Sorry for the wait. Writer's block is killing my story!
Estella Jean
The purple neon sign glowed so brightly that it wasn't hard to find the door when walking down the main street. Just as Penelope had said, underneath the sign for The Violet Moon bar, was a painting on the bricks of a crescent moon and a violet flower which exactly matched that of the victim's tattoo. After she had explained the connection to them at the bookstore, Sherlock immediately talked his partner into going to find out more about the victim and the mysterious bar. It didn't take much to convince the doctor. The consulting detective simply stated that he was going and walked out the door. Of course John was soon to follow.
Now the two were nearing the entrance to the bar, following the purple glow at a comfortable pace. Sherlock was alert as ever, renewed by Penelope's clue and the freedom of investigating without dragging around Sgt. Grady. More surprising, John felt the same vigor and excitement in his step as he matched Sherlock's long strides despite his exhaustion from the day's activities. Somehow Sherlock had a way of channeling his energy through him. It didn't make sense. It didn't seem possible. And yet, since the first day they met, they undeniably shared an electric bond which made their minds and bodies work in tandem. Perhaps that is why the sound of Sherlock closing the door of Penelope's bookstore behind him had caused a yearning sensation in John, as if he was being pulled by a great force into the unknown.
Then again, it could have also been the nagging sensation in his gut that told him Sherlock is too careless to take care of himself. It was an emotion John secretly admitted to, a deep seated worry for his friend's well being.
However he came to be there, the blonde now watched the people coming and going from the establishment as he and Sherlock approached the door. They didn't stand out to him at first. Sure, there were a few people wearing some atypical attire, but they were few and far between and it didn't raise suspicion.
That is, until a couple that had just exited began to near them.
The woman was lithe, attractive, and had a blue streak in her otherwise dark short hair. The man with his arm around her waist had a similar outfit to John with a blue checkered shirt and a black jacket. At the moment the two pairs crossed, John made eye contact with the woman's date and saw that the person with her was in fact another woman.
John smiled politely and thought little of it, until two more women passed him from behind, holding hands. He furrowed his brow in confusion. He hadn't seen any men enter nor leave the entrance. Then he realized rather dumbly.
"This is a lesbian bar isn't it," he stated finally, leaning towards Sherlock and keeping his tone low.
Sherlock smiled without looking at his partner.
"And he catches on at last," he replied.
"How long have you known?" John asked but almost didn't want to know the answer, lest it reduce the confidence in his intelligence.
Sherlock watched the door as he spoke.
"Since I saw the picture. A trip to the mind palace resulted in the realization. I predicted a connection between the moon and the violet in the tattoo and a Greek myth about Artemis, goddess of the moon. Artemis turned her nymph companion into a violet to save her virginity from a man pursuing her. Artemis was often seen as being rather masculine, rebellious, and independent, challenging the norms of Classical Greece. In fact, in another myth, the myth of Artemis and Callisto, suggests she might have been attracted to women as well. The conclusion was obvious. Still, it seems like an odd choice for a bar..." He trailed off in thought.
They had reached the door then. John shook his head with a small smile thinking about how Sherlock seems to find meaning out of anything, and not only that, he also has the background knowledge to make those intriguing connections.
"Whatever," he muttered with a smile which he directed at a flyer on the brick wall instead of at the consulting detective. There were times when John oddly liked his smugness and show off attitude but they had work to do and the doctor was attempting to focus.
They didn't enter right away. John looked to Sherlock with uncertainty.
"Are you sure about this?" John asked tentatively.
"Why do always ask that? Have I ever not been sure about something?" Sherlock countered quickly with a critical expression. John stared at the little wrinkle between his brows and found it difficult to argue with.
He realized that it was a good point and looked down in submission.
"I suppose not. But…" he trailed off.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John and waited impatiently for him to continue.
"But?" He asked exasperatedly when he didn't finish his sentence, close to leaving the doctor behind rather than wasting another minute.
John looked at him incredulously as if he should have been able to deduce the issue.
"It's a gay bar Sherlock," he said finally.
"A lesbian bar to be specific," Sherlock responded without understanding his point.
John rolled his eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets, searching around the night air as if it would give him an answer as to what he should do.
"This is crazy. I've never been to a lesbian bar. Not even with Harry. We don't really belong there. Don't you think we'll...you know...stand out," He explained with a rather awkward expression.
Sherlock looked at him blankly except for the slightest critical glint in his eyes. John realized who he was talking to and that Sherlock of all people didn't care about social normalcy.
The consulting detective straightened his shoulders and put his hand on the door handle.
"John it's just a bar. Nobody will even notice nor care. Stop worrying and follow my lead," he said firmly, with a whisper of a smirk.
John felt uncomfortable going in. He felt out of place, but he watched Sherlock and his usual disaffected demeanor and attempted to mimic it.
He told himself he was being silly to worry.
The bar was rather smoky, and not surprisingly, all the lights were in neon blue and purple hues. Ladies milled about the pool tables and the sleek bar with band posters tacked on the walls. Music blared from somewhere unknown and a few dancers stumbled around the dance floor in the center. There were a couple of large TVs mounted around the room, some playing football games and others playing random news broadcasts. Along the back wall there were dartboards and a few classic pinball machines that looked rather fun.
John was just about to venture further in when a strong hand pressed against his shoulder. He turned towards it and traced it up an arm and finally to a face.
A Latina woman with defined cheekbones and golden tan skin stood wearing a black uniform and a stern expression. Her strong arms were defined under her button up shirt and her curly hair draped at her shoulders in an ironically gentle way.
"You're not allowed in here. No cis men. Got it?" She said in a low tone and nodded to the door.
John began to sweat with anxiety, not wanting to gain too much attention to him and Sherlock. Already a few ladies turned to see what the issue was.
"Why wouldn't men be allowed? We just want a drink."
John tried to say calmly and looked to Sherlock for help. Sherlock frowned but seemed to prefer being an onlooker in the conflict.
The woman snorted at John's question and poor defense.
"Then go to one of the many straight bars in town. You clearly aren't from around here. We've been having issues with men coming in here from the bar next door to harass our customers for the past two years. Finally we had to do something about it."
"That's awful," John replied.
"Well you don't need to worry about that. Not us!" Sherlock said in an unexpectedly lighter tone than usual, "My boyfriend and I wanted to check it out. We are just passing through town looking for something fun to do."
It took John a few seconds to register what Sherlock had said, and when he did, he did a double take to make sure he was serious. His expression of confusion was stunned when the taller man's hand interwove with his own. He jumped and a little nervous laugh escaped him. He struggled to remind himself to respond and not just stand there like an idiot.
"Yes! Yes, uh just curious…passing through...boyfriend," John attempted to reply mindlessly. He couldn't follow any rational thoughts when Sherlock's long fingers and smooth palm were against his skin. He assumed he didn't sound too awkward but from the tight smile Sherlock gave him he knew he wasn't as convincing as he had thought.
The woman looked at them quizzically.
"There's another gay bar in the town over you could go to. Women and their dates only here. It's our policy," she repeated.
John grew ever nervous and hoped Sherlock couldn't feel him sweating.
"You don't understand," Sherlock began, but his tone sounded slightly desperate to stay in role, "You see-"
"They are with me," A familiar voice spoke behind the men and to their surprise Penelope had followed them. She was so innocent with her doe eyes and small stature that she juxtaposed the smoky liquor scented atmosphere. Sherlock and John blinked with surprise.
The woman's expression changed to one of familiarity as she saw Penelope. Her grin widened, flashing white teeth.
"Penelope! I haven't seen you here in awhile. You're with these men?" The bouncer asked kindly, her demeanor transformed.
Penelope smiled and nodded.
"Oh yes this is my cousin John and his boyfriend. They were just here visiting me. I'm sure Cindy wouldn't mind," Penelope explained.
The woman nodded in agreement and moved to the side to let the three enter further.
"Of course she wouldn't. You use to be her best customer," she grinned and nudged Penelope, letting out a hearty laugh.
"I still am! I better be," Penny replied with a laugh as she led the way. The men awkwardly stumbled to follow her to the glowing bar stools along the counter, still joined by their hands in an oddly comfortable manner.
John let out a breath of relief when he sat down and finally looked at his hand clasped with Sherlock's as if to prove they were indeed connected. Sherlock noticed and self consciously let go in an instant, mistaking the glance for awkwardness or disgust. He silently chastised himself for breaking the touch barrier with John so unconventionally and without warning. Even if it was for a case, Sherlock was aware of John's boundaries. He had observed the way the doctor became uneasy when someone entered his personal space. He of all people didn't want to induce that kind of unease in him.
John frowned at the loss of contact although he couldn't figure out why. Before he could ponder about it further, he was brought back to the issue at hand.
"Thank god you came Penny. I was beginning to worry we'd get thrown out," John chuckled.
Even Sherlock looked thankful for her presence, although his thoughts at the moment were messy and conflicted.
"You followed us," he stated plainly.
Penelope grinned mischievously at him.
"Like all good detectives I can trail people sneakily. I knew you wouldn't be able to get in without me. But I also knew you would find a way to get in without my help if I told you about it so I decided to wait till you were most desperate and then come to your rescue," she explained.
John scoffed and looked at her with surprise.
"That's evil Penny!" He exclaimed.
"Evil is not letting me help with the case!" She responded sternly but her serious expression only appeared like a cross child's.
John laughed and shook his head.
Sherlock stared at her with subtle admiration. He couldn't help but be interested in, and perhaps proud of, her manipulation skills. She seemed to be more clever by the moment.
"So Penny, you come here often?" John asked suddenly.
Penelope nodded and glanced around for the bartender, leaning up and swiveling in her barstool.
"Use to," she said casually.
"Sooo that means you're…" John began but trailed off.
She gave up, sitting back down. She looked straight at John with an uncomprehending expression.
"What?" She asked, tilting her head at the blonde man.
John cleared his throat and turned slightly red.
"Uh never mind," he chuckled.
Sherlock furrowed his brow in confusion at the silent revelation which came unexpectedly to him. He hadn't deduced that about Penelope. He would have never known in fact. He felt a weight lift off his shoulders as if a worry had been abolished. He glanced at John with a ghost of a smile and sat more resolutely in his seat.
"Back to the case shall we? It seems she's determined to help so we might as well get on with it," he told the other two.
"Right," John agreed with a firm nod, "So what's the plan?"
Sherlock tapped his fingers on the countertop as he thought. His eyes flicked to Penelope.
"Cindy's the owner then correct?" He asked her.
"Yeah," Penelope replied, glancing back to the area behind the bar for second but returning her attention back to the consulting detective when she didn't sense movement.
Sherlock's eyes flashed with an idea.
"Introduce us will you?" He told her.
Penelope laughed lightly but nodded.
"If I ever find her! She must be chatting with someone. She's usually working as the bartender during week nights."
"Great so no witness and no drinks. Why did we come here again Sherlock?" John asked his partner a bit tiredly.
Sherlock ignored John's complaint. He spun around in the barstool impatiently, scanning the room for anyone who looked like a bartender. He noted the pool tables and the unappealing dance floor but found no sign of an employee. He was about to call the night a bust when a tall middle aged woman with wavy chestnut hair and a waist high apron appeared behind a door with a small group of ladies. She caught Sherlock's expectant eye and then noticed Penelope and quickly maneuvered over to them.
"It's my best customer," the woman said with a bright grin as she returned behind the counter and adjusted the tie on her apron.
"Sorry for the wait. That was next week's band. We were making arrangements. I haven't seen you for awhile Penny. How's life been treating you?" Cindy asked, leaning against the counter to talk to the woman.
"Same ole same ole mostly. Business at the shop has been pretty consistent," Penelope responded.
Sherlock sighed with the slightest aggravation which only John would be able to pick up on. Penelope must have noticed too however because she immediately introduced them.
"This is my cousin John and his boyfriend Sherlock," she introduced, gesturing to the men respectively.
Cindy stretched out her hand politely and both men shook it. It was a social pleasantry which Sherlock would only observe when in character. Sadly the contact reminded him of holding John's hand moments before and how brief it had occurred. He realized he hadn't had the chance to memorize the wrinkles on his palm or the calluses or whether or not he bit his nails. They were necessary pieces of data to have and yet he never knew when he'd have another chance.
The far away frown on the consulting detective's face was disguised by a fake smile toward the bartender.
"Pleasure to meet you," he muttered robotically. John expected him to say more but he didn't, instead giving him a subtle nod of encouragement. The doctor gave him an odd look but knew what Sherlock was asking.
You're better at this bit anyway John. You're more...tactful. Go on would you?
John agreed silently with his eyes and then filled in the awkward silence spontaneously.
"It's a lovely bar. I almost thought we wouldn't be let in though! What's this issue about harassment?" John prodded conversationally, hoping he wouldn't sound too nosey. He glanced at Sherlock and Sherlock returned a look of appreciation.
Cindy didn't seem to mind at all but she rolled her eyes suddenly.
"Vanessa tried to kick you out didn't she?" She asked with an annoyed tone and cheeks reddening with embarrassment.
John chuckled awkwardly and gave a nod as he said, "Well yes, sort of."
"Ah," Cindy nodded without surprise, "She tends to do that. She is rather no nonsense. She used to be a police officer in the states. She likes to observe the rules a little too well. Of course being a female officer is not always easy, especially when you're attractive like Vanessa. She had to deal with a lot of losers hitting on her to throw her off her game which is why she has no problem kicking out troublemakers here. She is both a curse and a blessing. Clearly she's taking this policy a little too seriously. We just had a few nasty incidents mostly involving the same group of jerks. It was just easier this way since they were really the only guys who ever came in here anyway, besides the occasional transgender man and obviously they aren't a threat to our customers."
Cindy played it off casually but John thought there might be something important in that information and prodded further.
"That's too bad. What did the men do?"
The woman sighed and picked at her nails before looking back up at him regretfully.
"Well, mostly they came in here drunk at 1:00am and tried to buy drinks for the ladies, making obscene and offensive comments as you can imagine. And if they were to refuse…well let's just say it was hard to get rid of them. We handled it on an individual basis for a while, kicking them out when they started trouble, but then...well...something happened to one of our employees which is why we hired Vanessa. But obviously you're not associated with them. Vanessa shouldn't have given you trouble."
Cindy seemed saddened and shaken up by the topic. She turned away from John quickly and immediately changed the subject.
"So what will you have to drink?" She asked Penelope joyfully, stepping back from the counter she previously leaned against.
"Oh, um, the usual?" She said tentatively, uncertain whether Cindy would remember anymore.
Apparently she did because the woman smiled and turned to the bottles, getting to work right away.
"What about you John?" She asked with her back to him.
"The same," he said to make things easier. His thoughts were more focused on how to bring up the previous topic skillfully than on the alcoholic beverage.
He absentmindedly watched her mix liquids and shake them together in a metallic shaker.
Sherlock meanwhile was pondering the information he had learned. He wondered whether their victim might have worked there at one point or at the least been a frequent customer. The violet and the crescent moon tattoo flashed in his mind. They were the only things they really knew connected the victim with the location. It wasn't much to go off of. But, it seemed rather drastic, to get a tattoo of a logo of a bar.
Whatever she might have been, this location must have had a deep meaning to her. Did she meet a significant other here? Did she somehow help it grow from the ground up alongside Cindy? Was it where she came to terms with her sexuality? Or was she the one… Sherlock paused his thoughts as he came across an important possibility.
Without thinking he began muttering out loud.
"Such an interesting logo this place has. Did you design it? It's quite artistic."
Cindy finished making the drinks as she responded to the question.
"Oh no, a friend of mine did. She used to work here for awhile. She was an amazing tattoo artist. In fact the logo was based on a tattoo design. I'm sure she would have loved to hear the compliment."
"Would have?" Sherlock asked, his eyes glowing with discovery, knowing that the woman Cindy spoke of must have been the victim. The owner served the drinks to Penelope and John.
John stared at the purple liquid, trying to figure out what he had ordered. He shrugged and took a sip. To his shock, he was hit was by a syrupy sweetness which he wasn't expecting. The familiar bitter warm aftertaste or liquor was missing. He cringed and watched Penelope happily drink it. He wasn't surprised in the least.
"Yes," Cindy said slowly, "She… took a leave of absence and I haven't seen her since. If she ever comes around again I'll let her know you said something about her art. What would you like?"
"Nothing," he replied with a pressured smile. He found another route to get around the woman's evasiveness and decided to run with it.
"Well that's too bad. You see, I'm a graphic design artist for a home products company and I've been looking for someone to collaborate with. I think she might be the kind of person I'm looking for. It would pay well."
Cindy put her palms on the counter and frowned down at the surface. She was silent for a minute as she contemplated something. The jingling sound of ice on glass was heard as Penelope sipped her drink and John stirred his around.
Finally Cindy finished contemplating her words and spoke in a quiet tone to Sherlock.
"I'm afraid… I don't think Katherine will be able to accept the offer. You see... she went missing six months ago…"
Sherlock faked shock and empathy. A sadness transforming his features on the outside while he remained stoic internally.
"Oh that's awful!" He exclaimed, "And such a shame. I would have loved to see what other designs she had."
Cindy paused in thought, biting her lip gently.
"You know," she said at last, "I have a portfolio of some of her work in the back. I'm sure she wouldn't have minded me showing you as long as you don't use it without her permission."
The neurons in the detective's brain lit with intrigue and he grinned genuinely at the woman this time.
"That sounds great."
The woman left for a moment and returned from the back room with a purple binder. She handed it to Sherlock for him to look through.
John and Penelope both leaned in their bar stool seats and turned to watch Sherlock lift the cover of the portfolio. He flipped the plastic coated pages with nimble fingers and after the third one they discovered there was a recurring theme in the colorful images that the victim, known as Katherine, had created. Bold paint strokes captured vibrant watercolor shapes of flowers, symbols, animals, constellations, figures, and words. They each shared a harmony of shape and color and heavily relied on symbolism.
"Interesting symbols," Sherlock mumbled. He lifted his eyes to John at the same time he looked to Sherlock. The two were temporarily distracted by their proximity and sudden eye contact but it didn't stop Sherlock from speaking in a hushed and breathless tone as he described the evidence. John watched his lips absentmindedly as he spoke.
"See this symbol?" Sherlock asked and pointed to a fork-like calligraphic letter. It was at the base of a watercolor elk head with sharp angular antlers.
John examined the letter and nodded with a slight smile.
"Enlighten me, Sherlock. What is it?" he asked with an admirable glow in his eyes which had a natural presence when Sherlock was near. It seemed as if he were secretly daring him with silent words to incite more statements of amazement.
"Brilliant," Sherlock yearned to hear and John yearned to say.
The consulting detective's lip curled upward at the end in tender appreciation. He couldn't help but notice the feather light wrinkles under John's eyes.
He could have spent hours deducing those lines but Penelope broke the intimacy of the moment like the drawing of a curtain.
"C'mon Sherlock. Stop doing this suspenseful drama thing! What is it?" She laughed, oblivious to their moment.
John snickered because he knew exactly what she meant about the "suspenseful drama thing". It was a habit, a narcissistic trait of Sherlock's. What John didn't know is that with him it was always different. Sherlock never put on a show for John like he did for Lestrade or Anderson or countless others who he held himself above. He just simply wanted to be seen by him. But John only looked at the man with humorous expectation now, without the craivable intensity of before.
Sherlock noticed the shift in the moment and tried not to show his disappointment on his features. He cleared his throat and answered the question in his usual tone again.
"Well, this is a Germanic rune for protection. Notice how the shape of the rune is similar to the shape of the elk's antlers? That's what the name of rune was derived from. Elhaz."
"I see," John nodded and sipped his drink, "Do you think there's any significance in that?"
Sherlock hummed in thought.
"I'm working on theories…" He mumbled but didn't care to elaborate.
Penelope slid the book over to her slightly and flipped the page. She scanned the next tattoo design.
"Cherry blossoms. It's beautiful," she mumbled to herself and gestured to a collection of realistic little pink flowers composing half of a woman's porcelain face. The petals fell away at the bottom as if she was slowly disintegrating into the wind. As expected, there was a symbol at the edge of the painting.
"That's what the kanji symbol means. Sakura," Sherlock told her.
"Quite the variety of culture," John noted into his glass, the ice clanging against the sides.
"Yes it is," Sherlock agreed.
Sherlock continued to look through the book, noting the different cultures and symbols being represented, while Penelope and John drifted into their own conversation.
Just as he was about to close the cover of the book, he saw the corner of a yellow piece of paper sticking out from behind one of the pictures underneath the plastic furrowed his brow and gracefully slid the paper out in a single gesture. It was a post it note with a phone number and a message.
'A man asked for you when you were out. He said for you to call him back. He sounded upset...
-C'
Sherlock glanced up to see where Cindy was. When he noticed she was attending other customers, he slyly slipped the paper into his pocket, then closed the book and pushed it further toward the other side of the counter to signify that he was finished with it.
"Well John. We found what we needed I believe," Sherlock announced. When he turned around however, neither John nor Penelope were sitting at the bar any longer.
He realized that more time had passed while he had been looking through the portfolio than he had expected. As usual, enthrallment in a case had caused him to lose track of his surroundings. The consulting detective swung around in confusion and slight panic at the loss of John's presence. He let out a breath of shaky relief when found the two loudly playing one of the vintage pinball machines at the back of the room. Above that particular machine was a wooden placard that Sherlock could barely read if he squinted. Following the words 'Unbeaten since' there was a nail with movable numbered cards reading '2006'. The bookstore owner laughed as the doctor let out a spontaneous curse at the machine and an exclamation that 'It looks so easy!'.
The consulting detective rolled his eyes and mumbled something critical under his breath about a good waste of money but it was such a shallow response to the scene. In reality, he found something intriguing in the way John exaggerated his playing style while Penelope cheered him on. He did a little step with his feet and released the pull device. Sounds beeped and chimed annoying tunes from the machine which aggravated Sherlock's mind, but beyond that he could only hear John's laughter. He felt a smile tug at his lips irrepressibly.
"Just a bit of advice love," Cindy's voice broke his thoughts from behind him.
"Hm?" he hummed in question while still watching John as he decided to play with one hand behind his back even though he was rubbish while using both.
Cindy leaned her forearms on the surface of the counter and smirked knowingly at Sherlock and then the object of his gaze.
"When people let loose every once in awhile it can be pretty...attention grabbing to the right people if you get what I mean," she whispered as if it was a great secret, "And so can competition."
Sherlock's forehead wrinkled as he tried to decipher what she had meant.
"Hm...I don't know what you're…" He responded, glancing at her.
She gave him a knowing smile again and nodded to John. Sherlock should have known what she was implicating. He could deduce what breed of cat she owns and how long ago she had painted her nails just from one look, but as always with anything that pertained to John, he was clueless.
However, his own thoughts eventually trailed to the same idea.
We have been focusing on this case so hard...perhaps we all need a break, he decided, listening to the relief in John's laughter.
Suddenly he stood up from the barstool, straightened his jacket, and walked over to John through the smoky air with his typical confident stride.
A not so terrible song began to play over the speakers and by the time he reached John the music almost drowned out the sound of the pinball machine. John had just barely missed getting the ball in the hole when he tapped him on the shoulder, making him jump unexpectedly. He turned and grinned at Sherlock excitedly.
"Did you see that? I am damn good at this game. I got that close," he bragged, showing the space with his fingers in more of a hyperbolic way than a realistic one if Sherlock were to describe it.
"Fantastic. Now it's my turn," he said, lightly pushing John to the side with a smirk.
"Oh really? You think you can win? Sherlock Holmes is going to win at an arcade game when he probably has never played one in his life?" John teased with a laugh, standing close to the man as he inserted the money. Sherlock only smirked in response as he straightened his sleeves and prepared to play the game.
Penelope laughed too at the idea, "Can you beat the 2006 record is the real question!'
Sherlock didn't respond, instead leaning to the left and right of the machine and crouching to get its approximate size and degree of angle.
"No problem," he told them as he stood up again. He took a deep breath, gripped the pull lever and slowly,very slowly, began to pull it.
John groaned at his overthought method.
"Oh Sherlock just play the damn game!" he laughed at his meticulousness.
Sherlock shooed him with his hand and shushed him gently.
"You do your sloppy jump skip method but I prefer…" Sherlock paused to inhale.
"A more scientific approach…" he finished, letting go of the pull device. His eyes darted, chasing the ball across the slanted surface as it raced and bounced. He timed exactly when to press the buttons activating the flippers on either side of the machine, but despite his calculations, the force of the impact was too much. The ball hit the flippers, then the top walls, and fell back through the maze of noisy pegs and returned to the bottom of the machine. Sherlock stared at the taunting lights with astonished defeat, hands still resting on the buttons of the machine, which made both John and Penelope laugh.
"Scientific eh?" he teased his partner.
Sherlock snapped out of his loss and bounced back as the ball had done seconds before, immediately putting another coin into the machine.
"Again. I just need to do it again. Statistically speaking I'll get it eventually," he spoke with absolution.
Nearly an hour later the men had collectively played more times than they cared to keep track of. Sometime after 17 Sherlock stopped counting out of shame. Penelope had stood on the sidelines at first, and eventually gravitated to an empty seat pulled close to them. She cheered at promising times and made sounds of disgrace and defeat when they lost.
So far neither were closer to beating the record but both were nearing a kind of ecstatic exhaustion.
"I need a break Sherlock," John gasped Sherlock's name. He rather clumsily tripped into the chair beside Penelope's.
Sherlock nodded breathlessly after his postgame adrenaline, realizing that it was much later at night than he was aware. It would be best to return to the bookstore so they would be rested for the next day.
"Think we better go?" John suggested.
Sherlock nodded in agreement.
"But Penny didn't get to play," John noted with an apologetic frown to the woman.
Sherlock glanced at the bookstore owner. She stared back innocently, not wanting to get in the way of their decision making. Sherlock caved with a sigh of aggravation.
"Whatever. Do you think you could play once Penny just so John doesn't form a guilt complex?" he asked in an irritated tone.
Penelope grinned excitedly.
"Why not?" she said. She hopped up from her seat and entered a 20p into the machine.
Sherlock took a deep breath and fell into Penelope's previous seat beside John. The doctor rested his head in his hand and blinked, only half awake as he watched her play. The need for sleep had caught up to him as the consulting detective had predicted. Sherlock slightly smiled at the drowsiness in his eyes and relaxed posture and in his breaths which threatened to transform into yawns. His expression and body language suggested that he was satisfied. His exhaustion was a different kind of exhaustion than earlier at Penelope's. This was the byproduct of the random spontaneity they had shared, like the energy lost during a heart pumping case. It had been a pleasant change in pace for them both.
To Sherlock's great surprise, his thoughts were bulldozed by a cacophony of sounds emanating from the machine. Seizure inducing lights flashed and the words 'Winner' went by in a glowing banner at the top of the machine. John sat up and Sherlock watched with his mouth agape as coins came flying out of the machine and went clattering to the floor. Penny tried frantically and unsuccessfully to gather them.
"How is that possible? She didn't even play once!" Sherlock exclaimed with an embarrassing level of jealousy in his tone.
Sherlock couldn't help but glance from the corner of his eye at the bucket of coins, half of which were probably his, that Penelope lugged the four blocks back to the bookstore. He couldn't let go of the fact that sheer luck beat his method in one try and both John and Penelope snickered at his obvious struggle to accept it.
By the time they reached the bookstore, they were exhausted and climbed the stairs to their respective bedrooms in a nearly zombified fashion. John immediately curled into his "bed", which was a generous title for the sunken cushioned armchair in the corner of the room. Sherlock sat on the edge of his mattress, untying his shoelaces, curiously peering at John as he did so. The man was still carelessly wearing the trousers and checkered shirt from earlier, underneath the thin fleece blanket Penelope had lent him.
He looked so uncomfortable with his legs curled and his knees pressing against the armrest that a feeling of guilt assaulted the consulting detective. John shifted to get more at ease but his expression suggested that he wasn't successful. Sherlock glanced at the spacious mattress his own body rested on, and uncharacteristically brought himself to do the right thing.
"John," he said awkwardly, getting up from his spot on the bed unwillingly.
"Hm," he hummed in response.
"Get up John. You… take the bed tonight," he told him.
John's eyes opened halfway at his friend.
"Are you sure?" he questioned in shock, his eyes examining Sherlock to make sure he was serious.
"Positive. It's...more logical," Sherlock fumbled to come up with a reason other than the fact that he was feeling guilty and concerned for John's well being.
John sat up further, the fleece blanket falling, and gave him a look of surprise and uncertainty. Sherlock rolled his eyes at his lack of action.
"Take it before I change my mind," he told him, but John knew he wouldn't. He finally got up from the seat and slowly stepped around the maze of books to the bed, where he immediately crawled under the covers and appeared visibly more relaxed. He sighed into the pillow.
"Thanks Sherlock," he mumbled, truly grateful for the rare moment of sacrifice. Sherlock smiled ever so slightly at the sentiment and returned to the armchair without any regrets about the decision. Minutes later John's soft snores filled the room. The sound of John's breathing relaxed him, but even as time passed, he found he was unable to allow his mind to rest.
Too many thoughts raced in his brain like a great churning machine. There were too many connections yet to be made and too many threads of information yet to be neatly tied together.
It made him frustrated, anxious, hypersensitive. He jiggled his leg impatiently until he had to find another outlet for his energy.
He removed his phone and the post it note from the stack of books composing his makeshift nightstand beside the chair. He furrowed his brow at the number and accompanying message, wondering who the mystery man was who had contacted Katherine.
'He sounded upset…' I wonder why, he pondered.
He looked up a phone number tracker service on the internet and typed the number into the first resulting website.
He stared at the loading circle impatiently, tapping his fingers on the armchair as he waited for his answer.
'Number no longer available', he read to his dismay. He frowned at the results, and let out out a sharp sigh which caused John to stir. Sherlock looked to John quickly in worry that his frustration had woken him, but he returned to snoring.
Sherlock took a deep breath and eased into the chair again, pondering the information about the victim.
She worked at the bar, long enough ago for her to design the logo. The paint was...maybe a year old on the bricks outside. So roughly a year long she worked there. Tattoo artist. Maybe she worked with a tattoo parlor previous to the bar, in which case, the mysterious phone number might belong to an employer, a past fellow employee, or perhaps even a customer. Then again, a family member has not yet been ruled out. Nor a close friend. Ugh so much data needed! I suppose it's a job for John and Grady and the never ending round of questions. So far all that torture has suggested no lead whatsoever. What connects the victims? Are they even connected? There was Annie McCray with her mother issues and innocent convict ex. Rebecca Larson, the hermit with alcohol dependency and writer's block. Amala Bassi, the foreign student stuck in a love triangle because of her poor decision making skills and a mysterious friend giving her much needed advice ...Then there's Katherine, the bartender and tattoo artist with a mysterious caller...
Possibly it could be the same person.
Sherlock wasn't sure when he began tacking bits of paper to the wall by the armchair and scribbling large notes on them, but by the time the sun had risen nearly half of Penelope's vintage wallpaper was concealed by them: clues, facts, and theories.