Mortar & Stone: an Elementary fanfiction

Chapter 4

"What made you change your mind?" Joan asked.

She and Sherlock were in the back of the limo that Tom had sent (Sherlock had scoffed when he saw it, muttering something about Tom's commitment to raising money).

"It will be a few hours before the DNA comes back from Naples' boots, so it appears I have some time to kill."

"Whoring yourself out for a good cause?" She asked with a smirk.

"Precisely."

They pulled up to the imposing 69th Regiment Armory, a huge red-brick building, the size of a warehouse. It had been raining, and the lights reflecting off the road and pavement made everything glitter like magic.

As Joan bent to get out, she felt Sherlock's hand gently take her wrist. Startled, she turned and found herself staring directly into his grey/green eyes.

"Your bag?" he said, holding it up with a cocked eyebrow.

"Oh, thanks," she let out a foggy breath and stepped out of the car, her cheeks burning. She pulled her faux-fur shrug around her tighter against the chilled air.

Sherlock was at her side, offering her his arm. "Shall we?" He asked, as they made their way up the red carpet.

A woman stood behind a podium, under the large archway entrance. Flashes were going off somewhere in the room behind her.

"Names?" She asked.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"And your wife?"

Joan laughed. "Partner."

"Oh sorry, I shouldn't have assumed you were married."

"Don't worry about it. Joan Watson."

"Thank you, and you look beautifully happy together, married or not," she smiled, "Have a great night."

"Oh no - we're not -" Joan began.

Sherlock cut her off, "Thank you ever so much." He flashed the woman a rare smile, ushering Joan through the archway.

"What was that about?" Joan frowned up at him.

He shrugged, "Didn't want to disappoint her."

The room led them directly into a flurry of flashing photographers. Obviously for the more famous guests, but they had to face the gauntlet all the same.

Joan hesitated. "I had no idea they would be here, Sherlock."

"Not to worry," he said, taking her by the elbow and guiding her confidently in front of the cameras.

Joan imagined the first few photos were of her confused face as she turned to the man beaming next to her and asked, "Who are you?"

"This is my 'let's all pretend we're having a great time raising money' face" He said, directing it at her, teeth and all.

Joan laughed. She sometimes forgot that Sherlock came from old money and had, in a past life, probably been to more of these philanthropic balls and fundraisers than he could count.

They escaped the photographers and walked through the second archway into the vast, domed main room of the Armory. Fairy light-studded trees stood around the edges, under a canopy of soft floating lengths of silk. Beautifully dressed men and women leant around cocktail tables networking, negotiating and nurturing each other's egos. As they weaved their way through, Joan looked around for Tom. A tray appeared under their noses.