Chapter 15: Back in Print
The next day saw 'SHERLOCK HOLMES: THE NOT SO FAKE' splattered across the tabloid headlines as John could attest, reading one of a stack of papers he'd bought from the corner shop that morning. He had to admit that the Hackers – both asleep amid cans of energy drinks, cups of cold tea and coffee and endless wires – were worth several hundred times their weights in gold.
This elegantly, professionally and most importantly, truthfully written article had been printed in every paper whose editors owed Violet and/or Oliver a favour, or simply had a dark secret that the twosome had effortlessly dug up for blackmail purposes.
"'Blackmail' may be an ugly word," Violet murmured to her comrade sleepily, "but it's so satisfying, isn't it?" She received no answer; Oliver had already dropped off to sleep, not that Violet minded in the least, given that she herself had started softly snoring.
Either way, the article had been found by one of Violet's online associates at about 8 o'clock the previous evening and was now in all of this morning's papers. John was feeling slightly more optimistic about Sherlock's rehabilitation.
"Oh, John, how many of these bloody newspapers have you gone and bought? They all say the same thing, you know – it's all the same article." Mrs Hudson bustled around the flat, picking up stray newspapers that had fallen from John's stack, "God bless the young lady who wrote it, though; it's very nice and very well written."
"It's a bit late for that, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock muttered, his eyes closed, his fingers steepled against his lips.
"Yes," She frowned, "it's such a shame." She turned to the kitchen where the Hackers were asleep amongst cold cups of tea and coffee (on Oliver's side) and empty cans of energy drink (on Violet's) and sighed, "You boys should be ashamed of yourselves, letting those two sleep there, like that. You could have sorted out the beds for them –"
"I need them to wake up now, anyway." Sherlock said carelessly, taking up his precious violin and bow. He then proceeded to produce the most ear-splitting sound that could be made by a violin (he'd conducted an experiment several years ago – John hadn't been happy at four-thirty-three in the morning).
Both Oliver and Violet jerked awake at the horrendous sound, holding their ears and moaning blearily for him to cease and desist until Mrs Hudson shrieked at him to stop. John snatched the offending instrument from the Consulting Detective's grip and held it just out of his reach.
"What d'you want?" Oliver whined, his head on the table in front of him.
"When can I start doing my job?" Sherlock demanded acidly.
"When we get around to blackmailing all of the Television Executives – BBC, ITV, Sky – into publicly apologising for defaming you on the news. We'll do that at about…um…in an hour…so that it'll be on the evening news."
"The evening news! Why not now?"
"Because by this evening, people are more likely to have seen the newspapers and will have time to watch the news with their families. More people see the news. More people know that you weren't a fake. Everybody's happy. Except me. And Violet. Because we've been up for three sodding days straight. And you're a selfish bastard who needs to piss off and let the rest of us have some sleep!" Oliver hissed, glaring daggers at the offending man before dozing back off to sleep for another three quarters of an hour.
Mrs Hudson turned to Sherlock, clucked, and said: "It's a wonder you have so many friends, Sherlock Holmes."
"He's only doing it to impress Violet." Sherlock retorted, earning himself a dirty sock being flung at him from the direction of the kitchen.
"Stop being a twat, Sherlock." Violet mumbled sleepily.
Author's Note: I fear I must apologise for several different reasons:
I haven't updated in so long it's surely criminal. And if it isn't, well…I'm still sorry. Coursework is a cow.
I've changed the name of one of my major characters. Moira White is now Violet Sherringford. I did a bit of research and the latter name just seems better, now. So, apologies for any confusion.
I'm going to apologise for both of the above – oh, and because I'm about to shamelessly beg you beautiful readers for reviews. Again.
I do hope that you enjoyed this one. Nothing really happens, but I suppose it explains the somewhat oblique previous chapter.
Ah well, either way: Soundtrack: Qué Sera Sera by Pink Martini