter.
"What is it now?" she demanded once they were out of the immediate vicinity of the conversation going on between the Holmes brothers and John. "Am I in trouble again? Because that seems to be the case more often than not."
"Did you record over Irene's text tone with your own rendition?" Scottie accused.
"I..." Emily pursed her lips into a sly smile. "You have to admit, it would've been really clever on my part if I had."
"No it wouldn't."
"Sure it would. He think's it's The Woman. And that's what makes it funny."
Scottie shook his head in disbelief. "You're going to hell."
"Whelp! Guess I'll see you there!" Emily teased, elbowing him playfully just before he went back into the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson was in the flat now, and the two women caught up with each other in the next room.
"You really didn't have to do this, you know," Mrs. Hudson told Emily.
Emily went pale. "Do what? What do you know?"
"The… breakfast, I mean."
"Oh," Emily let out a relieved breath. "No, yeah, it's fine. I actually did kind of have to. Owed them one, as it were."
"Well at least let me help you clean up," smiled the landlady.
"What? Oh, no it's… That's okay! I was just about done as it were."
Mycroft had apparently gone into the hallway to take a call. "That noise," John was saying when they turned the corner. "The one it just made."
Sherlock remained nonchalant about it all. "It's a text alert. It means I've got a text."
"Hm. Your texts don't usually make that noise."
"Well, somebody got hold of the phone and apparently, as a joke, personalized their text alert noise."
Scottie shot Emily a judgemental glare from across the room, to which she held a finger up against her lips. Sherlock came into the living room now, phone in one hand and newspaper in the other, and the teenagers immediately dropped their poses in hopes of not drawing any unwanted attention.
John got up and trailed after him. "Hm. So. Every time they text you…" As if on cue, the infamous text alert when off yet again.
"It would seem so."
"Could you turn that phone down a bit?" Mrs. Hudson asked from the doorway. "At my time of life, it's…"
"I'm wondering who could have got hold of your phone," interrupted John, "because it would have been in your coat, wouldn't it?" He eyed Emily, who shot him an incredulous look.
Sherlock took a seat in his armchair and set the device down on the table beside it. He then unfolded his paper again and held it unnecessarily high in front of his face. "I'll leave you to your deductions."
"I'm not stupid, you know."
"Where do you get that idea?"
Mycroft reentered the room, still with his phone pressed against his ear. "Bond Air is go, that's decided," he was saying. "Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later." The man hung up and looked to Sherlock expectantly.
"Why do people on TV shows never say 'goodbye' when they're leaving a phone call?" Emily asked softly, half to herself.
"What else does she have?" Sherlock asked his brother with a glance up from his paper. "Irene Adler. The Americans wouldn't be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs. There's more." The detective stood up and came closer to Mycroft. "Much more. Something big's coming, isn't it?"
Mycroft seemed to narrow his eyes as he answered: "Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours. From now on you will stay out of this."
"Oh, will I?"
"Yes, Sherlock. You will."
"And now hug it out! There we go!" Scottie was suddenly between the two grown men, attempting to push them closer together.
Mycroft stepped back, a disgusted look upon his face. "Ugh! Keep your child under control!"
"Believe me, if it were possible, I would've a long time ago."
Mycroft straightened his jacket with a humph. "Now if you'll exuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend."
Sherlock reached for his violin, which was lying nearby and out of its case. "Do give her my love," he cooed, picking up the instrument and beginning to play God Save the Queen. Mycroft rolled his eyes and turned to leave.
TO BE CONTINUED...
