221B

Chapter 5 - A Scandal in Belgravia

“Okay, the smoking. How did you know?” John asks as we ride in the back of a cab.

I see Sherlock smile briefly, then shake his head. “The evidence was right under your nose, John. As ever, you see but you do not observe.”

“Observe what?” John asks. Sherlock reaches in his coat.

“The ashtray.” He replies, pulling out a glass ashtray. John laughs as Sherlock tosses the ashtray in the air. I reach out and catch it before he can with one hand and hand it back to him. Sherlock takes it and tucks it back in his coat, chuckling.

Back at 221B, John and I sit at a table in the kitchen. Sherlock throws clothes around his room. With the door open, the noise is a bit distracting, and John finally looks up from whatever he’s reading. I look up from the screen of my phone as he looks up. We look across at each other and pass a slightly annoyed look between each other.

“What are you doing now?” I call to Sherlock.

“Going into battle, Kate. I need the right armor.” He replies, and then walks out wearing a large, yellow, high-visibility jacket. “No.” He says, and rips it off.

Some time later, we’re in a cab again, Sherlock wearing his usual scarf and coat.

“So, what’s the plan?” John asks.

“We know her address.”

“What, just ring her doorbell?”

“Exactly.” Sherlock says, then calls to the cab driver. “Just here, please.”

“You didn’t even change your clothes.” John says.

“Then it’s time to add a splash of color.”

We get out of the cab and Sherlock leads John and I down a narrow street. He pulls his scarf off as he walks, eventually he stops and turns to face the both of us.

“Are we here?” John asks.

“Two streets away, but this’ll do.”

“For?” I ask.

Sherlock gestures to his own left cheek. “Punch me in the face.”

“Punch you?” John repeats.

“Yes. Punch me, in the face.” He gestures to his left cheek again. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“I always hear ‘punch me in the face’ when you’re speaking, but it’s usually sub-text.”

“Oh, for God’s sakes.” Sherlock says, exasperated.

“Sherlock, we’re not going to punch you in the face.” I say.

He looks at me, a slightly-wilder look in his eyes than I’ve seen before. “You sure?”

He turns and punches John in the face. John grunts in pain and reels from the punch.

“Jesus, Sherlock!” I cry out as he shakes out his hand, then blows out a breath, bracing himself for the possible punch to come. John straightens and instantly punches Sherlock.

“Ow!” John says, then turns away as Sherlock picks himself up. He flexes his hand painfully and I notice him examine his knuckles. Sherlock straightens, holding his hand to the cut on his cheek.

“Thank you. That was-that was-“ Sherlock starts.

John punches him in the stomach, and Sherlock falls to the ground.

Not long after, Sherlock is doubled over with John on his back. John half-strangles him as Sherlock tries to pull John’s hands off of him.

“Okay! I think we’re done now, John.” Sherlock says.

“You wanna remember, Sherlock: I was a soldier.” John says savagely. “I killed people.”

“You were a doctor!”

“I had bad days!”

“For Christ’s sake! If we’re ever going to get somewhere,” I say, and grab the back of the collar of John’s coat and pull him off of Sherlock. “Get off him!” I say as John stumbles to gain his balance and Sherlock straightens. I stand in between Sherlock and John. “All good?” I look back and forth between them.

“Yeah.” John nods.

Sherlock nods, holding his hand to his cheek for a moment. He looks at John. “Good punch.” He says.

“Thank you.” John says.

“And I’ll do a hell of a lot better.” I say, then punch Sherlock in the face on the same cheek. Sherlock turns away for a moment, holding his hand to his cheek again. He turns back to me.

“Ow…!” He says, looking at me with a mixture of pain and surprise on his face.

“Yeah, that was a really good punch.” John says.

“Yeah…ow.” Sherlock says, still holding his hand to his face.

I turn to John, who holds a hand up to me.

“Good job.” John says.

“Thanks.” I high-five his hand.

“What?! No! What the hell are you doing?! No! Don’t high-five over giving me pain!” Sherlock says, gesturing to the both of us with his other hand.

“Hey, you asked for it. You have no one to blame but yourself.” I say. Sherlock nods.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“So, let’s go through with this, shall we?” I say.

After Sherlock buttons his shirt right up to the top and places a white piece of plastic under the collar to make him look like a vicar, he goes up and buzzes the intercom to Irene Adler’s flat. John and I make sure we stay out of sight as Sherlock talks to the woman on the other side of the intercom.

“Hello?” A woman, who I know to not be Irene, speaks.

Sherlock stares, wide-eyed and flustered into the camera. He speaks in a tearful, anxious, and slightly-posh voice and keeps looking behind him.

“Ooh! Um, sorry to disturb you. Um, I’ve just been attacked, um, and, um, I think they….they took my wallet, and, um, and my phone. Um, please could you help me?”

“I can phone the police if you want.”

“Thank you, thank you!” Sherlock says tearfully. “Could you, please?” He takes a step back. “Oh would you…would you mind if I just waited here, just until they come? Thank you. Thank you so much.” He holds a handkerchief to his cheek and starts to cry pathetically. A second later, he’s buzzed in, and the three of us walk in.

“Thank you.” Sherlock says again, still in character. I notice him briefly glance around the large entrance hall. “Ooh!”

“We-we saw it all happen.” John says, closing the door. “It’s okay, I’m a doctor.”

The woman nods.

“Now, have you got a first aid kit?”

“In the kitchen.” The woman answers. She gestures for us to go to the front room. “Please.”

“Oh! Thank you!”

“Thank you.” John says, and follows the woman to the kitchen.