Author's Note: I didn't mean to go this long before updating, but I realized I needed to edit a few things, and didn't get the time until this afternoon. And if anyone notices any editing mistakes (such as two paragraphs merged into one), please contact me and I'll correct them-I was having trouble with the document up-loader today...
I also don't own Sherlock, in case anyone was confused about that…
The Man with Two Names
By the Salt Monster
Ch. 6
221B Baker St.
Three hours had passed, and I still had no idea what was going on. Sherlock hadn't spoken to me since his epiphany in the alley, and he had turned his full attention to his laptop the moment we got home.
"What's with the opera?" I asked for the fourth time. He didn't answer for the fourth time. I sighed in annoyance, but carried on with what I was doing. I was measuring a capful of bleach. I dumped it in a spray bottle filled with water and smelled it. It still smelled of tap water.
"Do you think it would matter if I put more than a capful in?" I asked. I looked at the jug of bleach to see if it said anything and then added another capful without waiting for his answer that I was sure would never come.
"What exactly are you doing?" he drawled suddenly, his eyes not leaving the computer screen.
"Oh, good, you're alive!" I cheered sarcastically. He blinked. "I'm cleaning the mold off my walls so I can paint them." He sighed, but otherwise didn't give a response.
"Whatever," I muttered. "If you want to tell me anything, I'll be in my apartment. Knock before you enter. The bleach might be a bit strong." I turned to leave.
"We're going to the opera tomorrow night, Miss Barber," he said quickly as I was leaving the room. I turned back around.
"Yeah, I know that, you said it before," I reminded him crossly. "You haven't told me why, though." I crossed my arms across my chest. "I'm not going to any opera, anyway."
"Yes, you are," he said, looking up at me from his computer. "It's La Forza del Destino. Sound familiar?"
"Yeah, so? It's Verdi. I—." I froze in mid-sentence. I gave a small "oh" or recognition.
He smiled at me. "Continue," he said expectantly.
"Giuseppe Verdi," I said flatly, "orchestral composer, including several operas. Translated to English his name would be sort of like 'Joseph Green.' His 'house?' An opera house, obviously. Hot damn I feel stupid."
He nodded. "Very good," he said.
"Twelve years of orchestra have helped," I muttered. "But I don't think you heard me before. I said I'm not going to an opera. I have nothing to wear."
"Nothing to wear to what, dear?" Mrs. Hudson appeared from the back entrance to the kitchen.
"Nothing," I mumbled. "It's just an opera thing I was thinking of—,"
"I'm taking Miss Barber to the opera tomorrow night," Sherlock explained, cutting me off.
"Oh, that's wonderful!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed. "Oh, I knew you'd find someone, Sherlock! I'm just so pleased you two have got on so well!" Holmes and I exchanged awkward looks.
I coughed loudly. "Well, I was thinking about just wearing a skirt and a nice shirt or something," I said, trying to change the subject.
"Yes, I suppose that will work," Mrs. Hudson sighed, sounding faintly disappointed.
"It's the opening night," Sherlock added. Then all hell broke loose.
"You can't wear just a nice shirt to an opening night!" Mrs. Hudson cried. "You have to wear a dress! A ball gown and a hat! And do you know what; I might have just the thing. You know Mrs. Turner next door? Well, she used to work at a dress shop way back when, and she might still have one of her dresses. I'm sure she wouldn't mind letting you borrow something for a day or two. Just recently I told her..."
She rattled on and on, tugging on my sleeve to take me over to Mrs. Turner's. When she wasn't looking, I mouthed a sarcastic "thanks" to a smug looking Sherlock and followed her out of the kitchen.
She dragged me outside in the frigid December air and we walked next door to Mrs. Turner's, who welcomed us in and took us to a closet in the back of her house.
"My daughter Julia used to wear this dress when she was younger, but not anymore, I guess…" she told us as she dug through the closet. "Ah! There it is." I braced myself for a hot, nineteen-sixties mess full of weird patterns and bright colors. Mrs. Turned opened the garment bag with a flourish, and-
"Well… that's not exactly what I was expecting," I muttered, inspecting the pale blue dress made of flowey material with a silver embroidered bust and a matching jacket.
"Early sixties, dear," Mrs. Turner reminded me with a sigh. I held the dress up to myself. It looked like it would fit.
"It's lovely," I said sincerely. "Thank you." She showed us out, but not before making me promise to tell her all about it the next day.
"Well, there you go, Miss Barber," Mrs. Hudson said as we walked back to my apartment. "Now you have a dress for the opera. All you need now is a hat."
"No," I said firmly. "I'm not wearing a hat." Mrs. Hudson gaped at me.
"Why not?" she asked, shocked. "All the ladies will be wearing them!"
"All except me," I said. "I don't want a hat; I think they look really stupid."She continued to gape at me, but I ignored it. I didn't think the fancy hats some ladies wore were particularly flattering, especially on me.
After entering the apartment building, I thanked Mrs. Hudson, put the dress in my closet, and went back up to the kitchen to get the bleach.
"How was the dress?" Sherlock asked. "I'm sure you've always wanted a dress from the sixties."
"It was wonderful, actually," I said truthfully. "Blue. And a matching jacket. Really quite nice."
"Hat?"
"No hat," I said adamantly. "I don't like hats."
"Really?" he said sounding mildly interested. "Are you sure, because I've a nice top hat I was thinking about—,"
"No hats!" I snapped, but when I turned to look at him, he was smiling. "Very funny," I muttered, but started to smile myself. "So what exactly are you expecting to happen at the opera?" I asked him, putting the jug of bleach back in the cupboard.
"No idea," he answered. I blinked.
"Are you serious?" I asked, unnerved. He nodded. He seemed perfectly okay with it, too. It was silent for a long while as I stared at him while he returned to typing on his laptop. The man was insane.
"Uh…well…I guess I'm off to clean my apartment. I'll…talk to you later," I said finally, unfreezing and heading back down to my room.
Many hours and much scrubbing later, I was finished and the walls looked impeccably clean. I was exhausted—cleaning had taken almost all night—but, other than that, I was okay. I trudged up the stairs to the kitchen to wash the spray bottle out, and found Sherlock absentmindedly plucking the strings of a violin.
"Good morning," I said. He didn't answer. Instead he scratched out a few horrific chords on his violin. I cringed as he did so, but tried to concentrate on washing out the spray bottle.
He started to play random chords- most sad and melancholy. As I sat down with a cup of tea, he continued with a whole slew of diminished chords which lasted several minutes. I was starting to get tired of listening to the shriek of his violin-and was just about to say something-when he changed moods, and began to play more cheerful chords and little tunes that I could recognize. It felt like sort of a compensation for my patience being tried.
"I didn't know you played violin," I commented once he was finished.
"It helps me think," he told me shortly. I shrugged and pushed a cup of tea towards him, which he only glared at. "How does your flat look?"
"Amazing," I said with a contented sigh. "However I wouldn't recommend going in it—the bleach is rather strong. I can't wait to paint it, though. I just have to decide what to do…" It was silent for a while as I sipped thoughtfully at my tea. It seemed sort of funny that we were having a semi-normal conversation after so much had happened the past two nights.
"Hmn…," I sighed, standing up and washing my tea cup. "Is there really nothing to do around here other than solving a few murders now and then?" I asked jokingly. "I mean, really! I haven't had a conversation that hasn't involved death since I moved in here!"
"You moved in two days ago," Sherlock pointed out. I shrugged.
"It feels like forever." I turned to look out the window. The sun reflected off the snow on the ground, blinding me. Everything looked bright and hopeful.
"Today seems like a good one, don't you think?" I asked Sherlock.
He didn't answer, but scratched out a few more minor chords on his violin.
Author's Note: Thanks to all of my lovely reviewers! You're all wonderful and I love you! And also a thanks to everyone who participated in my "reader challenge!" It was really great seeing what you guys think.
I'm not the best artist, but I did a sketch of how I picture Emily, and it's posted on my deviantArt. I'll also have a link to it on my twitter (Housuskowskinez), as well as updates on when the next chapter will be up! So if you wanna check that out… ;)
Hope everyone has a splendid week!
~Salty