Whoop de do we actually got an update on the right day

I don't really have anything interesting to say so please enjoy the chapter.

The weather had relaxed by the next day, the heavy snow-clouds gone, bright sunlight working to melt the thick snow. Huge piles of mud and slush had found its way into the road, turning everything a nasty brown color. The cars and cabs made it a dangerous game just to walk down the street without being assaulted by a wave of ice cold dirt water. Somehow we made it to the designated Albany St. café without getting drenched, though your lower half had caught some passing sprinkles. My crutch made uncomfortable swishing noises through the sludge, and you made sure to keep close to me in case my balance got the better of me.

As we reached the entrance you pulled open the door, ushering me to stumble inside. "A few minutes early, I think."

"No sign of Anne or Lestrade." You noted, following me.

As I started with my jacket, you spotted your table of choice near the back and moved quickly, stripping your coat and scarf as you walked. My crutch squeaked along the floor as I joined you. Only a handful of other guests were there, mostly seated by the windows. You studied them while I stretched my bad leg into a chair, positioning myself where I could see out onto the street.

"I'm not hungry at all, Sherlock, do you want to split?" I grabbed the menu and scanned over it, leaning my crutch against the inside of my seat.

"Split?" You turned around for a second. "Split, split. Yes, I'm alright with splitting. I'm not hungry, either. What about a wrap?" You turned back.

"...Wrap. Sure, if that's what you want." I turned a page. "There's tuna, chicken, ham...?

"I'm in the mood for chicken."

"Chicken it is." I slapped the menu shut and tucked it back into the sleeve, folding my hands over the tabletop and watching the back of your head. You continued to investigate the room, and I sighed. "What in the world are you looking for."

"Anything suspicious." You jumped up and straightened yourself. With a glance at the table, disgust washed over your face, and you began to rearrange the condiments and scrub the surface of the table with a handful of napkins. "Filthy. Who in their right mind would chose this place."

"You chose it."

While you made defensive noises, a burgundy-haired waitress approached the table with an all-too-friendly smile on her face. She looked young enough to be a university student, and smelled like cheap perfume. "Good morning, sirs. Weather's pretty miserable out there, isn't it?" She chuckled as she scattered a few cork coasters on the table. "Is there anything I can get you to start you off? A drink, or an appetizer?"

"I don't think we'll need an appetizer. A drink would be nice, though." I smiled back at her, running my fingers across the edge of the cork. "Coffee, decaf, thanks."

She scribbled it on her pad. "Very good, sir. And for y-"

"I'll have a spray bottle of bleach cleaner," You said, still scrubbing. "A few paper towels while you're at it."

She hesitated. "...Uh, sir?"

You grumbled. "You do this for a living, do I really need to say please?"

"...Well, uh. I'll see what I can do, sir." She disappeared, looking terribly distressed, her eyes flicking quickly between the ground and her notepad.

"You can at least try to be polite," I sighed.

"I'm just doing what the busboy should have done last week. This place is revolting."

I sighed, twirling the coaster between my fingers. "I'm serious, though. I know you're suspicious of Anne, but as far as we know she hasn't done anything wrong. Innocent until proven guilty, remember. I don't want you offending her, or making her uncomfortable."

"But I'm best at those." You shot me a half-mouthed grin, then grabbed the menu aggressively. "Is there anything with tuna here?"

"I thought you said you wanted chicken."

"Well I've changed my mind. The tuna salad looks good. Do you want to split?"

I shrugged and waved my hand through the air. "Whatever you want, Sherlock."

"And just so that you're aware, I do intend on being as subtle as possible. I don't want her catching on to my suspicion just yet."

"There's a very good chance that she could just be an innocent young woman, in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Coincidences are facts. I'll try to be careful if only for George's sake."

"Greg."

"Whatever."

The waitress came back with a mug of coffee a paper towel roll, with a spray bottle tucked under one arm. "Here you are, sirs. And please be careful with that cleaner. We would rather not have any spill."

"It'll be fine." You tore off a few sheets of towel as she handed them to you and gave the bottle trigger a firm squeeze. I curled my nose at the harsh smell of bleach.

The waitress grappled with her words. "...Um, if the table is dirty, I could show you to a-"

"No, no, that's alright, Sherlock's already got it handled." I smiled apologetically and motioned to the menu. "We're ready to order. We'll have the tuna salad, to share..."

"What about the chicken wrap?" You glanced up at me, and we exchanged stares.

"Chicken wrap and tuna salad, then? I'll put those in right away." She jotted down the orders and scurried off before either of us could get in another word.

I sighed and took my cuppa. "Explain yourself."

You went back to scrubbing. "Explain myself what?"

"Why are you so hyperactive today. Long night with Mycroft?" I started to drink my coffee.

"If that's an option, then yes."

"How late did he end up staying, anyway. Mycroft."

"Not late. Ten thirty or so."

"Good grief. What were you two talking about so late?"

"Nothing too important." You gave me one of your obnoxious "bullshit" looks.

I stirred my coffee. "Tell me, I want to know."

A short exhale. "Your health, of course. Why else would Mycroft come to Baker Street? What other 'business' do we have?"

"It was only a question. I didn't think Mycroft would worry too much."

"Well you should think again." You wadded up a few dirty towels. "He fancies you."

"Fancies me?" I snorted. "So this is what it's like to be fancied by Mycroft Holmes. I thought it would feel a little more regal."

"And since you asked a question, I will too." You folded your arms across the (now polished) table, leaning forward a bit. "You received a letter from your parents two days ago which outlined their unwillingness to accept your homosexual relationship with your flatmate, am I correct?"

I made a face. "Yes. I read it to you, remember? And could you not generalize it."

"Yet your elder sister, Harriet, had also engaged in a homosexual relationship. Was their reaction the same towards her?"

"Well, no." I sipped at my cup.

"Then, explain?"

"It was obvious that they were uncomfortable with the idea, but they kept it mostly to themselves. They attended the wedding, bought them gifts, and the like. Supported them. But regardless, Harry and Clara have been separated for some time now."

You folded your hands under your chin. "But why then, with their second child, would their opinion be so negative?"

"They're probably just more serious about it now. I'd really rather not talk about it."

"Could it be because of the gender of the perpetrator? Female is conditionally less serious, but culturally the man is the leader of the house, the bearer of the family name, the one whose duty it is to marry and to carry on the line..."

"Sherlock."

"Without much extended family the father may be more interested in an heir than-"

"Sherlock, stop. They're here."

The little bell above the door chimed cheerfully as Lestrade and Anne stepped inside, their noses blushed from the cold. Bundled in their coats and layers, their arms intertwined, with the combination of Anne's deep red hair and Greg's large grey scarf, they looked like the textbook holiday pair. They saw us right away and shook the sludge off their boots before braving the tile.

"Quite a day for walking, isn't it?" Greg laughed, letting go of Anne to start on his coat. "You haven't waited long, have you?"

"Not at all." You smiled, discreetly slipping your wad of dirty paper towels under the table.

"John! How nice to see you again." Anne smiled at me, her eyes sparkling as she hugged my shoulders lightly. Her contagious smile spread quickly. "I was so nervous after Mycroft's party, the ambulances and officers. But I'm glad you're feeling better."

"As am I." I motioned for her to sit.

Lestrade slid in beside you, still untying his scarf. "Have you two already ordered?"

"Yeah, just a few minutes ago." I nodded.

"Okay, no problem." He released a long breath and put his elbows on the table. "We had hell getting here, there were no parking spots on the entire block, we had to park all the way on the corner of Robert. It's ridiculous." He shook his head, then turned to me. "But it's good to see you, John. How are you feeling?"

"Been better. But I'm improving." I shook my head a little. "Slowly but surely."

"We're still investigating what the cause might have been for his illness," You hummed.

"Food poisioning, maybe?" Anne asked, reaching for the menu.

"Not quite, but close."

"A crime?" Her eyes flashed. "Do you think he could have been drugged?"

"Now's not the time to be discussing crime, right, Sherlock?" Lestrade laughed, a bit of nervousness breaking through. He grabbed at the second menu. "Is the shrimp salad any good?"

"I heard the salmon was better," I answered, playing along.

"I don't like salmon all too much. Sherlock, have you-"

"If it's any concern, I would in fact like to be discussing crime," You announced.

"That's not really appropriate for the time, is it?" Greg stammered.

"Perfectly appropriate," You glinted, staring down Anne with a devilish expression that made the two of us shrink back in our seats. A tense silence started its dance across the table.

As the waitress approached from the corner of my eye, it began to dawn on Greg that you had invited the two of them out to investigate his girlfriend and not for a friendly chat. I could identify the small anger starting to flash just behind his irises, building from the quirk of his brow. The waitress took his and Anne's orders with exaggerated heartiness. Anne seemed nervous, but tried her best to cover it up, unfolding her napkin on her lap and setting it on the table just to grab it again a few seconds later and refold it.

Greg turned back to you after the waitress had gone, his jaw set. "So, what is it, Holmes. You think John was drugged? What does that have to do with us?"

"I requested that my brother do a thorough investigation of his kitchen and serving area," You began, "Along with a complete search amongst his cooks and waiting staff, and he disclosed the results of the search to me last night."

"Did he find a lead?"

"No. He found nothing. But that's beside the point. Mycroft owns a large wine-cellar that is installed into the basement of his estate. Ten-digit keypad lock, and obviously he keeps it quite clean, it's impossible for even I to disarm. Inside the wine-cellar are numerous bottles of various kinds, each one carefully stored. There were even records of which wines were requested by which guests. Mycroft really does cover his bases. You, Mrs. Whitefield, requested a type of champagne called Lécuyer. This particular type of champagne has only made an appearance in the last several years, and is already fetching high prices on the market. Mycroft only owned two bottles, and generously opened one for you. A new, un-opened champagne, one no one else had tasted. This is the champagne you offered to John and I. I did not drink my glass, but John did."

"Do you think there was something wrong with the wine?" Anne pursed her lips. "Lecuyér is one of my favorites, I've never ha-"

"I think that you would calculate we would suspect the wine first, that's why you chose to use a bottle that hadn't been opened. It would have bought you time, time to rid yourself of evidence."

"You're not being serious," Greg exclaimed.

"I am being serious, Lestrade." You grinned, folding your hands under your chin. "Tell me, Anne, how did you do it? Did you somehow intercept the wine? Or did you put it into the drink when you handed it to him? Did you try to poison me, too? Or were you focused solely on one victim?"

Anne glanced wide-eyed between Greg and I. "I, uh... Mr. Holmes, I think you're-"

"Here you are, nice and warm for you." The waitress butted right into the conversation, spreading our plates out on the table: the tuna for you, the chicken for me, for Anne a salad, and Greg the ham butty. You looked at me and then down at my food with confusion written in bold letters across your face. I could almost hear your puzzled voice asking if we were supposed to be splitting.

Anne stirred her salad with her fork as your eyes gravitated back toward her.

"I'm afraid you haven't found your criminal, Mr. Holmes. I didn't do anything to John."

"Of course you have. It's just a matter of finding the evidence to prove it."

Anne gave you a sort of apologetic smile. "I haven't done anything to John."

"Hear her very clearly, Sherlock." I said, pulling apart my wrap. "I told you she hadn't done anything."

"Plus, if I did do something, what in the world would I be doing here?" She chuckled, "Sitting down to lunch with a man I was supposed to kill? I don't think they would put that in 'First-Degree Murder 101'."

"Thank you, though, for suspecting my girlfriend of poisoning your fiancé." Greg growled through a mouthful.

You took a large bite of the tuna salad, chewing as you thought.

"I'm sorry about him, Anne," I apologized.

She laughed. "Oh, it's no problem. I'm sure he's worried about you." She tapped her fork against the rim of her bowl. "Did your doctor give you any clues as to what happened back at the party? A drug or some kind of virus?"

"There are several theories," I answered, clearing my throat. "Right now he's leaning to a more mental cause, against my suggestions."

"So you still think there was a poison involved?"

"Possibly, yes."

"Interesting." She smiled. "Let me know if there's anything I can help you with, alright? As soon as Sherlock gets over the shock of having his theory fall out from under him."

You swallowed. "I was certain it was the wine."

"Maybe it was a mental thing." Greg piped back. "Y'know, like the doctor said."

"The strong objection against-."

"Y'know what the real problem is here, Sherlock. You're making this all too complicated than it needs to be." He waved his butty at you. "You always want everything to be clever. It's not clever this time, Sherlock."

We finished our meal without another word from you.

Tiptoe through the reviews with me

Next update Sunday