Sherlock and the Illustrious Client 01
Jul. 17th, 2013 07:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
soledad_writesby Soledad
Author’s note: This series works in different settings than my Sherlock/Whoniverse crossovers. More canon-compliant, for one thing, and each episode is based on one of the original stories of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
A few lines of dialogue are borrowed from “The Adventure of the Illustrious Client”. The Babur is a really existing Indian restaurant in London.
Timeframe: After Sherlock’s return. John has been married to Mary for about a year and moved out of 221B Baker Street.
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CHAPTER 01 – MEETING IN THE SAUNA
September 3rd 2014
In hindsight John couldn’t explain, not even to himself, how Sherlock had managed to get him addicted to the sauna.
Well, addicted would have been a bit strong a word for their soon shared passion, but John had to admit that he’d grown fond of the wet heat that eased the pain in his leg surprisingly well. His limp might have been psychosomatic, but that didn’t mean that it would not hurt, after having returned upon Sherlock’s supposed death.
He was mostly free of it again by now, one year after Sherlock’s return, meaning that he no longer needed the cane, which he had used almost constantly during the three years of Sherlock’s absence. But the recurring visits in the sauna really helped with the remaining aches.
Besides, it gave him an excuse to meet his friend regularly, and that wasn’t an easy thing in these days.
He and Mary lived in a modest little flat with adjoining practice in Queen Anne Street now; a practice in which they both worked. It was a good thing that Mary was a doctor, too, and a general practitioner at that; she could spring in whenever Sherlock needed John’s help with an urgent case.
Which happened too frequently for her taste – and not frequently enough for John’s by far – but for the sake of their still young marriage, they arranged themselves. And even Mary had to admit that Sherlock restrained himself when it came to monopolizing John’s time… well, compared with what had been before.
Before Sherlock would see no other way to save his friend than to jump from the roof of St. Bart’s to his supposed death, shattering John in a billion tiny pieces in the process.
Fortunately, Mary was a smart woman who never tried to separate the two friends (after John could bring himself to speak to Sherlock again, that is). Even if she found it hard that her husband would run off on a wild chase across London with his mad ex-flatmate, often in the middle of the night.
She, unlike John’s previous love interests, had understood that Sherlock was part of the package – and she was secretly grateful that the broken man she had met by way of Molly was now so full of life again. For that, she was willing to share John with Sherlock… on a purely platonic level, of course.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
And so it happened that on September 3rd John and Sherlock met in their favourite sauna on Northumberland Avenue, like on every second Wednesday, unless The Work interfered. Lying on the low wooden bench with only a towel wrapped around his waist, John happily relaxed after a long, exhausting shift in the practice.
It was flu season again, unlikely though it seemed in September, although it was an exceptionally cold and rainy one, even as English weather went, and finally having some peace and quiet did a wealth of good for him. So did the heat.
“Well, what’s new at Baker Street?” he asked sleepily. “Anything stirring?”
Sherlock, who was sitting on his own bench, entangled in a sheet as was his wont, reached out with a long, thin arm – he was still dangerously underweight, even a year after his return… probably due to the fact that he no longer had John around, nagging him to eat more regularly. He picked up his phone (of course, he took it with him even to the sauna) and tossed it to John without a word.
Well used to his ex-flatmate’s antics, John snatched the phone mid-air, called up the text messages and checked the most recent ones.
One came from a certain Sir James Damery; a name that was vaguely familiar but he couldn’t put his finger on it right now. The other, how could it have been any different, was from Mycroft.
Sir James Damery’s message was short and formal:
Mr Holmes, I would be grateful for an opportunity to meet you in person tomorrow, on September 4th, in a delicate and very important matter. Please contact me through the Carlton Club.
Sir James Damery
Mycroft’s on the other hand, while also short and succinct, seemed vaguely threatening:
Don’t even consider refusing, brother dear. MH
John looked up from the phone and shook his head in tolerant amusement.
“I thought he’d have learned by now how useless threats are when it comes to you.”
“He knows,” Sherlock snatched his phone back. “Unfortunately, I’m deeply enough in his debt that he can extract favours from me for several years to come. Any Mycroft is a man who collects his debts. Always.”
His relationship with his brother, although still somewhat precarious, had become less strained during his absence; mostly due to the fact that he could never have destroyed Moriarty’s wide-spread web without Mycroft’s help. Not that he’d openly admit it, of course – he liked to retort with the argument that the fall of Moriarty’s criminal empire furthered Mycroft’s career, too – but at least he didn’t deny it off-hand. And the two of them did get on marginally better. Better than they ever had since childhood.
“Do you have any idea what this might be about?” John asked, while Sherlock was still glaring at his phone.
Sherlock shrugged with a distinctive lack of interest.
“It may be some boring matter about stolen documents again; it also may be a matter of life and death,” he replied. “I don’t know more than the message says, either. But Mycroft wouldn’t have interfered if it weren’t of some importance, at least. Annoying, meddlesome git though he is, he’s not an idiot. Usually.”
And that was as much concession as he would ever give his brother.
“So you agreed to meet this Damery guy then?” John asked.
Sherlock nodded. “Mhm. Have you heard the name before?
John shook his head. “Nope. Not that I’d remember.”
“That’s because he’s good at what he does,” Sherlock said. “Obviously.”
“For you perhaps, since you’ve probably went through the internet with the fine-toothed comb to find out everything about him, down to the colour of his underwear and the size of his shoes,” John rolled his eyes. “Would you mind to share?”
“Not at all,” Sherlock fixed his eyes on the low ceiling of the sauna as if it had been a computer screen from which he could read the necessary info.
“Sir James Damery has a reputation for arranging… delicate matters, that are to be kept from the press. Remember the Hammerford Will case last year? He led the negotiations with Sir George Lewis and managed to smooth over things without a scandal, which, at first, seemed inevitable. He is a man of the world, with a natural turn for diplomacy.”
“And a friend of Mycroft’s, I guess,” John said.
Sherlock gave him an exasperated look. “Don’t be absurd, John, since when does Mycroft have friends?”
“Well, he did threaten you to take the case,” John pointed out logically (or so he hoped).
“That doesn’t mean the man is his friend,” Sherlock returned. “He works for the Crown and Sir James belongs to the peerage, that’s all.”
“If you say so,” John shrugged; when it came to Mycroft, there was still no use arguing with Sherlock. Some things apparently never changed, despite the thawing of ice between the two Holmes brothers. “So, do you think there actually may be a case?”
“I hope so,” Sherlock replied. “Sir James’s reputation would suggest that this is not a false scent and that he has some real need of our assistance.”
“Our assistance?” John repeated, grinning. Sherlock nodded.
“I could use your help in this – if you think Mary could be talked into giving you the day off tomorrow.”
“Actually, we’ll be closed tomorrow,” John told him. “Plumbing will be re-done on our side of the street; we can’t treat patients without minimal hygienic requirements like washing hands between them.”
“Excellent!” Sherlock brightened visibly. “Then you’ll be free the entire day!”
“Yeah; which is why I promised Mary that we’d spend it together,” John replied apologetically. “You know, quality time with one’s spouse and all that. Picnic, or a candlelight dinner, or whatever might catch our fancy at a whim.”
Sherlock deflated like a punctured balloon. “But… but that’s boring, John!”
“For you perhaps,” John said. “Ordinary people like me find such things rather nice. Besides, we’re trying to prevent our marriage from falling into routine; hence doing something romantic on our unexpected day off.”
He suppressed a grin when Sherlock’s mobile face contorted into a disgusted grimace upon hearing the R-word but refused to give in to the Sherlockian pout. He loved Mary, his marriage was important for him, and as intriguing the new case promised to be – because despite Sherlock’s insistence to the contrary, cases presented by Mycroft were always intriguing – it was simply not worth risking a fall-out with Mary.
They had had quite a few of those lately. Not all of them because of Sherlock, granted, but enough of them that he wouldn’t want to risk another one.”
“Oh!” Sherlock seemed to have one of his trademark lightbulb moments again. “Why don’t you bring Mary with you tomorrow? I can arrange dinner for the two of you at the Babur afterwards.”
John felt his resistance falter. The Babur was a very popular, very stylish Indian restaurant in South-East London. So popular indeed that it was almost impossible to get a table. The waiting lists were half a year long. He knew. He tried, since both Mary and he absolutely loved Indian cuisine.
“How could you possible…” he began; then he trailed off when realisation hit. “Oh. Of course. The stolen blue diamond you found for the Indian ambassador last month.”
Sherlock nodded. “The Babur has a separee, reserved for very special guests. I can get that for you.”
It was tempting. God, it was beyond tempting. Still, John didn’t want to make a decision without asking Mary first. She had strong feelings about that sort of thing. Very strong feelings; and colourful ways to express them beyond doubt.
Oh, she wouldn’t swear, or scream at him… nothing so cheap. But John’s ears tended to burn for days after a thorough dressing down; especially if he deserved it, which he did, more often than not. It was definitely not something he’d want to risk.
“I need to ask Mary first,” he said. “I can’t simply change our plans for tomorrow behind her back.”
Sherlock rolled his eyed at the sight of so much domestication.
“Then ask her, for God’s sake! And be at Baker Street tomorrow at 4:30, sharp. People like Sir James tend to take offence if made to wait.”
“While people like me can be expected to turn over their plans on a whim, just because the great Sherlock Holmes requires their company,” John grumbled good-naturedly.
In truth, he was flattered – and very intrigued what a case involving such important people might be. He only hoped Mary would see it the same way.
~TBC~
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Date: 2013-07-18 02:15 am (UTC)Loved the update!
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Date: 2013-07-18 05:35 pm (UTC)Glad you liked it. What do you think about the way I posted the Prologue?
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Date: 2013-07-19 01:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-19 07:43 am (UTC)I was very proud of Molly and the fluffy teddy. Mike, of course, got the coffee icon because of how he and John met in the pilot. Jack probably isn't the best for Bill Murray, but since he and John were together in the Army, this was the closest thing I could do. And Harry got the blue planet because in German saying that someone is "blue" means that they are drunk.