Emily and Scottie were curled up on top of each other on the couch and marathoning Gravity Falls when John suddenly swung his head into the living room.
"Well? Aren't you getting ready?"
Scottie leaned forward and paused the show, which made Emily moan a bit at her sudden loss of the pillow his shoulder had been providing. "For what?" he asked.
"My… stag night. I thought that was obvious?"
"You want us at your stag night?" Emily questioned.
"Well. Yeah," the man admitted, stepping in all the way. "Otherwise it'll just be Sherlock and I, which wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, but it isn't much of a party."
Emily looked at Scottie, who shrugged, and then back at John. "I'm a girl though. Are you sure that's appropriate?"
"I mean. Okay, so it goes against the spirit of a traditional stag night but. Please? For me?"
"Are you sure we should be even going into bars?" Scottie whispered to his friend.
Now Emily rolled her eyes and looked back at him. "Scottie please. We're in the UK, remember? And do you know what's illegal in the UK? That's right. Practically nothing."
"Actually I can name quite a few things," John muttered half to himself.
"We're coming!" Emily announced happily for the both of them and used her weight against Scottie to push herself up.
"No they're not," Sherlock disagreed, coming in from the kitchen.
"Sherlock, we talked about this. It's my stag night. If I say I want them there then they're going to be there."
"Not all that ago you were saying you didn't want anything to do with them!" the detective protested.
"Not all that…" John started to echo. "Sherlock, it's been eight months. A lot has changed since then. 'Sides, if you'll remember, half a year ago I didn't want anything to do with you either."
"Fine," Sherlock gave in bitterly. "But they'd better not make us late. I want to be out the door in five."
"Oh, relax, would you?" John sighed.
Without waiting for either of them to change their minds, Scottie and Emily took off downstairs to change out of the pajamas they'd been wearing for the entirety of the day thus far. It was really closer to ten minutes before the two of them rejoined Sherlock and John on the landing outside of 221C, with Emily having to redo her makeup and pick out jewelry while Scottie was practically in and out.
"We're ready!" Emily announced, hopping over on one foot as she tried to zip up her boots at the same time.
"Fuckin' finally," Scottie grumbled.
Sherlock whirled around and gave the girl a disapproving once-over. "Oh, no no no no. What are you wearing?"
"A… jacket? And scarf? Because it's… cold outside and going to get dark soon?"
"Absolutely not. Go change."
Emily threw her hands out to the side indignantly. "Wh-Why?!"
"I think you know why," the detective accused.
"This is unfair," Emily pouted. "First John wouldn't let me out of the flat in that new sweater I bought and now Sherlock isn't okay with me wearing a scarf that's in the same color range as his."
"Your entire backside was exposed," John reminded her.
"Oh, God forbid anyone see the clasp of my bra! It's called fashion, John. Look it up."
"What are you talking about?" Scottie chuckled. "John knows about fashion. Haven't you seen him model this jumper collection line? There's oatmeal edition, inmate edition-"
"Okay yes that's quite enough out of you," John said.
"At least exchange it for your pink one," begged Sherlock. "With the hibiscus print."
"I thought you said we were in a time crunch?"
"Emily."
"I'll be back," the girl exhaled and scurried back down the stairs into her own flat.
Once the four of them had reached their first destination, Sherlock told them to wait for him at a table. The consulting detective returned shortly struggling to carry four rather sizeable graduated cylinders full of beer.
"Ah..." John breathed, looking at the cylinders skeptically.
"Um. Is now a bad time to mention I don't drink?" Scottie asked as Sherlock set them down in front of them.
"Oh come on, live a little!" Emily laughed as she took one of the cylinders and had a sip. As soon as it touched her lips, however, her face scrunched up and she struggled to swallow it. "Ugh, that's horrible!" Emily choked and wiped her mouth with a sleeve.
"It's... not really about the taste," John told her.
"Then what the fuck is the point of drinking?"
"Told you they shouldn't have come," Sherlock mumbled as he took out his phone and set a timer on an app he'd opened.
John took up his own cylinder and glanced over at the device. "What, are we on a schedule?"
"You'll thank me later." With a smile, he clinked his cylinder against John's and they both took a drink.
Emily had since gone back to the bar herself and returned with a normal class of Sprite and an empty cup. After dividing the soda into two, she carefully carefully set them down on the table to begin pouring a bit of the cylinder's contents into each and then had a sip. "Okay, this I can do," she said with a satisfied nod. Emily took the other glass and held it out towards Scottie. "Wanna try some?"
"I'll pass," he answered.
John frowned at her concoction. "Why would you…?"
"Because this way I can't taste it as much but I'm still technically drinking."
"That sounds like a great way to get very drunk without realizing how much you've had," Sherlock commented.
"Not with how slow I drink it!" Emily took another another very small sip and pursed her lips.
About a half hour and four or five bars later, Sherlock and John had had quite a bit to drink already. With her strategy Emily was only slightly tipsy, and Scottie remained entirely sober. Sherlock and John finished the last of their current round of beers and set the cylinders down in front of themselves with a grimace.
"Over there," Sherlock said above the loud music, pointing past John.
"What?" John leaned in.
"Toilets. Any second now, you're going to-"
"Hang on, tell me after," John shouted back, lowering Sherlock's arm. "I need the loo."
"Mm, on schedule," Sherlock mumbled.
"Eh?"
"Nothing - go!" As John stumbled off in the direction of the bathrooms, Sherlock went back to adjusting charts on his phone.
"Dance with me," Emily let out suddenly and started tugging at the man's coat sleeve.
"What?"
"I said dance with me," she pleaded, practically yelling over the music. "I love this song."
"...you don't know this song."
"You wanted me to come, so c'mon and dance with me!"
"But I didn't want you to come."
Clearly Emily couldn't hear him, because she shouted back "Yeah, that's the spirit!" and jerked him away from the table by the crook of his arm. Sherlock threw a helpless look to Scottie, who merely shrugged back at him gave a playful wave with her fingers.
John returned several minutes later and stopped in front of the table he'd last seen Sherlock at, his brows furrowed.
"He's dancing with Emily," Scottie told him in a raised voice. "And he's a lot better than her, evidently."
At first John didn't seem to believe the kid, but then he saw that this was, in fact, the case and briefly wondered if his friend was more drunk than he had previously thought. Their next stop was a karaoke bar. Much to everyone's surprise John was the one to suggest they perform a group number, and he picked out Paradise by the Dashboard Light. Sherlock and Scottie both didn't know the song, so they opted out, and the resulting combination wasn't entirely appropriate but still amusing nonetheless.
"Ain't no doubt about it," John and Emily sang into the same microphone, even though Emily had one of her own that she was holding down. "Baby, got to go out and shout it! Ain't no doubt about it, we were double blessed!"
"'Cause we were barely seventeen and we were barely dressed!" John finished the chorus. Grinning widely, John went back up to the screen feeding him the lyrics and went on: "Baby, don't you hear my heart? You got it drowning out the radio. I've been waiting so long for you to come and have some fun…"
"Well this is fun," Sherlock said, having to speak up over the karaoke music. He joined Scottie at the table, having brought him over a tray of nachos.
"I actually can't remember ever hearing John sing before," Scottie commented. "He's quite good."
"Beats having to sit through him getting a lapdance, in any case."
Scottie laughed and took one of the nachos. "So when's your solo?"
"Nice try," Sherlock chuckled.
"Though it's cold and lonely in the deep dark night, I can see paradise by the dashboard light. Though it's cold and lonely in the deep dark night, I can see paradise by the dashboard light…"
More time passed, and with it the group migrated through more than one additional bar. Sherlock and John had since moved on from beer and now filled their cylinders with slightly stronger alcohol. At the same time Scottie took the liberty of continually replacing each of Emily's drinks with pure soda as often as possible, which she didn't even seem to notice and in turn made Scottie a little concerned.
By the time they'd reached the final pub they would go to that night, Sherlock and John were just about plastered. The more time went on the more everyone in the group but Scottie seemed to be enjoying themselves. The lights, blasting Dubstep and mass of intoxicated people put the boy on edge, and Scottie had resorted to keeping watch from the ends of the room, his arms folded over his stomach and watching the party atmosphere with various looks of disgust.
Emily was sitting at the bar and apparently getting friendly with a complete stranger who had to be in the same age range as her. Scottie stiffened but ultimately decided not to get involved. He turned his head towards Sherlock, who was in the midst of a semi-heated conversation with another patron. A middle-aged woman with electric blue hair stumbled right into Scottie then, causing him to teeter backwards for a moment before regaining balance.
"Sorry," he apologized, even though the event clearly wasn't his fault. This woman probably needed to slow it down on the alcohol intake as well.
"Hey, you're actually kinda cuuute," the woman slurred, running her finger down the boy's front.
At this Scottie internally panicked and went to break up Emily's social interaction, but by the time he got to the bar Scottie realized that she was no longer sitting at its counter. By the time he relocated the girl, he found her exiting the building with the stranger's arm around her. Scottie squeaked and darted after them. Unfortunately, in his pursuit he bumped into not one, but three different people, the last of which spilled some of their nasty-smelling booze down his shirt. Scottie let out a whine but instead of confronting the other person about it kept going forward.
"GOD DAMNIT EMILY!" Scottie yelled as soon as he got outside.
His friend stopped at the mention of her name. "There you are. This is, um… This is…" She looked up at the man she was with questioningly.
"Jacob," he reminded her.
"Okay yeah this is Jacob," Emily in turn told Scottie. "He's really sweet. He's taking me to a party!" For some reason Emily must've found this funny, because she began laughing.
"No he's not," Scottie said sternly.
"Wh-Why not?" the girl's giggling trailed off.
"Because, this is John's bachelor party and I'm not about to let you go home with some creepy guy you just met!"
"Hey, why don't you piss off and let her make her own decisions?" Jacob grunted.
Scottie glowered back at him. "Emily. Can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Aw but mooooooom," Emily pouted.
Ignoring her protests, Scottie took the girl by the end of her sleeve and pulled her several feet away from her new friend. Although she wasn't necessarily resisting, Emily appeared to be unable to walk in a straight line, which wasn't helping much either. Once he felt a safe enough distance away from the stranger, Scottie raised his eyes at Emily in a sort of 'what the fuck do you think you're getting into now' sort of way.
"No, shh," Emily blurted out before Scottie even started to speak. She touched his lips with an index finger. "Listen. Okay? Are you listening?"
Scottie swatted her hand away. "Can you seriously not?"
"Listen. I've only known Josh-"
"Jacob."
"-Jacob for twelve minutes tops but we're soulmates."
Scottie narrowed his eyes at her and then just decided it easier to drop the whole thing. "Okay, fuck it. Just do what you want," he breathed.
Emily straightened. "...wait really?"
"Yes. You're an adult and I am not getting paid to play babysitter to a grown-ass woman."
Emily shifted uncomfortably. Now she wasn't sure that he was playing at. "That's really irresponsible of you, though," she pointed out. "Letting a drunk person go home with a stranger, regardless of how physically attractive he is."
"YOU AREN'T EVEN DRUNK!" Scottie finally exploded. "YOU'VE BEEN DRINKING NOTHING BUT SPRITE FOR THE LAST HOUR!"
"I'm not...?" Emily put her tongue to her cheek for a moment. "Well this is a tad embarrassing."
"Oi! What's the hold up, bitch?" Jacob called from behind them.
"Sorry Josh!" Emily shouted back at him from over her shoulder, despite the fact that he wasn't far away at all. "Turns out we are not, in fact, soulmates."
Right on cue Sherlock and John stumbled out of the bar. Sherlock was in the midst of rambling on about ash and continually teetered back and forth like he was bound to collapse any moment now. "Aw geez. I'm gonna call a cab," Emily decided, already pulling out her phone.
"H-Hold up…" Stephen started, glancing sidelong at Emily. "How long ago was this, exactly?"
She tilted her head back. "What does it matter?"
"Well, Sherlock says he saw you hitting it off with a guy at one of the pubs. Was this before I met you or-"
"C-Can we not talk about this now?" Emily requested, looking flustered suddenly.
"Even if I promise I won't get mad…?"
"I was drunk," Emily hissed, lowering her voice. "Now shut and listen to the man's story."
Scottie rolled his eyes. "Oy vey."
Once they'd gotten back to 221 Baker Street, Sherlock and John came in first but didn't make it much further than that. Almost immediately Sherlock dropped to his knees and started trying to climb up the stairs on all fours. But even this task proved too difficult for the time being, and so Sherlock rolled onto his side facing the railing.
"Naptime," he muttered and closed his eyes.
John didn't seem to find anything wrong with this, and so he settled down on the stairs next to him and with his back pressed against the wall.
"Guess we're waiting around here for a bit," Scottie muttered and slid down against the wall at the foot of the stairs. Emily, in turn, went around to the actual armchair out on the landing and claimed it for herself.
They were all quiet for some time before Sherlock softly said "I have an international reputation." John's eyes fluttered open and then closed again as he shifted positions. "Do you have an international reputation?" Sherlock asked, lifting his head to try and look back.
"No, I don't have an international reputation," John told him.
"No."
"I once was internet famous for a Twilight fan fiction series?" Emily offered. Scottie looked at her judgingly through the stairs' railing. "It was a dark time."
"And I can't even remember what for," Sherlock went on, his eyes still shut. "Sss… Crimes… something or other."
The door to 221A swung open then and Mrs. Hudson came out carrying a trash bag. "Ooh!" the women let out upon seeing the group lounging about in the landing. "What are you doing back? I thought you were going to be out late."
"Ah, Hudders," Sherlock slurred. "What time is it?"
His landlady glanced down at her watch. "You've only been out two hours."
At this John and Sherlock tried to stand at the same time. Unfortunately they were wedged too closely together and Sherlock almost immediately fell back down again, sliding down a step.
"Oh dear, don't tell me you all our wasted already!" Mrs. Hudson scoffed.
"Just those two," Emily told her. "Don't worry, we'll keep an eye on them."
"Alright. Well, I hope you had fun, at least."
Scottie stood and told her that they did, and after nodding to them Mrs. Hudson continued taking out the trash. Emily got up and the teenagers did their best to help Sherlock and John up the stairs without either of them tumbling back down them again, which proved to be more challenging than they'd originally assumed.
Once Sherlock and John had been successfully shepherded into the living room Sherlock suddenly declared that they ought to play a game, but hadn't the faintest idea what said game should be. John suggested what apparently is know as the 'rizla game' in the U.K., but Emily knew it from the app as Head's Up and Scottie was familiar with the game but not aware of it having any formal title. They four of them each wrote a name on their own Post-It and handed it off to another player, then Sherlock and John climbed into their respective armchairs and Scottie and Emily pulled up chairs between them to form a circle.
"Am I a vegetable?" John asked.
Sherlock, still holding a glass of whiskey, pointed to John with his free hand and squinted. "You or the thing?" They both snickered at this.
"Funny!" John let out.
"Thank you."
"Come on."
"No, you're not a vegetable," Sherlock told him, his words coming out a bit jumbled together.
"It's your go," John turned to Scottie. He picked up his own glass and took a sip.
The boy pursed his lips and looked round at the names written on Post-Its that were stuck to his friends' foreheads. John had picked his, but that didn't really help narrow it down. "Am I a male?" he asked, figuring it was the best place to start.
"Yes," the others said at once, one with a little more conviction than the rest.
"So, I'm a person, then?"
"Oi! One question per turn," Emily reminded him. "Now it's you, Sherlock."
"Okay…" The detective blinked a couple times. "Er… Am I human?"
John opened his mouth to answer, then shut it again, frowning at Sherlock's Post-It, which read Benadryl Cantaloupe. "I don't…" he started to say, shaking his head with a bewildered look.
"Okay, technically no," Scottie tried to clarify, "but in this case yes."
"No, no, can't do that," Sherlock argued. "Has to be, um…" The man trailed off and sat up a little more in his armchair.
"You're human," Emily confirmed with a glare towards Scottie, who snorted. "I told you that was a terrible idea," she lectured, her voice lower now. "He's never going to get it even if it had been written the right way. It's literally impossible."
"Shhhhh I'm hilarious," Scottie chuckled.
"...yes or no…" Sherlock finished his sentence very late. "Okay." He leaned forward. "And am I a man?"
"Jesus Christ no one follows the rules," Emily sighed frustratedly. "Fine! Ask however many fucking questions you want on your turn, completely ruin the flow of the game! See if I care!"
John shrugged in response to Sherlock's question.
"Yes," Scottie told him.
"Tall?"
John kept shaking his head and had another sip.
"Wait, Sherlock wrote mine, right?" Emily asked. "Am I by any chance… Madonna?"
John spit out his drink and Sherlock's eyes widened. "HOW" the doctor demanded, whiskey now dripping from his chin.
"I'm psychic," Emily replied matter-of-factly.
"Must've seen me… writing…" Sherlock decided and relaxed back into his seat.
"You're not psychic, you're a piece of shit," Scottie informed her in the same tone.
"Haters gonna hate, but I fucking won in one round and you didn't, bitch."
"Yes, congrats. You finally won a thing by cheating. You must be so proud."
Now it was John's turn to ask another question. The man took another swig, uncrossed his legs and inched forward so far that in his drunken stupor he thought he was going to fall off and grabbed hold of Sherlock's knee in order to keep from doing so. He used the knee to push himself back and looked at his hand. "I don't mind," he announced, holding both hands out now and shrugging. Sherlock also shrugged.
"Gaaaaaay," Scottie whispered.
"Am I a woman?" John asked.
Sherlock glanced over at Emily - whose full name was currently on John's forehead - and said "Yes." Emily squinted back at him, perhaps wondering why he had to look and being drunk was not a good enough excuse.
John shifted a little. "Am I… pretty?" He pointed up at his Post-It. "This." John then immediately melted so that he was struggling to hold his head up with a fist. Emily blinked and looked to Sherlock expectantly, like she already knew the answer.
"Er… Er, beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences and role models," the man slurred.
"Yeah, but am I a pretty lady?" pressed John.
Sherlock turned back to Emily and stared for almost too long. He was joined in by Scottie. Once finished, Sherlock and Scottie exchanged glances and went "ehhhhhhhh" with wiggly hand gestures. Offended, Emily snatched up Sherlock's glass and splashed the remainder of it in his face. Sherlock sprung up at this with a gasp, but before he had time to even get angry with her, John started chuckling and made a sort of snorting noise. Sherlock also laughed and threw himself down again. His now wet Post-It fluttered off in the process and he stuck it back on without peeking at it before starting to wipe at his face with a sleeve.
Scottie thought for a moment. "Is mine Sherlock Holmes?"
"Points for effort, but no," Emily snickered. "John picked a different one for you."
"...is mine Scottie Lewis?"
"Nope."
"Fuck, I don't know, gimme a hint," Scottie requested.
"But you've barely asked any questions," Emily pointed out.
"I don't care. I still demand a hint."
"He's..." John started to tell Scottie. "With a… with…" He cupped his hands over his ears which was virtually no help to anyone in the room.
Emily looked up at Scottie's name: Brian Griffith. "Think Cabin Pressure," she tried to help him. "The first game they played."
"BRIANS OF BRITAIN!"
"And Bing-o was his name-o."
"I think that's cheating," John clicked his tongue, as if he weren't really sure if that was the case or not.
"Okay, um… Brian Blessed. Brian Eno. Brian Perkins."
"Did you memorize those?" Emily asked, not sure if she was impressed or worried.
"...no," Scottie looked away sheepishly.
Emily sighed. "Don't you think it would be easier to just list some famous Brians and hope you get lucky?"
"No," Scottie informed her. "No. It really wouldn't. OH!" His eyes widened as an idea formed. "Is it Brian Lukis?"
Emily frowned. "Who?"
"You know, the guy from Sherlock. Who got murdered by Soo Lin's brother in Blind Banker."
Sherlock had to do a double take as he wasn't entirely sure he'd actually just heard Scottie say this. Emily continued to stare back at her friend without any sign of recognition.
"He was like, in the first ten seconds of the episode?" the boy tried again.
"Episode," John echoed slowly. He puckered his lips and looked down at his drink distrustingly before setting it down ever so slowly.
"What's one of his lines?" Emily asked.
"Lines..." Sherlock now repeated, looking every bit as concerned.
Scottie shrugged. "Well he didn't speak at all except for agonized screams as he got murdered."
"Yeah I don't know but it isn't him." Emily leaned back in her seat and decided to give up.
"Brian Epstein!" Scottie exclaimed.
"What?"
"He was John Lennon's gay best friend who was often considered the fifth Beatle and-"
"Okay Wikipedia, calm down," Emily promptly shushed him with a wave of her hand. "You're not… whoever that was either."
"Give me another hint, then."
"I… I don't know yours. Ask John. He came up with it.'
"Oh great," Scottie grumbled. "So it's probably some old guy neither of us have ever heard of."
"You're a… you're a dog," John clarified. "You're cartoon… a cartoon dog. Like... 'ruh roh'... That one. But… not."
"What the… Why did no one tell me it was a dog?"
Emily shrugged. "Well don't look at me! I didn't know that!"
Scottie folded his arms and slumped back in his seat. "Well, great. Now I'm really stumped. A dog named Brian… Does it seriously have a last name or is it just fucking Brian because I swear to God, Emily."
Sherlock's Post-It came loose again and this he looked down at it sitting in his lap. Sherlock blinked, picking up the soggy Post-It and holding it close to his face now. "Wait a… Are you telling me, some poor bloke is really named… Benadryl fucking Cantaloupe?"
"Benedict Cumberbatch," Emily sighed, rubbing a face over her hand. "His real name is Benedict Cumberbatch."
"Like that's any better!" Sherlock sounded genuinely distressed. Emily nearly fell out of her chair at this.
"We are one with the fourth wall," Scottie whispered.
There was a knock at the front door. John, who had apparently just started to doze off, lifted his head again in a quick, jerky motion. "Ooh-ooh!" Mrs. Hudson called from the doorway. "Client!"
"Hallo," John let out groggily at the woman who was standing beside the landlady.
Sherlock gave a little wave and he, too, said "Hallo!"
Mrs. Hudson dismissed herself. "Come on," John told the stranger, gesturing into the room.
"Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?"
John grinned most winningly back at her and made a noise not unlike a tea kettle going off as he pointed towards Sherlock, who smiled and waved yet again.
"Is this a bad time?" the woman asked hesitantly. Sherlock and John assured her that it wasn't the entirety of the group migrated over to the couch, at least remembering to move their Post-Its first. The woman, whose name turned out to be Tessa, pulled up one of the chairs they'd been using for herself and began her story.
"I don't… a lot… I mean, I don't… date all that much," Tessa muttered. "And… he seemed… nice, you know? We seemed to automatically connect. We had one night - dinner, such interesting conversation. It was… lovely. To be honest, I'd love to have gone further, but I thought, 'No, this is special; let's take it slowly, exchange numbers'."
As Tessa spoke, Sherlock and John seemed to be drifting in and out of sleep and shifted positions several times. Scottie and Emily even started to feel embarrassed by them, but Tessa either didn't notice or was too wrapped up in her account of the man to call them out on it.
"He said he'd get in touch and then… Maybe he wasn't quite as keen as I was. But I-I just thought" - Tessa's eyes started to water now - "at least he'd call to say that we were finished." She paused to wipe away a tear. Tessa inhaled and continued. "I went round there, to his flat. No trace of him, Mr. Holmes. I honestly think I had dinner… with a ghost." Beat. "Mr. Holmes?"
"You know what?" Scottie started, "I'm gonna be perfectly honest with you, Tessa, these boys have been out drinking themselves sick up until this point - I know, on the job, it's very unprofessional - but as I'm sure you can probably already tell, neither Mr. Holmes nor Dr. Watson are in any condition to work your case tonight, so."
"What about drunklock?" Emily protested quietly.
"Drunklock's only funny when you can actually see Sherlock failing to make proper deductions. In this case we won't, and it can only end in us having to watch them get arrested and go home alone or, probably even a less desired outcome, having to somehow drag them back into a cab ourselves."
"Alternatively…" Spinning around with a look of newfound determination, Emily blurted out "Scottie and I will have a look at the guy's supposed flat!" She immediately threw a hand over her mouth and looked nervously to Sherlock and John, not wanting to wake them.
"You?" scoffed Tessa. "But you're-" Emily held out her hands as if asking the woman to keep her voice down. "But you're just a couple of kids," Tessa tried again at a lower volume.
"Man, if I had a pound for every time someone wrongfully assume that..." Scottie muttered.
"Please, ma'am. I promise that we're very professional, and we've been working closely under Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson for some time now - even helped them solve a few of their cases. So I suggest you let us help you out or you're going to have to just come back another day."
Tessa took a moment to chew on her lip in contemplation before ultimately giving in.
Having come in her own car, Tessa drove the teenagers to a flat located at the other end of town, where they met with the landlord, who remembered having met Tessa once before. She explained the situation to him and he skeptically unlocked the front door to the guy's flat and let them in.
"I honestly don't know what you expect to find here," the landlord grunted.
Scottie held up a hand and shushed him. The boy came further into the room and circled around it slowly, having a look at the variety of miscellaneous objects and furniture with his arms folded behind his back. Emily kept behind and watched him beside Tessa and the landlord, perhaps just as curious as them at what he would conclude about the place. Scottie stopped in front of a large inflatable green ball and had a seat on it, bouncing in place a couple times.
"Scottie," Emily warned.
"Sorry," he called back. "Always wanted one of those." The boy got up again and resumed his work. At the opposite corner of the far end of the room he turned around to face the others. "Emily? Can I speak to you for a moment?" Scottie politely requested. The girl gave a little nod towards Tessa and the landlord and scurried up to her friend. "What exactly are we supposed to be doing here?" Scottie asked, dropping his voice.
Emily stared back at him like the answer should be obvious. "We're... investigating?"
"No. No, we not investigating. I've mostly just been wandering around a flat pretending that something is going to tell us more about the Mayfly Man."
"I thought you said you wanted to start doing solo work again?" Emily asked.
"I did. But this - this isn't taking on a small case by ourselves," Scottie told her. "This is a piece of something much bigger."
"Then tell that to Tessa!" Emily suggested. "You're right in implying that we obviously can't explain the full case. So make up some BS story about how you realize that this is linked to a series of other incidents with women dating a guy they later found out was deceased."
"But... that's true?"
"Okay. So then...?" Emily nodded towards Tessa. Swallowing, Scottie went back over to the woman and the landlord.
"I could be wrong," Scottie started, trying to make himself taller than he actually was, "but I think it's a likely assumption that the man you went out with did not actually reside here."
"But… But that's impossible," Tess said. "He told me-"
"I realize what he told you, and all that was true about the deceased who actually did live in this flat. Thing is, I have cause to believe that your guy was someone else who adopted the persona for a single night and then threw it away again once he no longer had need for it. We've recently received similar cases and it's very possible that they are all linked and a single man is responsible."
Tessa's brows furrowed. "So you're telling me that… I dated a man who has been going around pretending to be a lot of other dead people?"
"Yeah," Emily answered softly. "S-Sorry about that."
"Oh the upside, he was a jerk and you can do better?" Scottie suggested, throwing in a set of jazz hands in an attempt to lighten the mood.
"Is that all you need around here?" asked the landlord.
"W-Wait - I'd still like to find him!" Tessa said. "If this really is the case, as outrageous as it sounds, I'd quite like to hear it from Marshal - or, whoever he really is, I suppose."
"And in that case we'll keep looking," Emily promised.
"But I think that's as far we're going to get from here."
Emily's eyes widened for a moment as she remembered something: "And um, Tessa… If it would be alright with you, could we please get a ride back to Baker Street? I kind of forgot to grab my wallet on the way out."
"Oh look, right where we left them," Scottie breathed a sigh of relief upon reentering 221B.
Sherlock and John remained asleep on the couch. By this point John had slumped over and was lying across Sherlock's legs. Sherlock had his head back over the top of the piece of furniture and his mouth was opened a bit. Emily disappeared around the corner and came back in moments later with a comforter she had ripped off of Sherlock's bed. This she threw over the boys as much as possible in their current position, but made the effort not to cover John's head. Backing up a ways, Emily snapped a picture of the display on her phone and then started back downstairs.
The following morning she and Scottie didn't wake up until nearly noon. They came upstairs to find Sherlock busy behind his laptop at the kitchen table. Spread out in front of him was a London map that had been marked up with pins.
"Morning sunshine," Emily greeted.
"There are going to be others," Sherlock muttered.
"Others?" echoed Scottie.
"Victims, women. Most ghosts tend to haunt a single house. This ghost, however, is willing to commute. Look."
Scottie came over to see what he was up to. Emily didn't bother looking and simply came further in the kitchen to stick a piece of bread into the toaster. "So you are interested in the case, then?" she asked.
Sherlock lifted his head towards her. "Of course. Why did you let me fall asleep like that?"
Emily glanced over her shoulder at this. "Oh, trust me. It was for the best."
John came into the kitchen door frame then. "Am I late to the party?"
"God knows you need another party," mumbled Sherlock. The detective stood up and looked down at his map. After a moment he picked up his laptop and moved it to the living room coffee table. The others watched him curiously as he went and left the room and came back with a second laptop. Emily's toast popped up then and she started to butter it.
"Hey, that's mine!" Scottie realized, coming into the living room as well.
Without saying anything Sherlock opened it up on the coffee table next to his and did the same thing with John and Emily's, plus two more laptops he had fished out of somewhere.
"I knew I should've put a password on that," Emily mumbled.
"Wouldn't help," John told her. "I should know."
"Also why can't he just use multiple tabs like any normal human being?"
"Okay but he really could just ask," Scottie frowned. "What if I had a porn folder on there or something?"
Emily smirked. "If you did it'd just be pictures of Sherlock."
"Shhh."
"And John and Lestrade and Moriarty and-"
"SHHHHHHHH."
"You okay?" John asked, coming over to Sherlock after a while. The detective had stood up and stared down at the array of computers for some time, ignoring him. "Let your food go cold," John tried again. "Mrs. Hudson'll play hell."
"Not now, John." Sherlock unbuttoned his jacket and crouched down in front of the coffee table again, beginning to type at one of the laptops.
John sighed and tried to walk away, but it wasn't long before curiosity got the best of him and he came back to Sherlock's side and knelt down to read what he'd been typing. "But only for one night," he said. Sherlock shifted his glance over to the other man. "Then he's gone."
"He's not a ghost, John," the consulting detective said. "He's a mayfly. He lives for a day."
John shook his head and started back towards the kitchen. "Hey, has anyone fed you kids yet?"
"I mean." Emily looked down at the piece of toast she was holding. "I have this? It's not very exciting."
Some time passed and Sherlock eventually grew frustrated and slammed one of the laptops shut. "Why?" Sherlock wondered aloud, straightening. "Why would he date all those women and not return their calls?"
John came back into the room. "You're missing the obvious, mate."
"Am I?" Sherlock asked, turning.
"He's a man."
Sherlock quickly slammed down the lids of each of the laptops on by one. "OI!" Emily let out, hurrying to reclaim her own.
"But why would he change his identity?" demanded Sherlock.
"Because he's married," John insisted.
"Oh," Sherlock realized.
"Married," Sherlock concluded back at the reception. "Obvious, really. Our Mayfly Man was trying to escape the suffocating chains of domesticity, and instead of endless nights in watching the telly or going to barbecues with awful dreadful boring people he couldn't stand, he used his wits, cleverness and powers of disguise… to take the field. He was…" Sherlock stopped again, realizing that something was off. Apparently his audience was no longer pleased with where he was going with this story.
"On second thoughts I probably should have told you about the Elephant in the Room," the man admitted. "However, it does help to further illustrate how invaluable John is to me. I can read a crime scene the way he can understand a human being. I used to think that's what made me special - quite frankly, I still do. But a word to the wise: should any of you require the services of either of us, I will solve your murder, but it takes John Watson to save your life. Trust me on that; I should know. He's saved mine so many times, and in so many ways."
Sherlock held up his phone again to illustrate a point. "This blog is the story of two men and their frankly ridiculous adventures. Of murder, mystery, and mayhem. But from now on there's a new story. A bigger adventure." The detective glanced down at the newlyweds as they smiled back at him. "Ladies and gentlemen, pray charge your glasses and be upstanding."
On his cue the entirely of the room reached for their glasses and got to their feet. The photographer came forward with his camera out.
"Today begin the adventures of Mary Elizabeth Watson and John Hamish Watson. The two reasons why every single one of us is…" But he trailed off then and suddenly appeared frozen in place. "...here today," Sherlock finished, but it was fairly obvious that he wasn't talking about the same thing anymore. Sherlock's grip on his own glass loosened and it fell from his hand, hitting the ground and shattering. He looked down at it. "Ooh, sorry. I…"
"Another glass, sir?" the head waiter offered.
"Thank you, yes," Sherlock said, taking it from him. "Thank you. Yes."
"Emily," Scottie said, shaking the girl's shoulder with his free hand. He shook even harder. "Emily!"
"Not now!" she hissed back at him.
"But EMILYYYYY."
"Ah, yes," Sherlock shook his head. "Raising glasses and standing up. Very good. Thank you." He raised both his hands and gestured downwards. "And down again." Some of the guests exchanged glances as they had a seat again. Sherlock set his new glass down on the table. "Ladies and gentlemen," he started again, "people tell you not to milk a good speech. Get off early, leave 'em laughing. Wise advice I'll certainly try to bear in mind. But for now…" Sherlock suddenly leapt over the table. "Part two!" he exclaimed after having done so.
"I LOVE PART TWO." Scottie wheezed and started shaking Emily again. Scottie aside, everyone else in the room remained frozen in confusion and perhaps even fear.
"Part two is more action-based," Sherlock stalled, coming down somewhat of an aisle between the tables. "I'm gonna… walk around, shake things up a bit. Who'd go to a wedding? That's the question. Who would bother to go to any lengths to get themselves to a wedding?" Sherlock stopped a little more than halfway through the room and spun around again. "Well. Everyone." The detective clapped his hands together. "Weddings are great! Love a wedding."
"What's he doing?" Mary asked John quietly, but close enough to their table for Scottie and Emily to still hear.
"Something's wrong," John answered.
"And John's great, too!" Sherlock said with an enthusiastic point. "Haven't said that enough. Barely scratched the surface. I could go on all night about the depth and complexity of his… jumpers. Oatmeal edition, inmate edition - not my copyright phrasing, sadly, but quite accurate! Also he can cook. Does a… thing… thing with peas… once. Might not be peas," Sherlock admitted, coming back down the aisle towards them. "Might not be him. But he's got a great singing voice; you should've heard him at karaoke. If I didn't know better I'd just assume he really had committed himself to Emily for the sake of a good shag in the front seat of an automobile!"
Mary threw a baffled look towards John. "It was a duet," the groom hissed back. "C'mon. You know the song."
Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh and clenched his teeth. "Ah, too many, too many, too many, too many!" he grimaced. "Sorry," Sherlock said quickly, trying to calm himself for the sake of those watching him with concern written all over their faces. "Too many jokes about John! Now, er… Where was I? Ah, yes - speech!" He clasped his hands together again. "Let's talk about… murder."
John sighed and hung his head.
"Sorry, did I say murder? I meant to say marriage - but you know, they're quite similar procedures when you think about it. The participants tend to know each other, and it's over when one of them's dead. In fairness, murder is a lot quicker, though. Janine!"
The maid of honor snapped her neck up. Sherlock pranced over behind one of the seemingly random reception attendees. "What about this one?" he suggested. "Acceptably hot? More importantly, his girlfriend's wearing brand-new uncomfortable underwear and hasn't bothered to pick this thread off the top of his jacket… or point out the grease smudge on the back of his neck. Currently, he's going home alone. Also he's a comics and sci-fi geek. They're always tremendously grateful - really put the hours in." He chuckled at his own sense of humor. "Geoff, the gents." He looked towards Lestrade now and jerked his head towards the door. "The loos, now, please."
"It's Greg," the D.I. frowned. His phone beeped then and he reached into his pocket to get it. "Why?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's your turn." Sherlock nodded to the door once more.
Lestrade looked at his newest text message and stiffened. "Yeah, actually, now that you mention it…" He stood and Sherlock put away his own phone.
"Sherlock," John said, his tone sweet and yet threatening. "Any chance of a - an end date for this speech? Gotta cut the cake."
"Oh! Ladies and gentlemen, can't stand it when I finally get the chance to speak for once! Vatican Cameos."
At the codeword John straightened. "What did he say?" Mary asked her husband. "What's that mean?"
"Battle stations," John threw back grimly. "Someone's gonna die."
"What?!"
"No!" Sherlock yelled and slapped his own cheek. "No! Not you! Not you!" The detective stopped suddenly and pointed at John. "You," he said in a considerably calmer tone. "It's always you. John Watson, you keep me right."
John stood up now. "What do I do?"
"Well, you've already done it. Don't solve the murder; save the life." Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath of air and looked back at the guests. "Sorry. Off-piste a bit. Back now. Phew!" He clapped his hands and looked down at the floor. "Let's play a game. Let's play murder." Sherlock lifted his gaze now in an almost creepy way.
"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson breathed.
Ignoring her, Sherlock went back down the aisle slowly. "Imagine someone's going to get murdered at a wedding. Who exactly would you pick?"
"I think you're a popular choice at the moment, dear," the woman muttered.
"If someone could move Mrs. Hudson's glass just slightly out of reach, that would be lovely. More importantly, who could you only kill at a wedding?"
To humor herself more than anything else, Emily turned and started take Mrs. Hudson's glass. Her landlady frowned and yanked it back. Emily held her hands out defensively.
"Most people can kill any old place," Sherlock rambled on. "As a mental exercise I've often planned the murder of friends and colleagues. Now, John I'd poison. Sloppy eater - dead easy. I've given him chemicals and compounds; that way, he'd never even noticed. He missed a whole Wednesday once, didn't have a clue." Mary threw a concerned look in her new husband's direction. Next Sherlock looked over at the table that was occupied by his closer acquaintances.
"Emily would be easy enough. She might put up a fight, but it'd hardly be a fair match. We're talking strangulation of course." At this Emily held a hand against her own neck and sunk back in her chair. "Scottie would be a similar case, except that he might see it coming soon enough to get away. Perhaps a blunt object to the back of the head would be more fitting."
"He's pissed isn't he?" Tom whispered to Molly. She must have been very tuned in to whatever Sherlock was up to and responded by stabbing a plastic fork into the back of Tom's hand and causing him to yelp.
"So, once again, who could you only kill here?" Sherlock pressed and started to twirl a finger about in the air. "Clearly it's a rare opportunity, so it's someone who doesn't get out much. Someone for whom a planned social encounter known about months in advance is an exception. Has to be a unique opportunity." Sherlock was starting to spin in slow circles now. "And since killing someone in public is difficult… killing them in private isn't an option. Someone who lives in an inaccessible or unknown location, then. Someone private, perhaps, obsessed with personal security. Possibly someone under threat."
The best man had made his way over to Major Sholto now. He placed a name card down in front of the man and started walking back the other way. "Probably all signed confidentiality agreements. There is another question that remains, however - a big one, a huge one: how would you do it? How would you kill someone in public? "There has to be a way. This has been planned."
"Mr. Holmes!" a new voice let out excitedly. Sherlock stopped and looked back to see little Archie jumping up and down excitedly from where he was seated. "Mr. Holmes!"
"Oh, hello again, Archie." Sherlock bent over to face him now. "What's your theory? Get this right and there's a headless nun in it for you."
"The invisible man could do it," the boy offered.
"The who, the what, the why, the when, the where?"
"The invisible man with the invisible knife. The one who tried to kill the Guardsman."
Sherlock gasped and straightened again.
"Okay, but can I just remind everyone that my theory about how Stephen was stabbed was entirely pushed aside," Scottie leaned forward and told the rest of his table quietly.
"Jealous much?" Emily teased.
"What? No! He's like, a ten-year-old kid!"
Emily shrugged nonchalantly. "A ten-year-old kid who Sherlock seemingly likes better than you."
Scottie huffed. "Okay, you shut the fuck up or next thing you know I'm gonna be the one acting out Sherlock's strangulation scenario."
"Oh, not just planned," Sherlock was saying half to himself. "Planned and rehearsed…" Sholto was just starting to vacate the room then. Sherlock ran back towards the table at the front of the hall and swiped away someone's champagne glass. "Ladies and gentlemen, there will now be a short interlude," he announced and held up the glass. "The bride and groom!"
"The bride and groom!" everyone else echoed, taking their own glasses and holding them out again.
Sherlock whispered something to John and then took off after Sholto, saying "'Scuse me, coming through! Consulting!"
John kissed Mary. "Stay here," he instructed, getting up to chase down Sherlock. "'Scuse me! Coming through!" John said as well on his way through the crowd and out of the room. "'Scuse me!"
"Sorry, one more," Mary, too, got up. "Whoops! So sorry! Thank you!"
The teens turned their heads and watched as Mary picked up her wedding dress and scurried after Sherlock and John.
"We'll just wait here then," Scottie muttered. He took a sip from his water glass.
Emily elbowed her friend and in doing so nearly caused him to spill water all over himself. "Hey, wanna do something reckless and unscripted like catch ourselves a mayfly?"
"Oh. I don't know, Em, that's sound like a really FUCKING AMAZING IDEA! Boy, do I ever!" Scottie slammed his cup down with a grin. "He'll even be unsuspecting and unarmed and everything!"
"Perfect, because I already have a plan." The girl leaned forward and whispered a few things to Scottie as Stephen looked on from her other side with a blank face. "Got it?" she asked, leaned away again. Scottie nodded. "Awesomesauce. I'll go draw him away, you give Stephen the lowdown and then wait for my signal."
"Alright. And what signal is that?"
"...I'll have gotten him to leave the room with me."
"Oh."
Emily stood up, patted Scottie's shoulder, and then made a beeline for the wedding photographer. Scottie slid into her unoccupied seat and pressed his hands together. "Alright, Bloody Guardsman. Time to prove your worth. You ready to serve some justice to the dickwad who put you in the hospital?"
"T-The what?!"
Scottie tried not to look annoyed. "The guy who made an attempt on your life. He's here, Emily and I know who it is. You're gonna help us catch him. Do try to keep up, Bloody Guardsman."
Meanwhile, Emily had come up to the wedding's cameraman, who was currently hovering towards the side of the room with his camera still out. "H-Hey, since things seem to be on hold for the time being, do you mind if I talk to you for a moment in the foyer?" she asked.
"Um." The photographer glanced around the room, which had broken up into a multitude of conversations from table to table, and then back at Emily. "Yeah. I guess. Sure."
"Okay, I hope this is okay, bringing this up like this, especially when you're in the middle of another gig," Emily started to ramble as the two of them were headed past the double doors into the foyer. "But see, some um... girlfriends and I were starting our own clothing line and… Do you strictly do weddings? Because I was wondering if you might consider helping us get some professional photos for the website. We can provide the models and location, basically all you'd have to do is show up with your equipment…" Emily trailed off and glanced over her shoulder, wondering what the hell was taking the boys so long to come to her aid.
"Oh, you know what, I'm pretty booked up right now," the man told her.
"Really?" In an attempt to stall him as long as possible, Emily took a couple steps closer so that it almost looked as if she were coming onto the older man. "Because I'm pretty close friends with the bride and groom, and they only had good things to say about you and your company."
"I'm… just the substitute photographer. They called me to fill in last minute."
"I'm Emily, by the way," Emily said as seductively as she could and held out her hand.
The Mayfly Man took it slowly. "Jonathan Small. Look, maybe I can give you my card, and we can try to work something out later…?"
"Oh. Oh, yeah, sure. That'd be great."
Jonathan let go and fished a small stack of cards out from his camera case, one of which he offered to Emily. The doors to the dining hall opened then and Scottie and Stephen came in. "Well there you are!" Emily said, looking relieved.
"That's him?" Stephen asked, staring back at Jonathan. "That's the guy?"
If Jonathan was surprised to see Stephen there he did an awfully good job of hiding it.
"Yes," Scottie assured him. "Now quick! Do the thing!"
"Wh-What thing?"
Scottie frowned. "What do you mean 'what thing'? We literally were just talking about the thing."
"But, but don't we need some kind of proof, or-"
"Jesus Christ…" Seeing that Stephen wasn't about to make the first move, Emily took the initiative on this one and slapped Jonathan with her hand that wasn't holding his card, which had now become crumpled in her fist. "Alright, enough games! You tried to murder my boyfriend!" she accused.
"W-What the fuck!" Jonathan choked.
"Emily!" Stephen gasped.
"Well it's true!" she told Stephen from over her shoulder.
"Look, I think there's been some kind of mistake-"
"There sure has hell was! You're pissed off at that Sholto guy and thought you could test out your revenge on some poor, uninvolved man and get away with it!" Suddenly Emily threw herself at Jonathan in an attempt to knock him against the wall. She didn't prove much of a threat against him, however, and Jonathan grabbed at her wrists, holding her back. Emily yelped and proceeded to try and hit at his chest.
Stephen hurried forward now, looking worried. "Okay, hey, maybe we can talk about this-"
"Yeah! Get your fucking girlfriend under control!" Jonathan spat, throwing Emily back. The girl lost her footing and fell the ground.
"HEY!"
Scottie's eyes widened and he went to try and help Emily up again. "I'm fine," the girl hissed, struggling to get back to her feet.
Stephen had stepped in now, and slammed his arm into Jonathan's shoulder, pinning him against the wall like Emily had probably intended to. But Jonathan was a bulkier man than him and had little trouble throwing Stephen off of himself. "You people are insane!" he yelled.
"Says the two-time attempted murderer," Scottie scoffed.
"I don't have to deal with this," huffed Jonathan, adjusting the shoulder strap on his camera case as he made for the exit.
"Wait no, don't let him get away!" Scottie shouted.
"You had better be right about this," Stephen warned just as he was beginning to charge after the photographer. The force of the guardsman's assault sent Jonathan toppling over with a grunt.
"Wait! The wedding photos!" Emily realized and shuffled over to rip open the case while it was still hung around Jonathan's arm as he lay face-first on the floor. Emily took out the camera backed away from the fray, checking to see if it was intact.
"I'm going to call the police!" Jonathan yelled, hitting Stephen with the back of his shoulder as he started to pick himself up to his knees. Stephen winced a lot more than he probably should've, indicating that his previous wound may not have been 100% healed.
"We just need to keep him here until Sherlock arrives!" Scottie promised, throwing himself into the dogpile. "Emily - a little help?"
"Wh… Oh! Right!" Now reassured that John and Mary's wedding photos still existed, Emily set the camera back down carefully and sprung herself on top of Scottie, Stephen, and Jonathan, who was now thrashing about and letting out a rather impressive stream of curse words.
"OH MY GOD."
They glanced up to the nearby stairwell, where John, Sherlock, Mary, and Major Sholto now all were.
"Scottie! Emily! What is the meaning of this?!" John barked, scurrying down the stairs to get to them.
"We caught… your Mayfly Man…" Scottie wheezed, struggling to keep Jonathan's legs pinned down and avoid being kicked in the face.
"How do you know?" Sherlock asked, suddenly at John's side.
"Look I'd love to explain but can you maybe handcuff him first and make our lives a lot easier?"
John glanced over at Sherlock. "You aren't seriously going to let them…?"
"And on the off chance that they're right?"
As soon as it looked like Sherlock and John were helping them, Scottie, Emily, and Stephen rolled off of Jonathan. Stephen, Sherlock, and John then forced him up and Sherlock whipped out a pair of handcuffs, which he used to secure the Mayfly Man to the stair's railing with.
"Alright, we did what you wanted," John folded his arms. "Now one of you please explain what the bloody hell is going on at my wedding now!"
"John…" Mary tried to calm her new husband.
"Like I started to say, this is the Mayfly Man you were looking for!" Scottie said with an accusatory finger towards Jonathan. "He had beef with Major Sholto, and in his scheme to assassinate him dated all those women to find his way into the wedding and then practiced the murder out on Private Stephen Bainbridge here."
"Oh so you do know my name," Stephen mumbled. He was propping himself up against a nearby end table and taking deep breathes. Noticing this, Emily came over to him and put a concerned hand on his forearm.
"He was posing as the cameraman so that he would be present for the murder and then slip out without any record of him having been there," Scottie went on.
"I've seen this sort of thing before, you know," Emily agreed. "This one time for my birthday I attended an interactive murder mystery dinner and, get this, the 'who dunnit' turned out to be none other that the guy we'd thought was an LA Times journalist writing a review of the show!"
"That's genius," Sherlock exclaimed.
Emily nodded vigorously. "Yeah. I thought so. Plus, I even got to be a suspect at one point. Apparently the second victim was found with my photograph in his-"
"No, it's genius! They're absolutely right! Where is his camera?"
"Oh." Emily was a little disheartened that he wasn't referring to her story. "It's on the floor over there."
Sherlock spotted the camera and went to pick it up. He began flipping through the digital pictures on his way back to the others. "There is always a man at a wedding who is not in any photograph but can go anywhere, and even carry an equipment bag around with him if he likes, and you never even see his face. You only ever see… the camera." Sherlock came up to Jonathan, who was glaring back at him now.
"What are you doing?" the other man seethed. "What is this?"
"Jonathan Small, today's substitute wedding photographer - known to us as the Mayfly Man. Impressive, that a couple of kids and one of his victims managed to figure it out before me. So how did you know?" he pressed, glancing over at Scottie.
"Uhhh lucky guess?" Emily blinked innocently.
"Well while you were busy prepping for your best man speech, Emily and I were looking into the cases a bit ourselves," Scottie lied, nudging Emily.
"Oh right, that too," the girl nodded.
"We suspected they were connected in some way, because what else could explain so many strange and as of yet unsolved cases? But we didn't really know anything was going to go down today until you guys stormed out of the room and Emily started to tell me about her, uh, dinner detective story, at which point I remembered the cameraman and thought we should go investigate while he was still here!"
"Wait, so you tackled the photographer based off a hunch?" John asked in disbelief.
"And what a lucky hunch it was. As it would seem, Small's brother was one of the raw recruits killed in that incursion. Jonny sought revenge on Sholto, worked his way through Sholto's staff, found what he needed, and invitation to a wedding - the one time Sholto would have to be out in public. So, he made his plan and rehearsed the murder, making sure of every murder. Have I about gist of it?"
Scottie smiled. "Nailed it."
"Brilliant, ruthless, almost certainly a monomaniac," Sherlock purred. "Though, in fairness, his photographs are actually quite good. Now, where's our favorite Detective Inspector? Someone fetch him."
"Oh hey he also owes me ten pounds now," Scottie remembered.
"It's not me you should be arresting, Mr. Holmes," Jonathan grumbled.
"Oh, I don't do the arresting. I just farm that out."
"Sholto - he's the killer, not me. I should have killed him quicker. I shouldn't have tried to be clever."
"Yeah, yeah," Emily chuckled. "And you would've gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for us meddling kids and our dumb detective. Believe it or not, we have heard the speech before."
The newlyweds finished their number, kissed, and the onlooking crowd erupted into vigorous applause and cheering. At the first possible opportunity Emily quickly packed up her instrument and scurried back to Scottie's side.
"Congrats on not fucking it up too noticeably," he grinned.
"Don't be a bleached asshole. The original script didn't prepare me for a violin duet."
"It also hadn't prepared you to go all vigilante on a would-be murderer, and yet that's exactly what we tried to do today," Scottie pointed out. "And quite successfully, might I add. In the sense that we caught the guy, even though things didn't go 100% according to plan."
Emily smirked. "This is true. Mystery Twins?"
"Mystery Twins," Scottie mused, fist bumping his best friend.
The room grew quiet again as Sherlock began his second speech of the day: "Ladies and gentlemen, just er, one last thing before the evening begins properly. Apologies for earlier. A crisis arose and was dealt with." The man paused, drawing in a breath. "More importantly, however, today we saw two people make vows. I've never made a vow in my life, and after tonight I never will again. So, here in front of you all, my first and last vow. Mary and John… Whatever happens, from now on I swear I will always be there, always… for the three of you." He stopped again upon realizing what he'd just said. Scottie and Emily smiled excitedly from a little ways away.
"Er, I'm sorry, I mean, I mean two of you," Sherlock said quickly. "All two of you. Both of you, in fact. I've just miscounted." He took a sharp breath. "Anyway, it's time for dancing. Play the music again, please, thank you." Sherlock flailed an arm and then hopped down awkwardly. "Dancing, please! Very good!"
The DJ put on a track and slowly but surely the party resumed. "Aw yiss, this is my jam," Scottie laughed, excitedly bobbing along to Oh, What a Night as he made to join in on Sherlock breaking the news of Mary's pregnancy to her and her new husband. But Emily stuck out an arm, blocking him.
"Let them have this."
Scottie pouted. "And do what instead? Dance with you, or something stupid like that? Won't Stephen get jealous?"
Before Emily had a chance to answer she felt a buzz come from her cell phone. She pulled it out from where it had been concealed in her bra and Scottie made a face. "Tempting offer," she muttered, glancing down at the phone, "but I think I'm going to step outside and take this instead."
"In that case I'll come with and swoop in to cheer Sherlock up when he makes his exit."
"Good plan." Emily squeezed through a few clusters of people and stepped into the foyer just as she answered. "Hello?"
Almost immediately the girl stopped dead in her tracks and Scottie bumped his nose into her back. He jumped back a step and rubbed at his nose unhappily. "Thanks for the traffic collision. I certainly hope you don't still drive like you walk."
But Emily didn't appear to have heard him. "Th-That's impossible…" she whispered into the receiver.
"What the hell? Who is it? The only people who ever even call you in this universe are all back in the ballroom." Scottie pulled her wrist down, trying to see the caller ID, but the number was blocked. Instead Emily put the device on speakerphone so that he could hear as well. And, of course, recognize the voice within seconds.
"I haven't forgotten about what happened two years ago," the man on the other line was saying. "Everyone else seems to have, but then again, you're like everyone else, are you? I understand that now." Neither Scottie nor Emily answered. Instead they exchanged slightly baffled looks.
"What's the matter, Princess?" Moriarty went on. "Could it be for once you and Sherlock Jr. didn't see something coming?"
"So, are we going to talk about this, or...?"
"About what?" Scottie asked passively. The two of them had just stepped outside of the venue. It was dark out now. Scottie continued forward a ways, shoes clicking on the pavement, without looking back at his friend.
Emily grabbed at his arm, implying that he should be taking this just as seriously as she did (which he clearly did not). "About Moriarty. More specifically, the fact that he's still in the picture!"
"But we technically already knew that," the boy pointed out.
"This is different and you know it. He remembers us, Scottie - or at least says he does. It just doesn't add up. Something changed and it's very possibly our fault."
Scottie sighed. "I don't know, okay? I don't like not knowing any more than you do, but we haven't seen season four yet, so it's not like we have any leg up in this situation. I can't exactly track Moriarty down and interrogate him. So rather than getting my panties all tied up in a knot over it like you have, why shouldn't I push it to the back of my mind palace until the end of His Last Vow, when it's actually relevant?"
"You're assuming the episode isn't going to change because of this… Which, might I remind you, is pretty much exactly what happened during the Fall." Emily sighed and folded her arms. "Whatever. You're right. Let's just forget about the whole thing and hope nothing happens while John's on his honeymoon."
Scottie took off his suit jacket and hung it around his arm, but otherwise said nothing.
"God, why are you acting so weird about this!" Emily let out, unable to pretend to be calm like he seemed to be. She looked back and spotted Sherlock starting to come out the door. "Well, there's your ride home," she grumbled. "I'm going back inside."
Without saying goodbye to Scottie, Emily passed by Sherlock with a quick "hey" on her way. Back in the ballroom the girl was almost immediately joined by Stephen Bainbridge, who popped up behind her and made her jump a little.
"I thought you'd left already," the man said.
"Me? Leave a party early? Please." Emily smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I just had to take an urgent call really fast."
"Urgent?" Stephen echoed. "Is everything alright?"
"What? Oh! Yeah. Yeah, um. Everything's… peachy. Wanna dance?"
Stephen grinned. "I was just about to ask you the same thing." He held out a hand to Emily, which she took, and he guided the girl further onto the dance floor.
Neither party was particularly good at dancing, but Scottie had taught Emily the gist of slow dancing and she and Stephen held onto one another and bobbed around in time with the rest of the guests, making light conversation all the while.
"Seriously?" Stephen was saying in disbelief. "Have you ever done a single boring, ordinary thing in your life? Just one? Went for a walk in the park, visited a museum…"
"I actually did go to a museum that one time," Emily told him.
"I knew it!"
"It was close to midnight and I was being shot at by an assassin."
"...oh."
Emily smiled a little, looking away. "Yeah. That, um… So that happened."
"So far you've told me you were present at the time of an explosion, jumped off the roof of a hospital, and now apparently you've gotten caught up in the middle of a shootout! How are you even still alive?"
"Catlike reflexes?" Emily guessed. "Or nine lives, perhaps. Something to do with felines."
Stephen stared back at the girl with what looked like a strange mixture of concern and admiration. "You're incredible," the man finally concluded. "Completely insane. But also incredible."
"Thanks… I think?"
Without realizing it, the two of them had stopped dancing. There was a particularly long pause that followed before Stephen leaned forward and planting a kiss on Emily's lips. Surprised by the gesture, Emily pulled back upon impact.
"I'm sorry!" Stephen quickly apologized.
"N-No, that's.. That's okay, I just didn't…"
Words continued to pour out of Stephen's mouth: "It's just that I know this is only our second real date, and it's not really a proper date, except that it is because I'm technically your date to the wedding and I was picking up mixed signals and-"
More to get him to shut up than anything else, Emily now kissed Stephen. Once she'd finished and gone back off of her tiptoes, Emily bit at her lower lip and looked up at Stephen, who was grinning back at her.
Emily didn't go back to Baker Street that night. Stephen was entirely against the idea of her taking a taxi by herself at two in the morning, and instead of dropping her off himself they both thought it easier that she just spend the night in his small flat. After changing out of her fancy dress and into one of Stephen's shirts, which was a tad too big for her and fit more like a nightgown, Emily awkwardly crawled into the same bed as Stephen.
But she couldn't sleep. The idea of Moriarty being out there somewhere, still knowing who she was and that they had been through together kept her wide awake for an hour or so longer, staring up at the ceiling with Stephen's arm around her.
