When they entered the dressing rooms, John noticed one thing only: it was full of men. "You brought me to a gay strip club?" he accused.
"I thought you would enjoy it!" Mike protested. "You looked like you were having fun, at least."
"What is it? Tell me, Mike, what is it about me that screams 'Gay?' Oh, no offence-" John noticed several of the performers were giving them strange looks. "Mike, really, I want to know. Is it the fact that I've never shown interest in men? Or perhaps it's that I had three girlfriends in the past two years, and all those relationships lasted longer than six months apiece."
Mike stopped so abruptly that he very nearly crashed into him. He turned and looked John up and down once. "Hmph!" was all he said, as though that were explanation enough, then he turned and knocked on a door that read "Holmes" in golden letters.
John opened his mouth to argue, but then the door swung open and that same voice zapped up his spine, and his mouth went dry.
"Come in. The Doctor, too."
Mike ambled in and was shaking hands with the dancer as though he hadn't been drooling over him only moments ago. John sidled past the door, giving a nervous nod of his head when the dark-haired man raised an eyebrow in his direction. He was wearing a purple shirt now, though it seemed like the buttons were making every effort to close the cloth around his torso without bursting. John half-expected the buttons to go flying; the shirt really was much too small for the man. He looked at the floor. The dancer was barefoot. John let out a quiet sigh of relief.
"John Watson, this is Sherlock Holmes," Mike said between the two. "Sherlock, my good friend John."
"First time in a club, Doctor Watson?" Sherlock smirked.
"John, please. And y-yes. Though what you did there," John gestured inarticulately with his hand, "it was very good. Brilliant, really." He cleared his throat awkwardly. Sherlock gazed at him intensely, and he wondered briefly if he mightn't just slip right out the door and disappear forever.
"You really think so? So this is the one who needs a job?"
"Yes," Mike was responding. "Mighty fine mate of mine, and of course you've figured out about his past work, so I don't need to-"
Sherlock interrupted him and continued to stare at John. "Shut up, Mike. So you worked for the Ms."
John shifted his weight, pulling his hands out of his pockets but stuffing them right back in again. "Ah, yes. Yes. Just got let off today, in fact."
"Why?"
"They didn't say." John felt like he was being interrogated.
"Know secrets?"
"No, nothing at all."
Sherlock squinted at him, then turned back to Mike. "He'll do. I'll tell Mycroft we've got a new one. You'll be needing a new place, John?"
He jumped slightly. "Well, I-I don't really kno-"
"Of course you do, I don't know why I bothered asking. I have my eye on a nice little flat, and seeing as we'll be working very closely together in the future, it will do for convenience's sake. I'll text you the address, and… oh, I'm sorry, you're confused about something?" Sherlock cut himself off when he saw John raise a finger in the air as though he were about to ask a question.
"I'm sorry, but what is all this talk about 'He'll do' and needing a new flat and all this?" said John.
Sherlock nodded. "Ah. You're to be my new assistant. You do need a job, don't you?"
"Yes, but… assistant?" John was puzzled. What kind of stripper would need him as an assistant.
"More like a bodyguard, really," Mike corrected.
"A bodyguard!" John was alarmed.
Sherlock cast a glance Mike's way. "Adorable. He's a trusting one, isn't he?"
John bristled at this. "Excuse me, but I'm not going to be anyone's anything until you explain to me exactly what's going on!" he demanded.
Sherlock gave him an amused smile. "Lestrade will get you sorted. Your prior experience with the Ms will be a plus. Doctor John Watson, welcome to the Division. Now I really must go. I've got a burglary to interrupt. I'll be certain to text you the address." With that, he put on the same coat he'd been dancing in and swept out of the room, leaving John more than a little mystified and Mike chuckling.
"Isn't he something?" Mike observed. "Come on, let's get you in to see Lestrade." He pushed John out the door and started leading him around to yet another part of the gentlemen's club.
"Who's Lestrade? Why won't anyone explain anything to me?" John grumped as they went. Mike ignored him. They rounded the corner to find a room labeled "Bluebell Management," and Mike rapped on the doorframe loudly before pushing the door open.
"I'll leave you here," Mike informed him. "You know I've got to get home, do some prep work for my classes tomorrow." John gave a snort, but wished him a good night anyway. Mike wasn't a professor in the traditional sense, though he made a big show of it. He taught runaways to be pickpockets and helped them find good positions in organised crime. It was street sense he taught, and he was fairly well-respected for it. Mike was neutral ground if there was such a thing when it came to the biggest crime syndicates of England and especially those of London.
John let him go and debated with himself for only a moment before poking his head around into the office. A young man who had mostly grey hair despite seeming to be in his late thirties was sitting back in a rolling chair, his feet up on a desk, and what appeared to be contracts clutched in his hands. He looked up and saw John.
"Oh, hello," he said pleasantly. "Who are you? Sherlock's?"
At a loss for words, John sort of nodded in confused assent. "Er, yeah. I suppose. John Watson. But…" he stammered.
"Lestrade, nice to meet you." He held out a hand, and John shook it. "Please, have a seat. I'll have to fill you in, it seems. Nice of Mike to find you on such short notice. And a doctor, too. You know anything about this?" He crossed back around to his desk and sat once more.
John shook his head, sitting on a wooden chair across from Lestrade. "No, I've only just been let go working as a doctor for the Ms." Upon seeing Lestrade's surprised look, he hastily added, "They didn't tell me anything, it was strictly medical. Sorry-what happened to Sherlock's last assistant?"
Lestrade shrugged nonchalantly. "He never had one. He's just been so insufferable lately, imposing on absolutely everyone. We had to ask Mike if he knew anyone who could stand him. But anyway, you'll be somewhat of an assistant to him. Have you heard of the Division before? No?
"The Division is something like the Ms, only we're the 'good guys.' Think of us as the anti-crime syndicate, but we operate outside of the confines of the police. Laws restrict everything, stop you from being able to act on a moment's notice. I'm a bit of a renegade myself, but I consider myself as working towards the exact same justice as I did when I was in the force-I'm just more effective now.
"Sherlock is… well, you've seen him. That's only half of what he does. He can read people like that, it's some sort of curse. Don't try to lie to him, I'll warn you right now. He's the one who can keep track of anything and everything happening in the city at once. He's also taken an interest in the Ms. Seems M him-or-herself has been sending mysteries to Sherlock lately. A direct challenge, wouldn't you know it? Crazy blighter never eats nor sleeps, and we can't be his babysitter! It's hard enough to run a legitimate gentleman's club as a front for the Division as is."
John frowned. "So now you have me."
Lestrade motioned at him. "Now we have you, assuming you'll have the job."
A voice from out in the hall called, "You found someone? Don't offer! Make him take it!" A woman zipped in, skidding slightly in her heels. She looked down at John, then back at Lestrade. "Greg, don't tell me you're letting him second guess himself," she huffed.
Lestrade narrowed his eyes at her. "I've got it covered, Donovan. I really need you running interference for the delivery right now. Sally, this is John Watson. John, this is Sally Donovan, who currently has somewhere to be right now."
She let out a great sigh. "If you don't take the job, I'll hunt you down," she promised John, who had the decency to look concerned.
"Donovan!"
"Alright, I'm going! Anyway, nice to meet you." And she left in a flurry of annoyance and clicking stiletto heels. Lestrade rolled his eyes after her before turning his focus back to John.
"So, tell me, are you interested?" he asked quite seriously.
John thought carefully. "I think that was probably the clearest sign to get out of here as fast as I can," he muttered. Lestrade looked dismayed before he continued, "but for some reason that's well beyond me, I'm going to say yes."
"Well, thank God for that," Lestrade grinned. "Let me just get a contract drawn up for you. I just hope he doesn't end up being too much for you. Loads of people around here want him out, and they really would have him out if it weren't for his exceptional skills." He pulled out some blank forms from a desk drawer and shoved them at John, giving him a pen so he could sign.
"What am I getting myself into?" he wondered out loud.
Lestrade smiled at him kindly. "Best not to worry about it. Welcome aboard. Hang around with an M, and we kill you."
"What?" John looked up, startled.
Lestrade nodded brightly. "Standard procedure. Make sure you sign AND date on the bottom there."
John dutifully did as he was told.
A/N: Get updates on The Bluebell Consultant several days in advance on my blog (listed on my profile). I'm going to aim to update it here about once per week, but on my blog I may update it as often as once every few days. And of course, I'm always looking for solid critiques and feedback, anonymous or not!