SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

The Appointment

While pursuing the detective, John hollered out, “What about the duchess? We can’t go hounding after a dead collie when you told the Duchess of England – do I need to stress even more how important she is?”

“John, we have more things to worry about than her little squabble. You know the royal folk—they’d ring anyone if they thought they might have trouble cutting their next parade ribbon.”

“Not this duchess. She seems very dignified and the whole of England practically falls at her feet with admiration. She doesn’t look like one to pester out of boredom.”

“Does the ‘whole of England’ refer only to you?” Sherlock jested in a voice taken seriously by his friend.

Stopping in his tracks, John glared at Sherlock and replied mildly, “Fine. You do what you need to do and I’ll take care of the duchess. It’s not like you don’t send me on errands anyway.” John turned back towards the house with his arms robotically swaying back like they’d always done when he was anxious or irritated.

Sherlock watched John disappear back into the house before hailing a cab. He didn’t exactly care that John had left sense he figured he could do the hunting all by himself. And, in context, he probably could—until he came upon the parts where John’s sensibility and patience would have been most helpful.  Sherlock would have called him back, but his self-assured knowledge and his fragile pride escorted him into the cab.

Meanwhile, John marched inside and prepared for his meeting with the duchess. He had no idea how he would gain access to the royal estate and he didn’t have the private number Sherlock had dialed. So, the only person in which John had temporary faith was Mycroft. Taking out his mobile, the doctor phoned the other Holmes.

“Mycroft Holmes.”

“Yes, hello, Mycroft. It’s me, John.”

“Oh! What does the little pet want now?” Mycroft patronized through a sneer.

Rolling his eyes and wondering if he’d ever gain eye level with the Holmes brothers, switched the phone to the other ear and took a seat at his desk. “Sherlock had set up an appointment with the duchess—or, at least, is going to. Anyway, he’s sending me to deliver the message.”

“Oh yes, about the duchess affair, I really wish Sherlock could accompany you. But seeing that we must get on with it, I’ll have you fetched.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it, Mycroft.”

“As you always are assuring me.” Mycroft hung up first, leaving John to wonder if that was a mocking remark or a self-compliment—he couldn’t tell and he didn’t care.

John popped off his desk chair, slamming his knee in the process. In outrageous pain, John clutched his throbbing knee and crumbled to the floor. Wincing and gasping from the nauseating jolt, John rubbed his knee vigorously. As he sat on the ground, he spotted the circular clue. Tilting his head, John got another view of the small piece of twine. It had a glitter spot on it.

Reaching out, John picked up the string and examined it closer. With the naked eye, the glitter looked like craft glitter carefully spread on by the finger. But to John, it looked like something entirely different. Staggering to his feet, John walked to Sherlock’s makeshift lab and pulled out the microscope. He carefully placed the string underneath the lenses and focused it on it.

After fussing with the controls, searching on the internet, and burning his brain cells, John collapsed into a nearby chair and tried to think why he found the glitter so important. He knew it had to do with the duchess, as it was sprinkled on the white sector of the string.  His fingers drummed on his chin and his foot tapped thoughtfully. For what seemed like an eternity, John finally figured it out. With a spring in his step, the doctor jumped from his chair, tucked the string into his pocket, and dialed Sherlock.

“Is it important?” came Sherlock’s drawl.

“Very,” John replied excitedly as he pulled on his jacket at the sight of a black car in front of the apartment. “I think we got two warnings in one.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, there’s glitter on the string, right? I did some research and this particular type of glitter is from the palace. And I don’t mean like historical, tourist glitter, I mean fine glitter from actual pieces in the palace.”

There was a pause before Sherlock caught on and replied confidently, “Are you saying that someone broke into the palace, swiped some glitter from one of the family member’s jewelry cases and rubbed it on the string?”

“Exactly! And that right there is a good reason for you to stop looking for a dead collie and come and help me. Whoever this messenger is, he’s been in the palace before—and he’ll be in there again. I just don’t know when.”

“Obviously. Well, I had to stop by the lab to pester Molly about a new kit I had ordered. That delayed my final destination. But, hearing you’re onto something, I’ll join you. Where should I meet you? No, no, don’t tell me…you called Mycroft and he’s picking you up to take you to the palace?”

John pinched his lips and boarded into his transportation. “Meet me there, then.” John clicked his phone shut and folded his hands onto his lap. He looked out the window at the blurring London streets, wondering how this day was going to leave him this time.

When he arrived at the palace gate, John spotted Sherlock talking to one of the guards.  Shutting the door, John saddled up beside his friend and waited patiently. Noticing the arrival of his companion, Sherlock turned to John and clapped him on the back.

“We can go inside. Mycroft will be waiting for us and he’ll escort us to Ms. Duchess.” The two plodded along the wide pathway leading to the picturesque mansion. It was a grand palace that looked much like a section of Buckingham with its royal white trim and noble columns. John, who was the sentimental type, took a moment to admire the place before bursting in like Sherlock—who couldn’t give a hoop or  holler about the beauty of the court unless it had something to contribute to the investigation.

Mycroft met them in the hall with his usual raised chin and smug smile. “At last, you and your pet have arrived.”

“Yes, and I see you both arrived in good shape,” Sherlock said casually, referring to Mycroft’s average weight as two people.

“She’s in the drawing room. Don’t frighten her,” Mycroft huffed as he strolled off to speak to some of the higher officials of the mansion.

Sherlock and John made their way to the drawing room, each observing and taking in as much as they could of the place. Sherlock nudged John and tossed a head towards a portrait on the wall.

“What about it?”

“Scratch marks at the bottom – means it’s taken down frequently. Obviously loose quids or even jewelry, nothing special—but it does mean there’s trust issues around here.”

“Ah, I see.”

The two turned into a doorway and into a brightly lit room with a grand piano, lots of flowers, and two coaches on opposite ends of the room. A bay window was at their right, letting in most of the light as well as is displaying a pastoral view of the estate.     

“Charming place,” John remarked, putting his hands behind his back.

Sherlock noticed and commented gruffly, “Hands by your side, John, you look nervous.”

“It’s a military thing, Sherlock. Habit. And I’m not nervous.”

As if the room couldn’t be any brighter, The Duchess, garbed in a royal blue dress and her brown hair swept up in a soft bun, floated in. Her smile caught the eyes of the two gentlemen and though she meant to be looking at both of them, her eyes drifted towards John. Her smile softened and her cheeks flushed.