Contact High → Sherlock Holmes (BBC) [on hold]

{ forty }

Sherlock entered the restaurant with a hope that maybe he could salvage at least one of his friends relationships. After the incident with Carmen, he could really do with a friend and a strong drink. Just thinking about her hurt more than the healing wounds on his back. Her eyes had been terribly cold as she stared at him.

How could he have hurt her so much? Did he really have that much power over her heart? It seemed so. He had hurt her so deeply it would be a miracle if she ever wanted to see him again, let alone salvage whatever their relationship was. Sherlock let one of the staff of the restaurant take his coat.

The maître d' stepped forward, "Sir, can I help you? Have you got a reservation?"

Sherlock barely glanced at the man before deducing him coldly. Expectant father. The man's mobile beeped from his pocket. Sherlock frowned at him, "Your wife just texted you, perhaps the contractions have started."

The maître d' took his phone from his pocket and exited outside to take the call. Sherlock smiled smugly to himself before moving forward to head to John's table. John sipped his water nervously, shifting every few moments. Sherlock tilted his head as he studied his friend's strange behavior. Before he could deduce what it meant, a waitress bumped past him. "Sorry, sir," she muttered.

Sherlock's focus moved to how she was dressed. Same as him. White shirt, suit vest, nice slacks. The only addition was the black bow tie under her collar. Sherlock grinned as an idea popped in his head. Sherlock moved over to a table, purposely bumping a glass of water off the table and onto a man's chest.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, sir! So sorry!" Sherlock exclaimed, taking a napkin in hand to clean up the mess, "Please let me just..." He patted the man's shirt and sneakily slipped his bow tie off as well. Sherlock moved from the table, putting the bow tie on himself. He adjusted it self-consciously.

A man took his reading glasses off and set them on the menu. Sherlock moved to the table, "Finished with that sir, let me take it for you." He slid both the menu and the glasses off of the table as the man gave him a shooing gesture. Sherlock put the glasses on as his focus turned to the next piece of his disguise.

Closer to John's table, a woman's clutch was open, the end of an eyeliner pen sticking out of it. Sherlock reached around her and handed her the menu he had in his hand, "Ma'am, may I suggest you look at this menu? It's completely identical."

The woman nodded and took the menu automatically as Sherlock's other hand snatched the eyeliner from her purse. Sherlock moved away from the table, reaching up to scribble on a fake mustache on his upper lip. He walked over to John's table, adopting a rather horrible French accent.

"Can I 'elp you with anything, sir?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded, focused on the menu, "Yeah, I'm looking for a bottle of champagne. A good one."

Sherlock shrugged and gestured to the menu, "Well, these are all fine vintages."

"Oh, it's not really my area," John sighed, "What do you recommend?"

Sherlock, still with his heavy French accent, spoke again, "You canno' go wrong with these. But, uh, if you want my personal recommendation, this last one on the list is a favorite of mine."

John nodded, still not looking around much. His hands shook almost imperceptibly as he held the menu in front of him. His nerves were getting the better of him. "It is, you might even say, like a face from the past," Sherlock concluded. He took off his glasses, lapsing into his normal voice with each word. He waited expectantly for John to look up at him.

John still just focused on the tabletop, "Yeah, great, I'll have that one."

Sherlock's face fell and his voice completely lost its accent as he got fed up with his plan not working, "It is familiar but with a quality of surprise."