The car pulled up to the club building about ten minutes after Eleanor finished eating.
Hindley Street? Of course...
"Sherlock... Locky, is this party really on Hindley Street? Do you know what goes on here?"
"I know this isn't exactly the safest place in Adelaide, but-"
"Sh-Locky, a sixteen...nineteen year old girl in this outfit on Hindley street? Do you want me to get raped? Or worse?"
"You'll be fine as long as you stay inside the club with all the murderers, terrorists, gangsters, and mercenaries."
"You inspire such confidence, dear," Eleanor sneered.
Sherlock threw open the door with such confidence that the door almost quaked with fear, but that would be impossible since car-doors have no feelings...much like Sherlock, she mused. Quickly, she followed him out of the car, trying to maintain the same level of confidence as him.
Eleanor draped herself on Sherlock's arm as they walked up the stairs and into the club.
The first thing she noticed was the smell. The club reeked; it was full of cigarette, pot, and incense smoke. It made her head spin; fortunately, this wasn't the first time she had to spend time in a room filled with all these things, so she was fairly immune. Sherlock, however, wasn't coping as well with the incense.
"Need to borrow my inhaler?" she whispered to Sherlock.
"No, I'll be fine," he stated, matter-of-factly.
"You're sure?"
"Yes, now stop whispering. You'll blow the disguise."
"Locky, honey, you can order me however you want," Eleanor said, seductively.
Sherlock looked at her with a 'what?' look, and then he saw what she did. There was a man standing fairly near them. Sherlock quickly filled in the look by pulling Eleanor close, their faces touching, but not quite kissing. The man walked away at the two's "embrace".
Another man, older looking, came up to them and began to cough loudly. Sherlock one hand to cover the side of their faces, the other hand he used to give the man a 'just a sec' motion.
The man just tapped his wrist in response. Sherlock pulled himself away, he's quite the actor... and a bit too good at this... what the heck has he been doing?
"What?" Sherlock demanded, slightly annoyed.
He was good at this.
"Name?"
"Lachlan Dukeford."
"The girl?"
"My wife."
"Who is?"
"Great in bed," Eleanor chuckled, gently running a finger down Sherlock's cheek.
"Mr and Mrs Dukeford, would you please refrain from openly having intercourse in the club."
"Aww, spoil-sport," Eleanor pouted.
"Where's everyone else?" Sherlock said, as he looked around impatiently.
He's really good at this...
"This way," the man turned and started to walk away. Sherlock and Eleanor followed, with Eleanor still draped over Sherlock's arm.