EPISODE 8:

THE SIGN OF DERP


Today had been the big day: John and Mary's wedding. Now it was time for the reception. Sherlock was standing outside of the entrance to the venue with the newlyweds, Janine, and the other bridesmaids in order to greet guests upon their arrival from the church. Scottie had lost sight of Emily since leaving the wedding itself and was starting to get a little worried when she still wasn't there less than twenty minutes until the start of the reception. He found himself pacing back and forth from several feet away in front of the building, fidgeting with his infernal tie all the while. Scottie hated getting dressed up like this.

"You're not supposed to take it off," a child's voice said from just behind him. Scottie whirled around and looked down too see the ring bearer standing there. "I tried but they wouldn't let me."

"Yeah, adults suck like that," Scottie told him.

The boy squinted. "Aren't you an adult?"

"That depends who you ask."

He stared up at Scottie in contemplative silence for some time and then held out a hand, which Scottie took. "I'm Archie."

"Scottie."

"Oh, Archie dear, we're over here!" a woman called out, suddenly coming between the boys. "C'mon, the bride and groom are waiting for us." She promptly ushered the kid away from Scottie without acknowledging him. Scottie frowned, offended somewhat. And then out of the corner of his eye he saw a taxi cab pull up.

The cab door opened and Emily stepped out of the back seat. She was wearing a long red dress that sparkled when the sunlight hit it and her hair had been curled. A second person emerged from the vehicle after her. He was tall and slender, with dark skin and currently wearing a black suit and burgundy tie to match Emily's attire. Scottie didn't recognize the man at first glance, especially since he wasn't wearing his glasses at the time, but ran forward to greet them both regardless.

"Oh, Scottie!" Emily grinned and embraced him in a hug. She put her hands over the boy's shoulders then and stepped back, giving him a satisfied once-over. "Hm. I always knew you'd clean up nicely."

"You know that's not really a compliment, right?"

"Oh! Before I forget, this is-"

"The Bloody Guardsman?!" Scottie choked, suddenly realizing that he had seen the other man before. Well, in a manner of speaking.

"Stephen," the gentleman corrected, offering out his hand to Scottie. "Stephen Bainbridge."

But Scottie didn't shake his hand. After a couple seconds Stephen lowered it again awkwardly. "Your date is the Bloody Guardsman?" he said in disbelief.

"Jealous?"

"Wh-no! Well. Maybe. But no! He's, like, twice your age! Also the BLOODY FUCKING GUARDSMAN!"

Stephen gave a little wave. "Yes, hello, Stephen here. Stephen is my name. I prefer to be called Stephen."

"He's only 26, you know."

"You said you wouldn't go out with anyone we'd seen on the show," Scottie whispered angrily.

"I agreed to no such thing."

Stephen squinted at the both of them.

"Hey. Can I um. Can I talk to her for moment, please?" Scottie put a protective arm around Emily and looked at Stephen expectantly.

"Of course," the other man blinked.

"Alone."

"What? Oh. Right. Um. Yeah, I'll… I'll just be over here. Then." Looking embarrassed, Stephen shuffled awkwardly out of earshot.

"Okay, look: you remember the little voice?" Scottie whispered. "The little voice in your head that tells you not to do stupid things? Just pretend you have one for a minute and listen to what it says about dating fictional characters."

"...you go girl?" Emily guessed.

Scottie frowned. "No. We're REAL PEOPLE inside a FICTIONAL UNIVERSE. Listen harder."

"Um… dating is… off-limits?"

"BRAVO, YOU GOT THERE EVENTUALLY!" Scottie exclaimed sarcastically, patting the girl on her back. "Hey, I'll meet up with you inside okay? Give you some time to break the news to your…" Scottie cleared his throat. "Um. Bloody Guardsman." With that he gave a little nod and started to head in.

Emily took a deep breath and watched him go. Stephen came up from behind her. "Hey… is everything alright?" the man asked.

"Yeah, he's just being weird," the girl said, turning around. She touched the area just above his waistline lightly with her fingertips. "And how are you holding up?"

"Just fine," Stephen smiled. "I've already told you once and I'll tell you again: the doctors did a good job fixing me up, so stop worrying. Shall we?" He held an arm out to Emily, which she took and allowed him to lead her to the entrance, where they were greeted by the newlyweds and their entourage.

"Oh, Emily, I believe Scottie was looking for you," Mary told her.

"Oh. Yeah, I just saw him, but thanks."

"So is this him, then?" Mary asked, an obnoxious grin plastered on her face. "The plus one?"

"It is," the girl confirmed. "Stephen, this is Mary, John, and Sherlock. Mary, Stephen. Sherlock and John, I believe you've technically already…?"

"Private Bainbridge!" John realized. "From… Wow. I didn't realize you two were acquainted. This, uh… This is quite a surprise."

"Is it really?" Sherlock asked, as if it were hardly a question.

"I wanted to take this opportunity to thank you, Dr. Watson," Stephen started. "What you did, it was…"

John looked a little embarrassed. "Oh. Please."

"No, really. If it hadn't been for you-"

"Of course. It… It's what I do. You're welcome."

"And congratulations, of course," Stephen added. "To both of you."

"Someone's got a fan," Sherlock whispered.

"Stop it."

"Whelp we're going inside now," Emily interrupted with a little push into Stephen. "Toodles!"

She then quickly escorted her date inside the venue, where after passing two sets of double doors they came into a sizeable well-lit and mostly yellow dining area. Although much of the space was taken up by rounded tables and seats, the vast majority of people were walking around and mingling with one another. Scottie was easy to pick out of the crowd, because he was sitting by himself at his assigned seat. Ordinarily Emily would go and hang out with him, but not wanting another lecture about why Stephen shouldn't be there, she instead located Molly and Tom hovering near the drinks table and went to introduce Stephen to them.

The four of them made their introductions, but then the other couple was quickly pulled into another conversation with a woman who Emily didn't know. "Well they seemed nice enough," Stephen commented as soon as their backs were turned.

"What? Oh, yeah. Molly's great. I thought the yellow was rather appropriate."

Stephen nodded thoughtfully. "Mm. Quite. Can't say the same for some of the others, however."

"Oh, yeah, like purple at 4 o'clock," Emily snickered. "That thing on her head - is that even legal?"

"I believe it's called a hat."

"Is it? Oh my. From here I could've sworn it was a giant fluorescent bird's nest." Emily started to make another comment, but by that point she took a step back into someone else. "Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry!" She whirled around to find that it was in fact Lestrade she had collided with. "Oh dear, I hope I didn't make you spill your drink?"

"Only a little bit," Lestrade half-smiled, switching his glass into his non-dominant hand to shake off drips of champagne from the other. "Who's this?"

"Oh, this is Stephen," Emily told the detective inspector, wrapping an arm around one of Stephen's, which he pulled away to shake Lestrade's hand. "He came with me."

"Did he? And you, ah… You look, well, wonderful, as usual. I mean. That dress is just… Wow!"

Emily looked away, blushing. "Oh. Inspector. Stop it." Lestrade laughed and now Emily looked back at him, suddenly dead serious. "No seriously. We don't want a repeat of last time, do we?"

The man's smile quickly faded. Stephen shot an incomprehensive look at Emily. "That didn't happen like that," Lestrade said sternly.

"I remember it differently," Emily disagreed.

"Well you remember it wrong."

"Your face says otherwise."


Just under a month prior, Emily and Scottie had been playing through a rather intense photo scavenger hunt that they had written up. Some things were easy - a picture of a grocery store employee giving a thumbs up, or a random couple kissing. Others were more specific and involved certain locations and even people. The goal of the game was to return to the flat at 6:00 sharp with as many digital photos as you could obtain in the time limit, all of which were awarded a different number of points based off of their difficulty to obtain.

Scottie's strategy was to rack up as many lower-ranking photos as he could and then get to the harder ones was he was sure he had as many guaranteed points already to fall back on. Emily, however, was more ambitious and took it upon herself to start by breaking into Scotland Yard and taking duckface selfies with five different officers on duty.

The first four were simple enough. Apparently the mere mention of Sherlock's name and a confident lie could get you past most doors, and once inside the police were more than willing to put their paperwork on hold to humor the girl. It was on the fifth, however, when Emily was spotted by none other than Greg Lestrade, who escorted the delinquent into his office.

"I can explain, Inspector!" Emily tried desperately as he shut the glass door behind himself.

"I certainly hope so," the DI growled. He walked around his desk and had a seat. "How did you get in here, anyway?"

"The… front door?"

"Did Sherlock put you up to this?"

"...yes," Emily said slowly and took a seat in a chair that was in front of Lestrade's desk and facing him. "Yes. That's… absolutely what happened yes. It's all Sherlock's fault and I am so very, very sorry for any inconvenience this may've caused."

Lestrade squinted. "What were you doing anyway? You don't honestly expect me to believe that he needed you to take pictures with my men for a case?"

Emily held her mouth open for a moment, searching for a lie. "Well," she began easily. "Um. Not so much a case as… he wanted us out of the flat and said we weren't allowed back until we'd taken pictures of all these things. See?" Emily pulled a folded piece of paper out from her back pocket and handed it to Lestrade, who opened it up and frowned.

"Scottie and Emily's Epic Photo Scavenger Hunt Challenge," he read. "And you're saying Sherlock typed this up? Really? Just how dumb do you think I am, exactly?"

Emily shrugged and made a 'I dunno' noise with her throat.

Lestrade held the paper down again with a sigh. "Alright, tell you what: I'm going to ring Sherlock; if he really is the one behind all this… whatever you want to call it, he can be the one to pick you up and take you home. Otherwise I'm detaining you."

"You can't arrest me!" Emily gasped.

"Notice how that was not the word I used."

"Well you can't detain me either," she protested. "I know my rights, and unless there's a new law against taking selfies with police officers…"

He held out an expectant hand. "Let me see them."

Emily blinked. "What?"

"The photos. Let me see."

"...why."

Lestrade sighed again. "Because if you're just going to walk out of here I want to at least know who else I should have a word with about the little stunt you pulled back there. Is that alright with you?"

Although hesitant, Emily took out her phone and unlocked it for Lestrade. However, instead of scrolling through the pictures she had opened up for him, Lestrade simply tossed the cell phone into a drawer in his desk and shut it in. Emily gasped and leaned forward in her seat with a look of horror. "Wh-What the fuck was that?!" she choked.

"It's evidence now," Lestrade said matter-of-factly. "Maybe I can't keep you in police custody, but that I certainly can."

"Police custody my ass," Emily fumed. "That's outright theft!"

"Of course not," purred Lestrade. "I have every intention of giving it back to Sherlock if and when he comes to collect it in person. It is important to a case, you said?"

Emily squinted at the man unhappily. He reached for the phone on his desk and she started to panic and pulled a wallet from her purse. "H-Hang on!" Emily tried. "Maybe we can come to some sort of arrangement about all this in which Sherlock doesn't have to know I was here?"

Lestrade looked back at the girl disapprovingly. "Emily. Please. If I took bribes I would've been out of a job a long time ago."

"Not interested in money? Okay, then maybe…" Emily pursed her lips and looked nervously towards the door. Once she'd assured herself that no one was coming she hopped onto Lestrade's desk, very much startling the older man. "One grab," she instructed. "Ten seconds max, no squeezing."

"WHAT?!" Lestrade pushed his chair back as he stood, looking almost furious now.

"You heard me. One boob grab in exchange for my phone. I won't tell anyone."

"You're insane!" he choked.

Emily rolled her eyes. "Jesus Christ. Alright, change of plans: you give me my phone back and then I won't tell anyone that you touched my boob."

"I'm not going to touch your boob," he assured her.

"Are you sure about that?" Emily pressed.

"I am so sure."

There was a brief pause in the debate, during which Emily reached forward and took Lestrade's hand and threw it against her breast. "How about now?"

Unfortunately for Lestrade, before he had time to pull away from her the door swung open to reveal none other than Sally Donovan. "Inspector, I was wondering if you received a fax from… GREG! Just what the hell do you think you're doing?!"

"IT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!" Lestrade shouted, jerking his hand back.

Emily hopped off the desk again and faced Donovan now. "It's exactly what it looked like," she insisted. "My friend dared me to come in here and get a picture with some of the officers, and then this man caught me and confiscated my phone and he said he wouldn't give it back unless he… unless he could…"

Sergeant Donovan threw an incredulous look in Lestrade's direction. "Well she's obviously lying!" Lestrade argued, becoming flustered. "I would never do something like that! C'mon, Sally, you know me!"

"Yes, but I also saw you!" accused Donovan.

"Please, I just want my phone back," Emily said softly, forcing herself to tear up as much as she could for the time being. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble."

"Oh, God, give her her damned mobile, Greg!" Donovan demanded.

Lestrade grumbled something to himself and took her phone out from the drawer again, handing it back to its owner. "Sherlock doesn't hear about this," he threatened just before letting go of the device.

"Deal," she whispered.

"Or John!" Lestrade added quickly, but this time Emily didn't answer him.

Donovan propped open the door with a heel and ushered Emily out of the office, saying, "C'mon, sweetie, let's get you out of here. I'll deal with you later," she muttered to Lestrade just before letting the door shut.

Letting out a defeated groan, Lestrade collapsed back into his chair.


"Well, we're just going to have to agree to disagree," Lestrade concluded.

"It would seem so. I'd hate for a little… misunderstanding such as that to get in the way of our friendship," Emily smirked. "Especially with us assigned to the same table and everything. That would certainly make things awkward, don't you think?"

Lestrade swallowed. "Yes. Right. Of course. Well, uh... Oh, um, there's Mrs. Hudson. I've, uh, been meaning to thank her for that book she lent me, so I'll just... Yeah." Lestrade awkwardly dismissed himself from the conversation.

"What was that all about?" Stephen asked as he watched the man go.

"Long story," Emily shrugged innocently. "Don't worry about it. Say - did you see where that waiter went who was walking around with the bacon-wrapped things?"

Meanwhile Scottie had been joined once again by Archie.

"Why are you sitting here alone?" he boy asked, pulling out the chair next to Scottie and climbing into it.

Scottie shrugged disinterestedly. "Because apparently my best friend is more of a social butterfly than I. Well - hawk might be a more appropriate word. She sort of has this way swooping into conversations regardless of whether people want her there or not." He shifted his glance over to Archie, who was watching him intently. "So what's your excuse?"

"Too many grown-ups, and my mum's being annoying," the kid sighed. "She keeps fussing with my hair." When Scottie didn't respond right away he went on, saying, "I like Sherlock, but he's busy today."

"Mm-hm," Scottie nodded.

"Do you know him?"

"You could say that."

"He never mentioned you."

Scottie frowned. "To you? No. No, I don't suppose he would."

"How do you know him?" pressed Archie.

"That... is a very good question. Why do you ask so many?" Scottie threw back.

"Why do you keep dodging them?"

"I'm not-" Scottie cut his sentence short, getting another idea. "I'm a detective too, you know," he told Archie, whose eyes lit up at this.

After about an hour of wandering from group to group Emily and Stephen did end up claiming their spots at the same table as Scottie, who they were slightly surprised to find mid-conversation with Archie.

"How lovely of you to join us," Scottie said flatly without turning around. "I see the Bloody Guardsman is still here."

Emily pulled out the chair next to Scottie and squeezed into it. "Yeah, see, I thought about what you said, at which point I then realized that I don't give a shit and my love life is none of your business. Damn," she quickly corrected upon realizing Archie was there. "I don't give a damn. Sorry."

"Is that your sister?" Archie asked interestedly, leaning over the table to see better.

"...sure," Scottie grumbled.

"And who is he?"

"That would be Emily's newest fuck buddy."

"SCOTTIE!" Emily hissed, stomping on his foot from under the table for good measure. "Why do you insist on being insufferable?" She dropped her voice down to a whisper and leaned in so that now only Scottie could hear. "And it's not like that, okay? We haven't... I mean, I'm still... y'know."

"A traitor?" Scottie finished for her. "Yeah. I'm aware."

"I don't believe we've met officially," Stephen cut them off, addressing Archie now. "I'm Stephen, and this is Emily."

"Archie," the kid told them. "What's a… fuck buddy?"

Scottie snickered at this. Emily threw a harsh glare in his direction. "Good to know you've been making friends."

Not all that long afterwards Archie had left to rejoin his family and the rest of the guests found their seats in time for food to start arriving on their plates. Joining the table with Scottie, Emily, and Stephen was Lestrade, Molly, Tom, and Mr. Hudson, all of whom they'd specifically requested to be by prior to the event. Conversation mainly centered around occupations from that point, which was quite boring to the teens up until questions started being hurled at them that they didn't exactly have answers to, such as how they met John or their plans for the future.

All of three courses later the head waiter called in the attention of the room by tapping a spoon against an empty champagne glass. "Pray silence for the best man," the waiter announced. Seeming to have completely forgotten he was still pissy about the whole Stephen thing by this point, Scottie let out an excited squeal in the back of his throat and elbowed Emily.

There was a ripple of applause from the guests as Sherlock got to his feet from the front of the room and buttoned his jacket. "Ladies and gentlemen," Sherlock began, "family and friends… and… erm… others." He paused, giving way to an uncomfortable silence. "Er… w… A-A-Also…"

"Oh God this is more painful than I remembered," Scottie muttered.

Emily pursed her lips. "Scottie…"

"Mm?"

"You're digging your nails into my knee."

"...so I am."

"Telegrams," John said quietly.

"Right!" Sherlock exhaled. "Um." The detective fished around his pockets for a moment before realizing that they were already out in front of himself. "First things first: telegrams." He cleared his throat and picked the cards up. "Well, they're not actually telegrams. We just call them telegrams. I don't know why. Wedding tradition… because we don't have enough of that already, apparently. To Mr. and Mrs. Watson," he read now, "So sorry I'm unable to be with you on your special day. Good luck and best wishes, Mike Stamford."

"Ah, Mike," John said.

"To John and Mary. All good wishes for your special day. With love and many big…" Sherlock stopped to make a face first. "Big squishy cuddles, from Stella and Ted." Lestrade got quite a chuckle out of this. "Mary - lots of love…"

"Yeah?" pressed John.

"...poppet."

Now Mary and John were giggling.

"Oodles of love and heaps of good wishes from CAM. Wish your family could have seen this."

Emily gasped now. Scottie glanced over at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Is something wrong?" Stephen whispered.

"Cam," Emily tried to explain. "C-A-M, that's-"

Scottie sighed. "Yeah. I know. I'm mostly wondering why you didn't."

"Um, special day…" Sherlock proceeded, dropping another card into the table. "Very special day. Love, love, love, love, lo… Bit of a theme; you get the gist. People are generally fond. John Watson." Sherlock gestured to the man in question. "My friend, John Watson. John. When John first broached the subject of being best man, I was confused."

For half a second Scottie and Emily expected to be taken into a flashback of the event. They weren't, of course, and it was almost strange seeing the scene play out chronologically.

"I confess at first I didn't realize he was asking me. When finally I understood, I expressed to him that I was both flattered and… surprised. I explained to him that I'd never expected this request and I was a little daunted in the face of it. I nonetheless promised that I would do my very best to accomplish a task which was - for me - as demanding and difficult as any I had ever contemplated. Additionally, I thanked him for the trust he'd placed in me and indicated that I was, in some ways close to being… moved by it."

John made a confused sort of face from where he was seated beside Sherlock, as he very clearly did not remember any of this conversation taking place.

"It later transpired that I had said none of this out loud," Sherlock confessed. John laughed and was joined in by a few others. Now Sherlock reached into his jacket, cleared his throat yet again, and withdrew a small stack of cue cards, which he flipped through quickly. "Done that, done that, done that bit, done that bit, done that bit… Hm." The man looked up at the guests and then turned to John. "I'm afraid, John, I can't congratulate you. All emotions, and in particular love, stand opposed to the pure, cold reason I hold above all things. A wedding is, in my considered opinion, nothing short of a celebration of all that is false and specious and irrational and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world."

"Oh geez," Stephen said under his breath. "And you're actually close friends with this guy? Is he always like that?"

Emily shushed him.

"Today we honor the death-watch beetle that is the doom of our society and, in time - one feels certain - our entire species." Sherlock hesitated a moment before continuing. "But anyway… let's talk about John."

"Please," John said quietly.

"If I burden myself with a little help-mate during my adventures, it is not out of sentiment or caprice; it is that he has many fine qualities of his own that he has overlooked in his obsession with me."

Lestrade chuckled somewhat at this.

"Indeed, any reputation I have for mental acuity and sharpness comes, in truth, from the extraordinary contrast John so selflessly provides." John let out an exasperated sigh. From beside him Mary looked less than pleased at the direction Sherlock's speech was going in, but the detective went on as if he hadn't noticed: "It is in fact, I believe, that brides tend to favor exceptionally plain bridesmaids for their big day. There is certain analogy there, I feel" - now it was the Janine and the other bridesmaids' turns to look uncomfortable - "and contrast is, after all, God's own plan to enhance beauty of his creation. Or it would be if God were not a ludicrous fantasy designed to provide a career opportunity for the family idiot."

By this point both Mary and John were hiding their faces behind their hands. "Well. There are probably nicer ways of putting it, but he isn't necessarily wrong," Scottie shrugged and took a sip from his glass.

Emily narrowed her eyes at him. "Hey. Why don't you shut the fuck up, okay?"

"Guys," Stephen warned.

"The point I'm trying to make is that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all-round obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet," Sherlock spoke up again. "I am dismissive of the virtuous," he said, looking towards a vicar in the crowd, "unaware of the beautiful," he told Janine, and, finally to Mary and John again: "and uncomprehending in the face of the happy. So if I didn't understand I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anyone's best friend."

Molly and Lestrade exchanged glances at this news. "Oh my precious baby!" Scottie fangirled, making another grab for Emily's knee. "This is too much in person!"

"Oh my God will you stop!" she seethed, kicking him.

"Certainly not the best friend of the bravest and kindest and wisest human being I have every had the good fortune of knowing," Sherlock admitted. "John. I am a ridiculous man… redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of your friendship. But, as I'm apparently your best friend, I cannot congratulate you on your choice of companion."

A tense silence followed this last sentence as Sherlock let his smile fade into an almost grim expression. Scottie flexed his fingers a couple times, desperately wanting to keep holding onto Emily's leg throughout this scene but fighting the urge.

"I swear to God I will cut that hand off with my butterknife," she threatened, her voice low. Scottie squeaked a little and clung to the backside of his chair instead.

"Actually, now I can," decided Sherlock. He looked to Mary, who was smiling along with John now. "Mary, when I say you deserve this man, it is the highest compliment of which I am capable. John, you have endured war, and injury, and tragic loss… So sorry again about that last one," he added and leaned in. Sherlock straightened again, saying, "So know this: today you sit between the woman who you have made your wife and the man you have saved - in short, the two people who love you most in all this world. And I know I speak for Mary as well when I say we will never let your down, and we have a lifetime ahead to prove that."

Scottie was distracted by a whimper, and he turned over his shoulder to see Mrs. Hudson had started to tear up. And although arguably the loudest, she wasn't the only one; at their table Molly had started to sniffle, as well as several other guests spread out around the hall. Scottie turned his head to Emily and saw that now she, too, was blinking back tears. This amused him, and he rolled his eyes and lifted his head to Sherlock again.

"Ah, yes. Now on to some funny stories about John..." But now Sherlock, too, noticed the crying guests and started to look concerned by it. "What's wrong? What happened? Why are you all doing that? John?"

"Oh, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said tearfully.

"Did I do it wrong?" Sherlock asked the groom.

John stood up. "No, you didn't. Come here." The man pulled Sherlock into a hug, to which the audience began to applaud.

"I haven't finished yet," protested the best man.

"Yeah, I know. I know."

"So, on to some funny stories…" Sherlock tried again almost immediately after John had let go of him.

"Can you… Can you wait 'til I sit down?"

Looking embarrassed, Sherlock gave John time to take a seat again and the clapping gradually faded away. "So, on to some funny stories about John," he tried for a third and hopefully final time. John smiled up at him. "If you could all just cheer up a bit, that would" - a few people laughed out loud - "be better. On we go. So, for funny stories…" The detective reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. "One has to look no further than John's blog," he finished. John chuckled at this. "The record of our time together. Of course, he does tend to romanticise things a bit, but then, you know..." He threw a wink towards John and Mary as he said this. "He's a romantic. We've tackled some strange cases: The Hollow Client, The Poison Giant… The strangest of these, perhaps, being The Mystery Twins."

Sherlock stopped again, this time to cast a glance over to where Scottie and Emily were sitting, whose eyes had widened at his reference to them as they sunk further into their seats. "As I'm sure most of you have heard of by now, not all that long ago a couple of young individuals showed up quite literally out of nowhere with access to extensive knowledge pertaining to… well, certain things that came as a surprise even to me. Scottie and Emily have since stayed relatively close to me - all, well, three of us, in fact, and through little say of our own, mind you. Nearly drive us up the walls most days. I don't know how John does it, honestly. For instance…"


Scottie collapsed onto the couch beside Emily, who was steadily eating an entire box of Thin Mints from a case she'd purchased online a week before. They watched Sherlock alternate between mumbling to himself, doing his Mind Palace flail-dance, and fiddling with his laptop, all while John changed clothes and then made several cups of tea, offering Sherlock the occasional helpful comment as he passed.

"It feels so good, having the whole gang back together," Scottie sighed happily. "Just like it used to be. Only, y'know, with ten times as much angst."

"Mayday mayday, I feel a bad case of emotional musical number coming on," Emily said through a mouthful of cookie. Scottie tried to play it cool as she put away her box of Thin Mints, brushed her hands off on her jeans, and fished out her phone-but by the time she pressed a button and a cheerful instrumental number started blasting from the device, he had an obnoxious grin on his face.

Emily put the phone on the coffee table and jumped to her feet, suddenly energetic. "Okay, can I just-say something silly?" she asked. This caught the attention of John, who was standing in the kitchen.

Scottie stood as well, still grinning. "Nothing's stopped you before!"

Stepping over the table, the girl pirouetted into the middle of the living room and burst into song. "All my life was filled with platitudes and bad clichés... and then suddenly I am here with youuu!" She turned and slammed closed the sliding doors to the kitchen, right in John's face. He grumpily cracked them open again so he could watch the two teens, wondering what they were up to now.

"I was thinking the same thing!" Scottie shouted, following after his friend. Soon he was singing as well. "'Cause like, I've been searching my whole life for a less mundane day... and maybe it's the crime scenes talking, or a home that's brand new..."

Emily crooned, "Now with you..."

"Now with you," Scottie echoed. "Here's adventure!"

"I've true friendship!" Emily added.

They threw their arms around each other and began singing together, all while spinning excitedly in circles. "And it's nothing like I've ever known befoooore! London's an open door! London's an open... doooor! London's an open door-"

"With you," Emily sang, touching Scottie's face.

"With you," Scottie agreed, touching her face in return.

"With you!"

"With you!"

"London's an open door," they sang together. At that point, Scottie grabbed a pillow off the couch, while Emily took the one on John's chair, and they began chasing each other around battling with said pillows. Sherlock finally looked up from his computer to glare at the children and then at Emily's phone, which was still playing the cheerful music. He and John locked eyes and silently asked each other what was going on. Sherlock shrugged, and John shook his head.

Scottie suddenly halted his pillowy attack upon Emily's face and stood up straight. "I mean, it's crazy," he said.

"What?" John chimed in.

Emily nodded and said, "How we finish each other's-"

"References?" Sherlock offered.

"That's what I was gonna say!" Scottie exclaimed with a laugh.

Emily smiled and grabbed Scottie's arm. "I've never met someone-"

"-who thinks so much like me," Scottie sang with her. "Jinx!" they both shouted, and then, "Jinx again!"

The two children immediately snapped into stiff postures and started doing robot dances. "Our mental synchronization can have but one explanation!"

"You," Scottie sang.

"And I!" Emily added.

"Were..."

"Just..."

"Meant to beeee!" the teens sang together. They locked arms and once more danced around the living room. "Say goodbyeee to the angst of the past! We don't have to feel it anymoooore! London's an open door! London's an open... doooor! Life can be so much more!"

"With you," Emily sang, throwing an arm around Scottie's shoulders.

He put his arm around her as well. "With you!"

"Them too!" Emily dove onto John, giving him a bear hug.

Scottie quickly followed suit, clinging to Sherlock's waist. "Them too!"

"London's an open... dooooor," they sang at the same time.

"Can I say something crazy?" Scottie asked. "Will you socialize with me?"

"Can I say something even crazier?" Emily responded. "Yes!"

The two teens hugged warmly as the music finally faded to a close. John glanced up at Sherlock and mouthed the words "what the fuck?" Sherlock gave him a look that said to just ignore them, and then he went back to messing around on his computer.

"Nailed it," Scottie laughed, giving his friend a high five.


An "awww" mixed in with a few giggles rippled throughout the reception. Scottie peaked out from over the edge of the table and gave a little wave to the rest of the room, embarrassed. Smiling all the while, Stephen rubbed a hand over Emily's back and she glanced up, meeting his eyes. Scottie narrowed his own at this gesture, his overprotective BFF instincts kicking in.

"There's something new practically every day. Never ceases to amaze and, quite frankly, terrify me," Sherlock admitted. "But this isn't about them, per say. No. We want something… very particular for this special day, don't we?" Sherlock glanced down at his phone for a moment and then raised his head again towards his audience. "The Bloody Guardsman."

And now it was Stephen's turn to go pale.


"Oh, we already have a ring bearer, but I don't suppose you'd like to be the flower girl?" Mary offered.

"YES!" Emily let out excitedly.

"Isn't that usually what little kids do?" Scottie raised an eyebrow.

Emily elbowed him. "You shush."

Mary smiled, looking away to scribble something down on a notecard. "I also forgot to ask if you two will be needing plus ones for the wedding and reception?"

"Nope," Scottie answered.

"Just the reception," Emily said simultaneously.

Scottie made a face. "Why would you need a plus one? Blaise didn't say she was coming back, did she?"

"No. She didn't. If you must know, I'll be arriving with a date," Emily stated matter-of-factly.

"Oh good for you," exclaimed Mary. "And that fills up this table…"

"Need to work on your half of the church, Mary," Sherlock said, standing atop the couch. The wall in front of him was plastered with papers, complete with lists and labels and the like. "Looking a bit thin."

Mary peered over the cardboard 3D model of the church sitting on the table in front of her. "Ah, orphan's lot. Friends - that's all I have. Lots of friends."

Scottie still looked completely baffled at the previous news. "Now hold up, Emily! When did you have time to meet someone?"

"Schedule the organ music to begin at precisely 11:48," Sherlock interrupted.

"But the rehearsal's not for another two weeks. Just calm down."

"Calm? I am calm. I'm extremely calm," defended the less-than-calm Sherlock.

"Let's get back to the reception. Come on."

"I've been with you practically this entire time," Scottie went on.

"You see but you do not observe," Emily threw back teasingly.

"Could you pass the RSVPed invitations?" Sherlock asked, coming over to the table Mary was working at.

Emily looked up over her shoulder. "Who was that directed at?"

"The one who dropped a crisp on the floor earlier and ate it anyway."

Scottie let out an exaggerated gasp and looked on at Emily in horror. "FIVE SECOND RULE," the girl shouted defensively.

"YOU DISGUST ME."

"SHERLOCK. WHY."

"What?" the man asked uninterestedly, taking the stack of cards from Mary instead.

"YOU'RE TEARING THIS FAMILY APART."

But Mary and Sherlock hardly seemed to be paying attention to their shenanigans.

"John's cousin," the woman said. "Top table?"

"Hm." Sherlock turned the RSVP in his hands thoughtfully. "Hates you. Can't even bear to think about you."

"Seriously?" Mary looked up at him.

"Second class post, cheap card…" Sherlock sniffed at it and made a displeased face. "Bought at a petrol station. Look at the stamp - three attempts at licking. She's obviously unconsciously retaining saliva."

"Ah. Let's stick her by the bogs!"

"Oh yes."

"Hey, if you ever get married would I be your maid of honor or best man?" Emily asked Scottie suddenly.

The boy gave her a sort of funny look. "I really don't think that's something you need to be worrying about anytime soon."

"I'm just saying," she shrugged. "When I get married I'd probably find some kind of way to make you my… man of honor, or something."

"I like how when we're talking about you it's 'when'..."

"I didn't mean that to be offensive," Emily promised.

Scottie wrinkled his nose. "And yet..."

"My husband is three people," John read aloud from his phone. "It's interesting. Says he has three distinct patterns of moles on his skin."

"Identical triplets - one in half a million births," Sherlock shot back rapidly. "Solved it without leaving the flat. Now, serviettes." Sherlock pulled a tray holding two folded cloth napkins from the floor next to the coffee table and showed it to Mary. "Swan or Sydney Opera House?"

"Where'd you learn to do that?" Mary asked, sounding impressed.

"Many unexpected skills required in the field of criminal investigation-"

"Fibbing, Sherlock," Mary interrupted.

"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," Scottie and Emily said at the same time.

"Some accomplices you make," Sherlock muttered, shifting his eyes over to the both of them distrustingly.

"Opera House, please. Ooh, hang on, I'm buzzing…" Mary took out her cell phone and put it to an ear, beginning to stand. "Hello? Oh, hi, Beth!" John's eyes lifted as his fiance started for the kitchen with her call. "Yeah, yeah, don't see why not."

"Actually, if that's Beth, it's probably for me too," John said, getting to his feet. "Hang on." The doctor then followed Mary into the other room as Sherlock plopped down onto the floor beside Scottie and Emily in front of the coffee table.

The consulting detective took out a stack of neatly folded napkins and set them down in the center of their triangular arrangement. "You heard the lady," he said. "Sydney Opera House. Fold. Now."

"Wh-Why now?" Scottie asked, looking flustered.

"We're already in the middle of cataloguing flowers," Emily protested with a gesture to the flower shop booklets that were laid out in front of her.

"Less talking more folding," Sherlock mumbled, somehow having already just started on his third arrangement.

"I also don't remember how to do it," the girl went on.

"Oh for God's sake…" Sherlock scooted closer and tilted at an angle so that Emily could better see what he was doing. "Look. It's easy."

Emily yawned. "The elephant ones were cuter."

It was only a couple seconds longer before John was pushed back into the room.

"NO, THAT'S ALL WRONG!" Sherlock snapped, snatching the napkin away from Emily. "I told you, you have to hold it from this corner or else it's going look all sad and deflated in the back!"

"Your face looks sad and deflated!" Emily shot back, taking the napkin again and promptly smacking Sherlock across the face with it. Scottie was sitting less than a foot away and snickered into his sleeve.

"Wh… Sherlock!" John let out, causing the other man to turn and look up at him.

"Did you see that?" Sherlock asked in disbelief. "She hit me with a serviette."

"In which case you probably deserved it. But, um. Never mind that. Can I…" John glanced over his shoulder towards where Mary was still hiding out in the kitchen and faking her phone call. "Sherlock. Um. Mate. I-I've…" Sherlock stared back at John curiously as he stood up again. They both came over towards the living room table and had a seat at it.

"I've smelled eighteen different perfumes," John went on. "I've sampled… nine different slices of cake which all tasted identical. I like the bridesmaids in purple-"

"Lilac," Sherlock cut in.

"...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…" John leaned forward then to show Sherlock his phone from across the table. "Pick something. Anything. Pick one."

"Pick what?"

"A case. Your inbox is bursting. Just… get me out of here."

"You want to go on a case?" Sherlock asked, leaning forward and his voice dropping so that Scottie and Emily had to be extra quiet now to still hear. "N-Now?"

"Please, Sherlock. For me."

Sherlock took the phone now. "Don't worry about a thing. I'll get you out of this." He scrolled through his website messages for a moment before letting one catch his eye and letting out and "oh".

"Finally another case," Scottie said half to himself. "God knows I need to get out of the house."

"A phrase I never thought I'd hear coming from you," Emily smirked.

"You know, screw this wedding stuff, why don't we go out and solve a few cases ourselves? Just the ones Sherlock can't be bothered to look into himself. Like the good old days. Remember that?"

Emily shrugged. "I remember we weren't very good at it."

"Shush. We helped that elderly couple find their runaway tortoise, didn't we?"

"Well, it wasn't going very fast. And then proceeded to slip out under their backyard fence again while we were still present."

Scottie rubbed at the bottom of his chin thoughtfully. "Oh!" he let out, recalling something. "Okay, how about that one kid who hired us to find out is his parents were both having affairs, and then it turned out they had some weird hotel roleplay thing going on with each other?"

"Well it was kind of fun getting all Veronica Mars on theirs asses," the girl admitted. "Alright, fine. I guess I'm down to be the John to your Sherlock in a little freelance work."

"Yiss! Except after the Bloody Guardsman though, because I kind of still want to be there when that goes down."

As he was saying this Mary came back into the room and pretended to hang up the phone. Both men got to their feet hurriedly. "Er, we're just going to…" John started. "I need, um, Sherlock to help me choose some, er, socks."

"Ties," Sherlock finished at the same time.

"Why don't we go with socks?" Mary said, squinting between them.

"Yeah."

"I mean, you've got to get the right ones."

"Exactly! To go with my tie."

"Outfit," Sherlock once again overlapped with him.

Mary looked over to John. "That'll take a while, right?"

"My coat in there?" John asked with a point towards the kitchen.

"Yes!"

John went to fetch his coat. "Just going to take him out for a bit," Sherlock told Mary softly. "Run him."

"We wanna come too!" Scottie announced as he jumped up from the floor.

"A-Actually, you go on ahead," Emily told him with a wave of her hand. "There are a couple… girl things I wanted to discuss with Mary now that we've got the opportunity."

Scottie looked puzzled. "But… But I thought you loved shopping for… socks?"

"Yes, and there will be plenty of other times for us to go… sock shopping together."

Scottie's face melted into a pout. He knelt down next to her again, saying, "Okay I think we're on the same page but just to double check… You do know socks are a euphemism for the case, right?"

"Well typically in guard we'd use socks as a euphemism for pads for the sake of our male coach," she informed him, "but yes, I realize it's a case in this context."

"The Bloody Guardsman, in fact. So… what's the problem?"

"Maybe I just want to spend a little female bonding time with Mary. Is that alright with you?"

Scottie squinted suspiciously. "You're being weird again." Regardless, he got back to his feet.

"Come on, Sherlock," John called from the kitchen doorway.

"Coming," Scottie and Sherlock let out simultaneously on their way towards the front exit. Mary grinned and held a thumbs up out to both Sherlock and John, who couldn't see each other and assumed the gesture was to them exclusively. Emily scrambled to document the moment with a panoramic photo on her phone.

Mary looked round at Emily after the boys vanished from the flat. "And then there were two."

"It blurred a little," Emily frowned at the image on her screen. "Oh, that was clever what you did, though," she added, looking up. "So props."

"Thanks. So what kept you behind?"

"Can't a girl have her secrets?" Emily threw back playfully. "Now, where do you need me put to work next?"

Mary took a deep breath and scanned her eyes across the living room. "Actually," she said, "I think we've done about as much as we can around here. Now that the men are out of the picture, how does a mani-pedi sound? My treat."

Emily's eyes lit up. "Oh my god yes. Why aren't you my mom?"

"Alright, let's… not get carried away there," Mary laughed weakly.


A taxicab dropped the boys off within a block from the barracks. The three of them made their way up at wide set of stairs to the entrance, where John pulled out his wallet and showed a military ID card to the man who looked in charge.

"We're here to see Private Stephen Bainbridge," John told the duty sergeant.

The man took a look a long look at the wallet and then handed it back to its owner. "He's on duty now, sir, but I'll certainly let him know when he's free."

"And when will that be?"

"Another hour."

John nodded his thanks and he rejoined Sherlock and Scottie. "Plan B?" he asked.

"We wait," Sherlock said. "There's a park across the street."

"Ooh ooh can we have a picnic!" Scottie asked eagerly.

Sherlock made a face. "Um. No, but there's probably a coffee shop nearby."

"Aw. Never mind, then."

In another couple of minutes the three of them had migrated to the opposite side of the street and were were sitting on a park bench that faced the barracks. Scottie shifted his gaze from Sherlock to John, who were on opposite sides of him and kept their eyes fixed forward, watching the guardsmen on duty by the gates.

"Do you think they give them classes?" Sherlock wondered aloud.

"Classes?"

"How to resist the temptation to scratch their behinds."

Scottie snorted. "Afferent neurons in the peripheral nervous system," John muttered. Sherlock turned his head slightly. "Bum itch," clarified John.

"Oh."

There was a brief pause before Sherlock asked "So why don't you see him anymore?"

"Who?"

"Your previous commander. Sholto."

"Previous commander," John echoed.

Sherlock shut his eyes awkwardly. "I meant ex."

"Previous suggests that I currently have a commander," John pointed out.

"Which you don't."

"Plot twist: it me!" Scottie smiled.

John frowned down at the boy. "Which I don't."

Sherlock smiled a little and looked away. "'Course you don't. He was decorated, wasn't he? A war hero."

"Not to everyone," the doctor informed him. "He led a team of crows into battle."

"Crows?"

"New recruits," explained Scottie.

John nodded. "It's standard procedure; break the new boys in… But it went wrong. They all died. He was the only survivor. The press and the families gave him hell. He gets more death threats than you."

"Oh, I wouldn't count on that," the detective muttered.

"Why have you suddenly taken an interest in another human being?"

"I'm… chatting." John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock, who looked back at him from the corner of his eye. "Won't be trying that again."

"It cannot be seen, cannot be felt," Scottie carefully recited. "Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt…"

"Carbon monoxide," Sherlock said quickly.

"It lies behind stars and under hills, and empty holes it fills. It comes first and follows after.
Ends life, kills laughter."

The others were quiet for a minute. "Carbon monoxide," Sherlock tried again.

"Well you're not wrong," Scottie shrugged, "but no. That's not the answer to the riddle."

"I give up. What is it?" John asked.

"The dark," Scottie sighed.

"Hm. Alright, I've got one," John started and cleared his throat. "A box without hinges, key, or lid, yet golden treasure inside is hid."

"Corn," Sherlock said.

"An egg," Scottie answered at the same time.

"Scottie got it," John smiled.

"Wh… But my answer works too!" Sherlock protested.

Scottie made a small fist pump. "Aw yiss! Ten points to Hufflepuff! Ask me another one."

"Oh. Okay, um…" John press an index finger to his chin for a moment. "Alright." He made a gun shape with his hand and proceeded to point it back and forth from Sherlock to Scottie several times in no particular order, saying "bang" each time he lifted his hand.

"What." Sherlock said flatly.

"Who did I shoot?" John asked.

"Neither of us," Sherlock answered.

"Both... of us?" guess Scottie.

"It was Sherlock."

Scottie frowned. "I don't get it."

"Okay, let me try again." John repeated the act, this time in a completely different arrangement. "Who did I shoot?" he asked again.

"Was it me?" Scottie asked.

"Yes. Now how did you know?"

"I didn't," the boy admitted. "I just took the 50% chance."

John sighed. "I think it works better with more people, but… Alright, once more."

"Let's not," Sherlock stopped him. "Unless… Is it by any chance whoever speaks first, regardless of the little show you put on?"

"Oh look, you got one," John laughed.

"Ooh! My turn again!" Scottie announced. He turned around in bench and pointed to a tree behind them. "Emily showed me this one. Okay, a line from that tree to me is a good line. But a line from that tree to John is a bad line."

John furrowed his brows. "Wh-Why?"

"Furthermore, a line from Sherlock to that pigeon over there is a bad line. But, okay, a line from John to the pigeon is a good line."

"So… Am I trying to figure out how to make a good line?" asked John.

"Essentially. Yes."

"Is a line from… me to you a good line?"

"No?"

"How about a line from you to me?"

"Also no."

John made a face. "Okay. A line from… the bench to the barracks?"

"Yes."

"Wait really?"

Scottie nodded.

"Well. Regardless I'm still not any closer to knowing why," John sighed. "Wait where did Sherlock go?" he asked suddenly and leaned forward. Scottie, too, looked around and didn't see their third companion anywhere in the immediate vicinity.

Presuming that he taken off to have a look inside the barracks, Scottie and John crossed the street again and went in front of the building, where they found another officer who was able to direct them to an office inside belonging to a man called Major Reed. There was only one chair opposite the man's desk, which John took, resorting Scottie to standing a little ways behind.

John took his ID out and handed it to Major Reed. "Can I ask what this is in connection with?" Reed asked, glancing up from the card after having read it.

"Private Bainbridge contacted us about a personal matter, sir," John explained.

"Nothing's personal when it concerns my troops," the other man grunted. "What do you really want?"

"I'm here on a legitimate enquiry."

Reed squinted. "Press? Digging for some bloody Royal story or something?"

Scottie pointed towards the card. "No, sir, he's Captain John Hamish 'Three Continents' Watson."

John wrinkled his nose. "Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers," he finished for him.

"Retired," Reed reminded him. "You could be a used car salesman now on Take Your Son to Work Day, for all I know."

"Ooh, sudden Fargo flashbacks," Scottie cringed.

John looked back at him questioningly. "Fargo?"

Major Reed narrowed his eyes at John. "I know you, don't I?" he asked.

"Hm?" John turned his head back towards the man.

Tossing John's card across the table back at him, Reed went on, "I've seen you in the papers." John picked the ID back up and put it into his wallet. "Hang around with that detective - the one with the silly hat. What the hell does Bainbridge want with a detective?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say."

"You're not at liberty to say!" huffed Reed. "He's a soldier in my regiment - I'll be damned if he's going to get up to cloak and dagger nonsense like this."

But their conversation was interrupted by the same duty sergeant from before, who hurried into the room and was now out of breath and panicked. "Sir..."

"What's going on?" demanded Reed.

"It's Bainbridge, sir. He's dead."

Major Reed went pale and jumped up from his seat, following the sergeant out without so much as a word in edgewise. John stood and he and Scottie hurried after them. The group was lead to a shower room, where they could now see Stephen lying across the floor, face-down on top of broken glass and surrounded by a puddle of water and blood.

"Oh my God!" choked Reed. John tried to come closer to the body but was blocked by Major Reed, who held out an arm.

"Ah, no, let me take a look, sir," John tried. "I'm a doctor."

"What? Sergeant, arrest this man."

The duty sergeant took John's arm and twisted it behind his back. "What? No, no!" John yelped. "I'm a - I'm a doctor!"

"Oh, you're a doctor now, too. Sergeant…" Reed nodded towards the door. "The other one's bound to follow."

A second sergeant came in then with Sherlock, restricting him in a similar manner. "Sir, caught this one snooping around," he said.

Reed looked to John accusingly. "Is that what this was all about? Distracting me so that this man could get in and kill Bainbridge?"

"Don't be…"

Sherlock jerked himself free and started towards Stephen. He was almost immediately reigned back in by the man who had brought him and was now pulling at both his arms.

"Kill him with what?" Sherlock spat at Reed, ignoring the guy behind him. "Where's the weapon?"

"What?"

"Where's the weapon? Go on, search me." Sherlock pulled away again and put his arms out wide. "No weapon."

"Bainbridge was on parade," John explained. "He came off duty five minutes ago. When's this supposed to have happened?"

"You obviously stabbed him before he got into the shower," Reed concluded, looking at Sherlock.

"How could he have?" Scottie spoke up. "The guy's already undressed with shampoo in his hair. Plus, these kinds of showers lock from inside - that's why it's broken open. If Sherlock were in with him then he'd be soaking wet!"

"There you go," Sherlock gestured to Scottie.

"Major, please," John said loudly. "I'm John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Three years in Afghanistan, a veteran of Kandahar, Helmand, and Bart's bloody Hospital. Let me examine this body."

After a long and comfortable silence, Reed looked up from Stephen and nodded to the duty sergeant to release John.

"Thank you," the doctor breathed as he removed his jacket and set it down on a nearby bench. He walked over to Stephen and crouched beside him.

"Suicide?" the duty sergeant asked Sherlock quietly.

"No. The weapon again - no knife." After finishing his thought Sherlock bent over to have a look inside the shower and then squated in front of Stephen's body. John was already having a look at the man's backside.

"It'll just… be over here," Scottie said awkwardly, shuffling towards the bench to have a seat. It wasn't necessarily that the scenario made him in any way queasy, but for the time being Scottie didn't know how he could possibly be of any help, and in this case being in the way meant less time to save Stephen.

"Hm. There is a wound to the abdomen," John was saying. "Incredibly fine."

Sherlock watched him with interest. "Man stabbed to death. No murder weapon. Door locked from the inside. Only one way in or out of here."

John had moved closer to Stephen's head and opened one of his eyes. "Sherlock."

"Mm?"

"He's still breathing."

"Oh my God," the duty sergeant realized.

"What do we do?" Sherlock panicked to John.

"Give me your scarf."

"What?"

"Quickly now." Sherlock did as he was told and started unwrapping his scarf. John looked at the other men. "Call an ambulance," he instructed.

"What?" the other sergeant blinked.

"CALL AN AMBULANCE NOW." John pointed toward the door. "DO IT!"

Both sergeants took off and John pressed the scarf against Stephen's wound. He glanced up at Sherlock and grabbed his hand, setting it back down over the scarf. "Nurse, press here," he instructed. "Hard."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "Nurse?"

"Yeah, I'm making do. Keep pressure on that wound. Stephen. Stephen, stay with me."


Stephen shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Emily glanced over at him, seeming to ask 'You okay?' with her eyes. The man nodded back.

"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?" Sherlock paused to look round at the guests of the reception, who were all listening intently. "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?"

Several people exchanged glances, perhaps wondering who - or if anyone at all - would speak up.

"Come on, come on, there is actually an element of Q and A to all of this," the best man urged. More silence. Sherlock decided to call on someone himself: "Scotland Yard!" Lestrade lifted his head. "Have you got a theory?"

Lestrade blinked back at him owlishly but said nothing.

"Yeah, you. You're a detective - broadly speaking. Got a theory?"

The D.I. shifted uncomfortably. "Er, um, if the, uh, if the… if-if-if, if the blade was, er, propelled through the, um… grating in the air vent… maybe a-a ballista or a - or a - or a catapult? Erm, somebody tiny could… could crawl in there." Lestrade sucked in a sharp breath. "So, yeah, we're loo… We're looking for a-a-a-a dwarf."

"Brilliant," Sherlock responded slowly.

"Really?"

"No. Next!"

"He stabbed himself," Tom suddenly whispered to Molly.

"I did not!" Stephen scoffed, turning in his seat.

"Hello? Who was that?" Sherlock looked out at the crowd and then spotted the man who had spoken. "Tom. Got a theory?"

Tom swallowed and slowly got to his feet. "Um… attempted suicide," he guessed. Stephen stiffened at this, but Emily took his hand in her own from under the table and squeezed it. "With a blade made of compacted blood and bone; broke after piercing his abdomen, like a meat… dagger."

A few snickers could be heard at this theory. Molly looked away, embarrassed by her fiance.

"A meat dagger," echoed Sherlock.

"Yes."

"Sit. Down." Molly seethed through gritted teeth.

"No," Sherlock told him. Tom shifted awkwardly and sunk back into his chair.

Before Sherlock could continue, however, Scottie suddenly shot his hand up into the air.

"Scottie no. Bad Scottie. Whatever you're thinking, stop that." But the boy ignored Emily and kept his hand up above his head and waving about.

"Yes? Scottie?" Sherlock asked, noticing. "Do you have a theory?"

"Oh hell," Emily exhaled and put her head in her hands.

"Well you said that the Bloody Guardsman couldn't possibly have been in the same place as the attack," Scottie said loudly, trying his best to look like he was guessing at the answer rather than reciting what he already knew. Stephen cringed once more at the nickname but didn't correct him this time. "What if he was attacked before getting into the shower?"

"How so?" Sherlock asked, slightly intrigued.

"Say a needle-like sword. Something he wouldn't notice at first, stuck in through, perhaps... his belt, from the back? And then when it was removed it would open the wound, causing him to bleed out!"

Sherlock pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment before dismissing his theory as well. "I admire your creativity, but again I'm going to have to say no."

Emily let her hands drop to the table and snapped her head up at the best man with a look of complete and utter disbelief. "Seriously?"

"There was one feature, and only one feature, of interest in the whole of this baffling case," Sherlock continued, "and quite frankly it was the usual. John Watson - who, while I was trying to solve the murder, instead saved a life. There are mysteries worth solving and stories worth telling. The best and bravest man I know - and on top of that he actually knows how to do stuff…" Sherlock looked down at John who laughed a little, perhaps embarrassed. "Except wedding planning and serviettes. He's rubbish at those."

"True!" John admitted. A laugh rippled throughout the room.

"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…"

"No, no, wait," Lestrade interrupted. "So how was it… How was it done?"

"How was what done?"

"The stabbing."

"I'm afraid I don't know," Sherlock admitted shamefully. "I didn't solve that one. That's… It can happen sometimes. It's very… very disappointing."

"EXCEPT I DO!" Scottie shouted and threw his hand up again.

"Scottie!" Emily hissed.

Sherlock frowned at this. "Um. No, we already dismissed your theory. But thanks again."

Now Scottie leaned over the tabletop to face Lestrade and said rather loudly "DETECTIVE INSPECTOR, I WILL BET YOU TEN POUNDS THAT HE'S WRONG AND MY THEORY IS CORRECT."

"Okay, you're on," mused Lestrade.

Sherlock clenched a fist at his side and took a moment to steady his breathing before going on as if he hadn't been interrupted. "Embarrassment! 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..."

TO BE CONTINUED...