John was sitting in 'his' chair as Sherlock bounded down the stairs. "How long had it been since you'd slept?" he asked sternly. "I don't know... a week?" "Sherlock, you can't just disregard your body like that." Sherlock opened his mouth and John held up a hand. "Yes, I know it's 'only your transport', but you still have to take care of it, or that is going to happen in the middle of a crime scene and you'll end up losing evidence and embarrassing yourself in front of the officers." Sherlock looked grumpy. "You don't have to agree with the principle, just as long as you agree that, as someone with a medical degree, you really should take my advice on this." "But-" "Yeah, I know, you're more intelligent than me, but in matters like this, you're really not smarter. And there's a difference between smart and intelligent." "Fine." "Now, when did you last eat?" "Saturday." Sherlock muttered. John sighed. "If you won't eat regularly, at least eat every second day. You have to agree that isn't really demanding." "But you know digestion slows me down." "Going into hospital would also slow you down." John replied firmly. "Now, you sit here and I'm going to get you something to eat." John walked into the kitchen just as the Doctor bounded down the stairs. "We have to go pick up your suits!" he exclaimed. "Let me shovel something down Sherlock's throat first." John called from the kitchen. Sherlock wrinkled his nose in John's general direction and the Doctor laughed. John came out of the kitchen with a plate of toast and jam and a cup of tea and glared at the Doctor and Sherlock. "I'm trying to get him to take his health seriously. You really shouldn't be laughing." "Sorry, mother." the Doctor replied. "Oh... just eat this, Sherlock." John said, thrusting the plate and cup at Sherlock. "Jam, John?" Sherlock said in a voice of disdain. "It was the fastest available way to get calories into you. Don't diss the jam." "Fine." Sherlock sighed dramatically. "Oh, just eat it, drama queen." John smiled. Sherlock smiled back and started eating. The Doctor had watched this exchange with a look of scientific curiosity, but before he could say anything, K-9 rolled to the top of the stairs and requested help getting down. As the Doctor went up to get him, John asked, "Wouldn't it be easier for you to just sleep or whatever you do down here?" "The prime charging equipment is in the TARDIS." "Ah." There was a silence after this until Sherlock finished eating, at which point the Doctor leapt up and said they needed to go get their suits. "Fine, fine. Let's go get a taxi." John conceded.
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It didn't take long to get there, John observed. Certainly not 20 minutes. It was... odd. As they went in, Wilkins came to the front and declared that he had their suits ready. He wasn't in as good a mood as he had been last time. John figured it was probably about the suit that he'd wrecked. Still, he thought he'd made amends by offering to pay for the material for the new one. Even if Sherlock seemed to think that was a bad idea. Still, Wilkins seemed cheerful to the Doctor and at least cordial to them. They picked up the suits and the Doctor paid for them with something that didn't look like any credit card John, had ever seen, but seemed to work perfectly. Wilkins bade them good day rather chillingly and they left to go back to Baker Street.
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Lestrade stood in the living room of 221B Baker St waiting for Sherlock and John. The Doctor was lounging on the couch with K-9 sitting next to him. They made quite an odd sight, Lestrade reflected. But one he'd pretty much got used to by now. John came down the stairs first and greeted Lestrade. "Where's Sherlock?" he asked. "Still getting dressed, I presume." John answered, rolling his eyes. "You wouldn't think he'd take so long, would you?" "He never used to be," Lestrade replied. "In fact, it's only since you've arrived…" John started to reply but trailed off and stared as Sherlock came down the stairs, fully dressed in a formal suit and fiddling with his cufflinks. "Why do I have to wear this? It's incredibly…" Sherlock similarly trailed off as he looked up. The Doctor and Lestrade exchanged wry smiles. Lestrade waved his hand in between them and said loudly "Hello? Earth to the Baker Street boys?" John startled out of it first. "Alright… alright. Are we all ready?" Sherlock shook himself like a dog shaking off water and agreed. He seemed to have forgone all complaints regarding his outfit after it had had such an effect on John, Lestrade noted.
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Well, that was… not entirely unexpected, thought Sherlock. If he thought about it, it had been creeping up on him for weeks, even months; it just didn't really connect until then. Which was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Although the feelings were fairly new. But that still wasn't an excuse. He was startled out of his inner admonition by the arrival of the taxi at the… well, mansion. And he said that as someone who was not easily impressed, having grown up in one. As they climbed out of the taxi, someone in a red dress, presumably their hostess, Sara Lefoski, glided up and welcomed them. "Hello, Ms. Lefoski." Lestrade replied, obviously having met her to tell her about her husband's death. That was probably when he'd acquired the invitations. "This is Dr. John Watson, and Mr. Sherlock Holmes." "Very nice to meet you. Come in, won't you?" They walked up to the house, with her pointing out various things on the land, such as fountains and garden beds. Robert was mentioned only once, in reference to the doorknob. Apparently he was the one who'd had it installed. She seemed remarkably calm about it, although she had had time to accept it. There was a muted babble of voices inside the house, and Sherlock picked out a few sentences here and there. "…he managed to take…" from someone obviously talking about her recently divorced husband, and was still recovering from it, "…I heard that…" from an infernal gossip, "…her husband…" talking about Ms. Lefoski, "…murder on the table…" word did spread fast, "…look at him…", and then in reply "you're insufferable…". Who were they talking about? Oh, John. He narrowed his eyes at the woman who'd said that and took a step closer to John. They walked further into the room as Ms. Lefoski pointed out some prominent figures, the excused herself to go talk to one. "How long did you say they'd been divorced?" John asked Lestrade. "I didn't." Lestrade said in a tone of mild surprise. "I've obviously picked up a thing or two from Sherlock. No ring. And no tan line, so she obviously hasn't just taken it off when she learnt he was dead." Sherlock looked back from his inspection of the people in the room. "Very good." Lestrade blinked. That was even more surprising, Sherlock praising someone? God help us. "They'd been divorced for six months. But she didn't seem to harbour a grudge against him, apparently it was fairly amicable." "But they hadn't talked to each other in months." Sherlock added. "No." Lestrade confirmed. "Okay. Should we split up and circle the room?" "As long as Sherlock promises to be 'charming'." Sherlock smiled slightly. "I won't be myself." "Okay, let's do it."
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Lestrade came back to the front of the room having learnt exactly nothing. He hoped Sherlock and John had had better luck, because while he'd managed to flirt quite successfully with quite a few people (he was effectively considering him and Angela split up now), he hadn't got any information pertinent to the case. He scanned the room and saw both of them deep in conversation, practically oozing charm. He accepted a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and reflexively smiled at a nearby attractive man. Those reflexes had come back very fast. He was actually musing over the case. Usually the problem with cases was that there weren't any suspects. On this one there was an overabundance of them. He looked around as John came back. "Any luck?" he asked. "No, just gossip about what happened to him, among other things. You?" "Same. Do you know where Sherlock's gone? I could see him a moment ago." "I think I saw him walk off in that direction with someone." John replied, gesturing out and to his left. "Better wait for him."