The Lazarus Machine

Chapter 33

As the evening lengthened, Sherlock found John a spot at a whist table with his cousin Petrina.  John seemed to enjoy her conversation at dinner, and now that his leg was tiring from endless trips up and down the ballroom, he deserved a little time to sit and relax.  Petrina promptly arranged the game and seated two others at the table, neither of them Holmes'.

"Now, Petrina, don't steal away all of John's pride and pocket money," Sherlock said with a wink.

"Oh, now, cousin, would I do that?"

John, who showed his relief at being seated for only a brief flicker, was quickly introduced to the two other players and Sherlock left him to seek out a brief moment of quiet.  It wouldn't be too long before they could consider their obligation to Mycroft complete and depart for the quiet of Baker Street.  There were too many people here, as there always were at Mycroft's entertainments.  Sherlock had yet to see the Regent, but no doubt he was holding court in some corner with Irene by his side.

Sherlock found himself upstairs in his old room, alone, and the voices from downstairs began to fade.  Of course, that only made the noise in his head appear louder.  Sherlock sat in the chair by the window, bowed his head into his hands and closed his eyes.  This all hadn't seemed so overwhelming with John on his arm.  Sherlock rubbed his elbow; his arm was cold.  He took no pleasure in having predicted this correctly.  Perhaps he should just go downstairs.  Likely no one would allow him at their table, but he could watch John enjoy his game.

It didn't take Sherlock long to come to his decision and he stood just as someone opened the door.  Sherlock was about to scold a wayward guest for daring to use his room as a trysting spot when he realized who the person backlit in the doorway was.

"Victor."  The name dripped from his lips like gurgled-up poison.

"Sherlock."  The man stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.  For a mere second Victor disappeared from his view when the light from the hallway was closed off, but then Sherlock's eyes adjusted and the slim figure protruded from the darkness.

"What do you want?"

"What do I ever want, Sherlock?  A bit of your time and attention."

"No."  Sherlock tried to conceive of a plan to escape: forward would only bring him closer to Victor and Mycroft had constantly cleared his balcony of anything useful to climb down even going so far as to remortar the chinks in the brickwork to remove convenient toeholds.  "I'm not yours anymore."

"Yes, yes, married to that bland-looking Watson fellow.  Why on earth would you do something like that?  So incredibly dull."

Sherlock couldn't formulate an answer that wouldn't sound defensive or petulant.  He went with defensive.

"John is not dull."

"Oh, was it true love, then?  Die Liebe auf den ersten Blick?"  The young man faked his overwhelming delight.  The inherent cynicism was grating.

"Victor, you're being dreadfully tedious."  Sherlock heaved out a sigh.  "As usual."

That addition brought a glare. 

Sherlock used that moment to brush past Victor and open the door.

"Oh, I'm sure your limp-legged husband won't ever grow tiresome, Sherlock.  Because you never, ever get bored with your toys."

Sherlock went out the door, practically flew down the hall and strode down the stairs, all too aware that Victor trailed close behind.  What he wasn't entirely aware of was the smug look on Victor's handsome face as he languorously followed Sherlock down the stairs.  A few glances and whispers among the guests traveling through the foyer made him look back.  Victor made a few unnecessary adjustments to his clothing and leered.

A quick glance at the guests at the foot of the stairs told Sherlock exactly what they surmised had happened in the private rooms upstairs.  Well, their lecherous deductions were completely wrong!  Sherlock felt his face warm in annoyance.  Mycroft was going to be furious, since there was no chance he wouldn't hear of this.  Chances were whispers were making their way into his ear this very second.  Sherlock's only chance was to have an alibi in John; the man could say that Sherlock had left his side only a very short few minutes.

Play the loving husband, Sherlock.  Mycroft's words pecked at his shoulders, hounded him.  Was there something else he could do?  Find John.

John was precisely where Sherlock had left him, having received a slice of cake from somewhere and finished most of the dense, fruity dessert.  Sherlock absently picked up a crumb and had a taste, resting his hand on John's shoulder.  Victor hadn't followed him in here; hopefully he had skulked out of the house now that his mischief was managed.  Sherlock's eyes scanned the room for a few moments, noting the occupants and the various games at play.

When his eyes finally were drawn down to John's table, he was surprised to see Petrina and John in gleeful conspiracy and with already a hearty addition to their token piles of coin.

"Quite the gambler, are we?" Sherlock mused.

John chuckled, much to the chagrin of the two non-Holmes' occupants of the table.  "There is plenty of boredom while at war.  And sometimes the best way to heal a wound is to play a few hands of cards with the unfortunate soldier."

"Really, John, magically healing card playing?  Ridiculous."

John laughed again and threw down another card.  "Do you play, Sherlock?"

"Only with absolute strangers," Petrina interrupted.  "Once someone knows our Sherlock, they wouldn't dare.  He can tell which cards I have in my hand by the flyaway hairs on my head, I wager."

"I'll take that wager.  Sherlock, do tell me which cards she has in her hand."

Sherlock glanced at his cousin.  She had a tendency to arrange the cards in proper order, move the cards around in blocks of their suit.  Sherlock saw the cards on the table, the cards in John's hand in front of him.  Each player had six cards left.

"Six of hearts, three and queen of diamonds, nine and ten of clubs, king of spades."

"And this is why no one plays whist with Sherlock."  Petrina laid her hand out, exactly as Sherlock had stated.

"Amazing," John breathed.  "I suppose I owe you a forfeit, Miss Holmes."

"You most certainly do not, John!  She wagered that I'd know by her flyaway hairs.  I knew because I walked into the room from behind her and saw her cards.  It only took deducing the game play I witnessed to narrow down the cards she had left."

Petrina laughed and flicked over her largest coin into John's pile.  "Foiled by semantics."

"It's still quite brilliant, Sherlock."

John was looking up at him with that golden look again.

"It's quite warm in here.  I swear Mycroft is a crotchety old woman sometimes, with how he stokes the fires.  Come out to the gardens with me."

The other table occupants exchanged smiling glances.

"Miss Holmes, if I don't see you again before you head to the Dark Continent, it was a true delight."

"Oh, I'll impose on your hospitality, I'm sure, Captain Watson, once you are settled.  Good evening, cousin."

"Petrina.  Come along, John."

John dawdled a moment more, politely wishing the others at the table a good night and sweeping up his winnings.  He collected his cane and took Sherlock's arm and allowed himself to be lead outside.