Sherlock fic: The Problem with Personal Blogs, Part 12
Title: The Problem with Personal Blogs, Part 12/21
Characters: Holmes, Watson, Lestrade, the BBC gang (Molly, Sarah, Donovan, Anderson)
Rating: PG to Strong Adult - this part PG
Warnings: Excessive estrogen, champagne
Summary: Sherlock finds himself the recipient of unwanted attention, thanks to the Internet.
Notes: Thank you winterstorrm for the beta and Britpick.
For a complete list of chapters, see: The Problem with Personal Blogs, chapter list.
12. Dinner
John was having a wonderful evening.
He and Sarah had enjoyed a leisurely chat in the bar before the Maitre'D showed
them to their table promptly at eight. It was centrally located, which made it handy
for observing the other patrons-not that John intended to do much observing. Sarah
looked lovely, her hair shining in a glossy wave over her shoulders, and her
emerald earrings exactly complementing her eyes above a sophisticated dark
dinner dress. He hardly liked to take his eyes off her-but he knew that
Sherlock would be expecting a report, so he did put some small effort into
identifying his fellow diners. He was absurdly pleased to conclude that not one
of them looked remotely like a potential stalker.
His obligations discharged, he was
chatting away at the table when some subtle alteration in the steady hum of
noise drew his notice. He looked up, and stared.
Sherlock had arrived. He was looking
elegant, as was his wont, dressed in a sharp black suit with tie, making the
young waiter who escorted him look almost shabby in comparison-but that wasn't
what had riveted John's attention. It was Molly. She had transformed. Previously,
she had always struck John as a somewhat mousy specimen of her gender, someone
who was aptly fitted to spend her life tinkering about behind-the-scenes in a
laboratory. Tonight that mental image was blasted to smithereens. Gone was the
voluminous white lab coat and bulky trousers that had disguised her figure;
gone was the bushy ponytail which was the usual fashion for her hair. This
Molly glowed.
It wasn't just the upswept hairdo
and glittering jewelry; it wasn't merely the tiny red dinner dress that
perfectly set off the curves and lines of her angular figure. It was
everything; the way she walked, the cocky smirk on her face, the gleam of
triumph in her eye as she walked into the room on Sherlock's arm. It was as if
she were trying to catch the eye of every single person she passed and convey
to them, Look what I pulled in. Aren't I lucky? Don't you wish you could say
the same? All the while certain that no one else had any chance of it.
Sarah startled John out of his
trance. "She's very pretty, John. You might have said."
John struggled for speech. "I
didn't know."
"What?"
John only shook his head,
bewildered. He couldn't take his eyes off them, the way Sherlock stalked between
the tables imperiously, giving everyone that slightly superior once over, while
his frankly stunning date radiated her exultation like a miniature nova. People
on all sides dropped their conversation to stare in confusion or open admiration
at the handsome couple as they wended their way across the floor.
When the waiter made as if to pull
out Molly's chair, Sherlock stopped him with a regal gesture.
"Please," he said, his deep voice carrying in the temporary lull.
"Allow me."
Molly simpered as Sherlock settled
her into her chair, looking embarrassed and jubilant at the same time. But
Sherlock wasn't finished being charming yet.
"Sarah," he cried, in an
unusually warm voice. "How delightful to see you again. May I have the very
great pleasure of introducing you to my dear friend, Miss Molly Hooper?"
"Molly," Sarah said calmly,
extending her hand.
Molly's eyes gleamed with excitement
as she took it. "Hello." She fought down a giggle as Sherlock took
his place beside her.
"Champagne," Sherlock told
the waiter over his shoulder, before dismissing him by switching his attention
fully to the other occupants of the table. The young man didn't seem offended,
but murmured an emphatic, "Immédiatement, Monsieur Holmes!" before
hastily bowing himself off.
"So, John, Sarah."
Sherlock leaned in over the table, and sank his voice. "Did anyone notice
us arrive?"
John barked a laugh, and was only
able to silence it by quickly taking a drink of water. Sarah said, in that
ironic way of hers, "Yes, I can safely say that someone did."
Sherlock leaned closer.
"Who?"
Controlling his amusement, John
started his list. "Well, I'd say... everyone in this room, everyone
in the adjoining bar, those people who were descending the stairs to the loo, all
those people passing by outside who happened to look into the window-"
"John, I'm serious!"
John met his eyes blandly. "So
am I."
"Oh." Sherlock sat back,
disappointed. "That's hardly helpful."
Sarah added, "I believe the
couple on the extreme left next to the wall never looked your way. Perhaps
they're feigning disinterest?"
Sherlock craned his neck to observe
them, then settled back down. "No. They're just in from Wales. It couldn't
be one of them."
Sarah said stonily, "How
disappointing."
Realizing that Sarah was very near
to laughing, John exerted himself to bring the conversation back on track. "That
was quite an entrance," he said heartily. He looked at Molly with genuine
affection. "You look radiant. I mean that. Absolutely gorgeous."
Mollie blushed. "Do you really
think so?"
"Yes. You're glowing."
He looked at his flatmate. "Sherlock?"
"Astonishing." Sherlock answered
absently, still gazing about the room-then seemed to shake himself out of
whatever train of thought he had wandered into. "That is-yes, quite. I
told her so earlier, but one can never say it too often, can one?" Facing
Molly, he took her hand and slowly brought it to his lips, maintaining eye
contact throughout. "You look stunning," he murmured.
"So do you," Molly answered
in a tiny voice. There was a period where neither spoke, simply gazing into
each other's eyes.
Sarah caught John's eye. "I
think I'm going to need a cool drink after this."
"The champagne should be here
shortly," Sherlock said, misunderstanding her-deliberately or not, John couldn't
say. "Ah, here it is."
The sommelier had emerged from the
kitchen, trailed by the same young fellow who had escorted Sherlock and Molly
in, carrying the ice bucket and its stand. The sommelier drew himself up upon
his arrival and announced, "Monsieur Holmes, may I present you with one of
our more exclusive vintages-on the house."
John was startled; was this part of
Sherlock's plan? But his flatmate looked equally puzzled. "To what do I
owe this generosity?"
"It is the pleasure of L'Autre
Pied, Monsieur, to recognize your efforts in stopping the serial murderer who
so recently plagued our streets." The man leaned closer and lowered his
voice. "We also very much enjoyed the article that appeared online
yesterday. I understand now that it was fiction, but it works equally well,
does it not?"
Sherlock looked as if he'd been
struck. Sarah smothered a laugh so that the noise came out something close to a
yelp; she hurriedly drank some water to cover it.
"It was a great
story," bubbled the young assistant. "Remember what I told you about
it? We spoke on the phone?"
Sherlock's glare should have burnt
him to cinders. "Yes, I recall vividly."
"We all enjoy a little
RPF," said the sommelier with dignity.
"Who doesn't?" his
assistant chimed in.
"Especially when the subject of
the sketch is so fascinating." The man presented the bottle for Sherlock's
inspection. "May I pour?"
After the sommelier had departed,
and their fawning waiter had taken their order for appetizers, their table was
restored to quiet. After leading a toast to the two fair ladies, Sherlock sat
back, his eyes darting keenly from side to side to survey as much of the interior
as he could. "So, John. Any prospects? I trust that you took inventory of the
room before I arrived."
"I did and, really Sherlock, I
can't say that anyone looks suspicious. We can eliminate the couples straight
away-"
"Not necessarily. She may have
brought a male friend as cover."
"Who would do that?"
Belatedly, John recalled the situation going on at his own table. Involuntarily,
his gaze flicked toward Molly-but she had chosen that moment to sip her champagne
whilst looking self-consciously away.
"I grant you, it would take a clever
person to think of that," said Sherlock. "But you're right; the odds
are not very favorable."
"All right, then. As far as
singles, there really aren't many tables. There are three groups of what look
like businessmen, one obviously gay couple, a pair of young ladies at a table
near the door who were, quite frankly, salivating over that entrance you made,
and a group of four middle-aged ladies at the back. Those are the only same-sex
tables that I can see. There might be more in the private rooms."
"Hmm." Sherlock steepled
his fingers. "What about outside? Is anyone stopping?"
"It's too cold for anyone to
linger," said Sarah. "If anyone did watch for you there, they'd
have long since gone round to the pub."
"Wait," Molly said.
"I think I see... Sherlock, come closer."
Sherlock leaned in her direction.
"Over your shoulder. Just...
let me get a better look."
John glanced in the direction Molly
had indicated, but couldn't see anything that might have caught her interest.
On the contrary, the other diners were without exception pursuing their own
conversations. Admittedly, the girls near the door still sent intermittent
glances Sherlock's way, but they were out of Molly's line of sight.
Sherlock had practically draped
himself over the table, trying to give Molly the view she was signaling for.
"Is this close enough?"
"Perfect." Molly leaned in
and nuzzled his cheek-which Sherlock bore without flinching, much to John's
surprise. Slowly, she worked her way back toward his neck and pulled him into a
hug, the fingers of her free hand stroking the hair near his ear as she relaxed
into the embrace.
Sarah gave John a curious look, but
he couldn't help her. He didn't know what Molly was on about either.
With a sigh, Molly settled back in
her seat, her fingers trailing lightly across Sherlock's cheek as she broke the
hug.
"What did you see?"
Sherlock whispered.
"Nothing. False alarm." Molly
quickly took another sip of champagne.
Sherlock's gaze crossed John's, but
John could only raise his eyebrows. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Molly.
"You weren't really looking at anyone over there, were you?"
Molly studied the table a moment,
then shook her head and laughed. John found himself smiling over her audacity. Obviously,
John wasn't the only person at the table who had a personal agenda for the
evening.
Sherlock took Molly's subterfuge in
stride. "I'm relieved, actually. It's rather disconcerting to think that a
retired gentleman who was formerly a promoter of South American shares should
be writing pornography about me in his spare time."
Sarah nearly choked on her drink.
"A what? A retired-what?"
"That gentleman-the fellow who
would be in Molly's line of sight based on the angle at which she was leaning
against me."
"A promoter of South American
shares?" John cried. "Where did you get that?"
"Lower your voice,"
Sherlock said sternly. "You might as well ask me what business he has with
a trader, now that he's retired, but the fellow with whom he's dining most
certainly is not."
Sarah looked at John with
astonishment. John shrugged. "He always does this."
Sarah looked intrigued. "That's
amazing. But you're going to have to tell me how you came to that conclusion
before you convince me."
"Don't worry," John said
sardonically. "He will." He reached into the ice bucket and retrieved
the champagne bottle. "But before he starts off-" He'd noticed that
Molly's glass was empty. "Allow me."
"No, no, Doctor." Sherlock
lightly took the bottle out of John's hands. Fastening Molly with an intense
stare, he murmured, "Allow me."
Molly giggled and held out her
glass. Sarah gave John an amused look; he was relieved she could appreciate the
humor in the situation.
"Where are those
appetizers?" she asked suddenly. "I'm famished."
John looked at Molly, blushing
furiously as Sherlock leaned in to pour. "That makes two of you," he
mumbled.
Continued in Part 13
Characters: Holmes, Watson, Lestrade, the BBC gang (Molly, Sarah, Donovan, Anderson)
Rating: PG to Strong Adult - this part PG
Warnings: Excessive estrogen, champagne
Summary: Sherlock finds himself the recipient of unwanted attention, thanks to the Internet.
Notes: Thank you winterstorrm for the beta and Britpick.
For a complete list of chapters, see: The Problem with Personal Blogs, chapter list.
12. Dinner
John was having a wonderful evening.
He and Sarah had enjoyed a leisurely chat in the bar before the Maitre'D showed
them to their table promptly at eight. It was centrally located, which made it handy
for observing the other patrons-not that John intended to do much observing. Sarah
looked lovely, her hair shining in a glossy wave over her shoulders, and her
emerald earrings exactly complementing her eyes above a sophisticated dark
dinner dress. He hardly liked to take his eyes off her-but he knew that
Sherlock would be expecting a report, so he did put some small effort into
identifying his fellow diners. He was absurdly pleased to conclude that not one
of them looked remotely like a potential stalker.
His obligations discharged, he was
chatting away at the table when some subtle alteration in the steady hum of
noise drew his notice. He looked up, and stared.
Sherlock had arrived. He was looking
elegant, as was his wont, dressed in a sharp black suit with tie, making the
young waiter who escorted him look almost shabby in comparison-but that wasn't
what had riveted John's attention. It was Molly. She had transformed. Previously,
she had always struck John as a somewhat mousy specimen of her gender, someone
who was aptly fitted to spend her life tinkering about behind-the-scenes in a
laboratory. Tonight that mental image was blasted to smithereens. Gone was the
voluminous white lab coat and bulky trousers that had disguised her figure;
gone was the bushy ponytail which was the usual fashion for her hair. This
Molly glowed.
It wasn't just the upswept hairdo
and glittering jewelry; it wasn't merely the tiny red dinner dress that
perfectly set off the curves and lines of her angular figure. It was
everything; the way she walked, the cocky smirk on her face, the gleam of
triumph in her eye as she walked into the room on Sherlock's arm. It was as if
she were trying to catch the eye of every single person she passed and convey
to them, Look what I pulled in. Aren't I lucky? Don't you wish you could say
the same? All the while certain that no one else had any chance of it.
Sarah startled John out of his
trance. "She's very pretty, John. You might have said."
John struggled for speech. "I
didn't know."
"What?"
John only shook his head,
bewildered. He couldn't take his eyes off them, the way Sherlock stalked between
the tables imperiously, giving everyone that slightly superior once over, while
his frankly stunning date radiated her exultation like a miniature nova. People
on all sides dropped their conversation to stare in confusion or open admiration
at the handsome couple as they wended their way across the floor.
When the waiter made as if to pull
out Molly's chair, Sherlock stopped him with a regal gesture.
"Please," he said, his deep voice carrying in the temporary lull.
"Allow me."
Molly simpered as Sherlock settled
her into her chair, looking embarrassed and jubilant at the same time. But
Sherlock wasn't finished being charming yet.
"Sarah," he cried, in an
unusually warm voice. "How delightful to see you again. May I have the very
great pleasure of introducing you to my dear friend, Miss Molly Hooper?"
"Molly," Sarah said calmly,
extending her hand.
Molly's eyes gleamed with excitement
as she took it. "Hello." She fought down a giggle as Sherlock took
his place beside her.
"Champagne," Sherlock told
the waiter over his shoulder, before dismissing him by switching his attention
fully to the other occupants of the table. The young man didn't seem offended,
but murmured an emphatic, "Immédiatement, Monsieur Holmes!" before
hastily bowing himself off.
"So, John, Sarah."
Sherlock leaned in over the table, and sank his voice. "Did anyone notice
us arrive?"
John barked a laugh, and was only
able to silence it by quickly taking a drink of water. Sarah said, in that
ironic way of hers, "Yes, I can safely say that someone did."
Sherlock leaned closer.
"Who?"
Controlling his amusement, John
started his list. "Well, I'd say... everyone in this room, everyone
in the adjoining bar, those people who were descending the stairs to the loo, all
those people passing by outside who happened to look into the window-"
"John, I'm serious!"
John met his eyes blandly. "So
am I."
"Oh." Sherlock sat back,
disappointed. "That's hardly helpful."
Sarah added, "I believe the
couple on the extreme left next to the wall never looked your way. Perhaps
they're feigning disinterest?"
Sherlock craned his neck to observe
them, then settled back down. "No. They're just in from Wales. It couldn't
be one of them."
Sarah said stonily, "How
disappointing."
Realizing that Sarah was very near
to laughing, John exerted himself to bring the conversation back on track. "That
was quite an entrance," he said heartily. He looked at Molly with genuine
affection. "You look radiant. I mean that. Absolutely gorgeous."
Mollie blushed. "Do you really
think so?"
"Yes. You're glowing."
He looked at his flatmate. "Sherlock?"
"Astonishing." Sherlock answered
absently, still gazing about the room-then seemed to shake himself out of
whatever train of thought he had wandered into. "That is-yes, quite. I
told her so earlier, but one can never say it too often, can one?" Facing
Molly, he took her hand and slowly brought it to his lips, maintaining eye
contact throughout. "You look stunning," he murmured.
"So do you," Molly answered
in a tiny voice. There was a period where neither spoke, simply gazing into
each other's eyes.
Sarah caught John's eye. "I
think I'm going to need a cool drink after this."
"The champagne should be here
shortly," Sherlock said, misunderstanding her-deliberately or not, John couldn't
say. "Ah, here it is."
The sommelier had emerged from the
kitchen, trailed by the same young fellow who had escorted Sherlock and Molly
in, carrying the ice bucket and its stand. The sommelier drew himself up upon
his arrival and announced, "Monsieur Holmes, may I present you with one of
our more exclusive vintages-on the house."
John was startled; was this part of
Sherlock's plan? But his flatmate looked equally puzzled. "To what do I
owe this generosity?"
"It is the pleasure of L'Autre
Pied, Monsieur, to recognize your efforts in stopping the serial murderer who
so recently plagued our streets." The man leaned closer and lowered his
voice. "We also very much enjoyed the article that appeared online
yesterday. I understand now that it was fiction, but it works equally well,
does it not?"
Sherlock looked as if he'd been
struck. Sarah smothered a laugh so that the noise came out something close to a
yelp; she hurriedly drank some water to cover it.
"It was a great
story," bubbled the young assistant. "Remember what I told you about
it? We spoke on the phone?"
Sherlock's glare should have burnt
him to cinders. "Yes, I recall vividly."
"We all enjoy a little
RPF," said the sommelier with dignity.
"Who doesn't?" his
assistant chimed in.
"Especially when the subject of
the sketch is so fascinating." The man presented the bottle for Sherlock's
inspection. "May I pour?"
After the sommelier had departed,
and their fawning waiter had taken their order for appetizers, their table was
restored to quiet. After leading a toast to the two fair ladies, Sherlock sat
back, his eyes darting keenly from side to side to survey as much of the interior
as he could. "So, John. Any prospects? I trust that you took inventory of the
room before I arrived."
"I did and, really Sherlock, I
can't say that anyone looks suspicious. We can eliminate the couples straight
away-"
"Not necessarily. She may have
brought a male friend as cover."
"Who would do that?"
Belatedly, John recalled the situation going on at his own table. Involuntarily,
his gaze flicked toward Molly-but she had chosen that moment to sip her champagne
whilst looking self-consciously away.
"I grant you, it would take a clever
person to think of that," said Sherlock. "But you're right; the odds
are not very favorable."
"All right, then. As far as
singles, there really aren't many tables. There are three groups of what look
like businessmen, one obviously gay couple, a pair of young ladies at a table
near the door who were, quite frankly, salivating over that entrance you made,
and a group of four middle-aged ladies at the back. Those are the only same-sex
tables that I can see. There might be more in the private rooms."
"Hmm." Sherlock steepled
his fingers. "What about outside? Is anyone stopping?"
"It's too cold for anyone to
linger," said Sarah. "If anyone did watch for you there, they'd
have long since gone round to the pub."
"Wait," Molly said.
"I think I see... Sherlock, come closer."
Sherlock leaned in her direction.
"Over your shoulder. Just...
let me get a better look."
John glanced in the direction Molly
had indicated, but couldn't see anything that might have caught her interest.
On the contrary, the other diners were without exception pursuing their own
conversations. Admittedly, the girls near the door still sent intermittent
glances Sherlock's way, but they were out of Molly's line of sight.
Sherlock had practically draped
himself over the table, trying to give Molly the view she was signaling for.
"Is this close enough?"
"Perfect." Molly leaned in
and nuzzled his cheek-which Sherlock bore without flinching, much to John's
surprise. Slowly, she worked her way back toward his neck and pulled him into a
hug, the fingers of her free hand stroking the hair near his ear as she relaxed
into the embrace.
Sarah gave John a curious look, but
he couldn't help her. He didn't know what Molly was on about either.
With a sigh, Molly settled back in
her seat, her fingers trailing lightly across Sherlock's cheek as she broke the
hug.
"What did you see?"
Sherlock whispered.
"Nothing. False alarm." Molly
quickly took another sip of champagne.
Sherlock's gaze crossed John's, but
John could only raise his eyebrows. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Molly.
"You weren't really looking at anyone over there, were you?"
Molly studied the table a moment,
then shook her head and laughed. John found himself smiling over her audacity. Obviously,
John wasn't the only person at the table who had a personal agenda for the
evening.
Sherlock took Molly's subterfuge in
stride. "I'm relieved, actually. It's rather disconcerting to think that a
retired gentleman who was formerly a promoter of South American shares should
be writing pornography about me in his spare time."
Sarah nearly choked on her drink.
"A what? A retired-what?"
"That gentleman-the fellow who
would be in Molly's line of sight based on the angle at which she was leaning
against me."
"A promoter of South American
shares?" John cried. "Where did you get that?"
"Lower your voice,"
Sherlock said sternly. "You might as well ask me what business he has with
a trader, now that he's retired, but the fellow with whom he's dining most
certainly is not."
Sarah looked at John with
astonishment. John shrugged. "He always does this."
Sarah looked intrigued. "That's
amazing. But you're going to have to tell me how you came to that conclusion
before you convince me."
"Don't worry," John said
sardonically. "He will." He reached into the ice bucket and retrieved
the champagne bottle. "But before he starts off-" He'd noticed that
Molly's glass was empty. "Allow me."
"No, no, Doctor." Sherlock
lightly took the bottle out of John's hands. Fastening Molly with an intense
stare, he murmured, "Allow me."
Molly giggled and held out her
glass. Sarah gave John an amused look; he was relieved she could appreciate the
humor in the situation.
"Where are those
appetizers?" she asked suddenly. "I'm famished."
John looked at Molly, blushing
furiously as Sherlock leaned in to pour. "That makes two of you," he
mumbled.
Continued in Part 13