The American Affair: Chapter 7
The American Affar: Chapter 7
“I don’t say this often,” Kurt said. “But, Fuck me. What have you gotten yourself into, David?”
David shrugged, and drained his beer. He held it up to the bartender, who nodded at him in acknowledgement. “I wish I knew. That Sherlock guy keeps things pretty close to his chest. Even Irene’s been less forthcoming than usual, and she’s always willing to share gossip with me.”
“Yes,” Kurt waved his hand. “But that’s because she knows you’ll tell me, and then I’ll reciprocate, and then you’ll tell her.”
“Well, that’s true.”
The bartender placed David’s beer on the table, and took the empty glass. When he was far enough out of earshot, David took a small sip and said, “I don’t know.” He said. “Oh, did I tell you they were together?”
“What? Irene and Sherlock?”
“No, Sherlock and John.”
Kurt’s eyes nearly shot off his forehead. “They’re gay British private detectives?”
“No. They’re gay British consulting detectives.”
“Whatever,” Kurt said. “They’re not real. They’re characters out of some--some coded Victorian novel. Or a BBC series.”
“Handsome, too. Well, John’s handsome. Sherlock looks weird until you get him in the right light. Then he’s just--gorgeous.” David stopped talking when he saw the grin on Kurt’s face. “What?”
“Look at you,” Kurt said. “Dishing on some guys you just met.” David, face already flushed from alcohol, could feel his face redden further and he looked down into his beet. “Who’d have thought you’d get to here, ten years ago?”
David looked up and smiled when he met Kurt’s eyes. “You did.”
Kurt smiled back and raised his martini glass to toast. “To proving the past wrong.”
“Cheers,” David said, and raised his glass. He was mid-swallow when he heard:
“So this is your friend from school. The source of that motivating guilt.” David coughed, sputtering beer all over himself. He cursed under his breath and dabbed at himself with a cocktail napkin. He glanced up at Kurt, who was looking at Sherlock--and really, who else could it be with that voice--with a blankly assessing look that David hadn’t seen since High School. David looked and Sherlock stepped closer to the table and into the light.
“And you must be Sherlock.” Kurt sniffed, and turned back to his drink. “You’re right, David. It takes a certain quality of light.”
David could see Sherlock narrow his eyes, and looked for John. He was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s John?” he asked.
Sherlock waved a hand, never looking away from Kurt. “Outside. Cats aren’t allowed inside, so he had to wait.”
“Cats?” David said. “Why would he--you took Tigerlilly?”
Sherlock finally looked at David. “Who’s Ti--oh, I see. Tigerlilly? Really?”
David grunted. “I didn’t name her.” He took another sip of his beer and said. “Sherlock, you were right. This is Kurt. Kurt, this is Sherlock.”
“Charmed.”
“You better be.”
Sherlock’s eye narrow seemed almost fond. David knew, at the moment, he either was spending too much time with Sherlock, or he was more than a little tipsy. He suspected reality lay somewhere in between. “Why are you here?”
“To collect you,” Sherlock said. “We’ve cracked it.” He paused. “I say we. I mean I. I figured it out. But John’s got the cat, so he is helping.”
“Oh I certainly see what someone would see in you,” Kurt said, dry as dust.
“The sex is fantastic.”
Kurt paused, as if he couldn’t be sure if that’s what he heard. “Really?”
“Of course. It’s what people always expect to be the reason, and I’ve no time nor inclination to educate people who refuse to be educated.”
Now Kurt grinned. “Okay. So that’s what he sees. Good on him. Everyone needs a Diva.”
Sherlock huffed. “I am not--”
“Sherlock!” John called from the door. “Come on!”
“Right,” Sherlock said, still eyeing Kurt. He cut his eyes to David for a minute. “You need to come with us.”
“Right,” David said, and put his beet down. As he reached for his wallet, Sherlock stuck his hand out to Kurt.
“Always a pleasure to meet such an accomplished person. I had a chance to see you sing when you were last in London. You’re range is impressive, and your performance immaculate.”
Kurt took Sherlock’s hand, looking touched and a little stunned. “Thank you. London was a wonderful experience.”
Sherlock nodded, and with a dramatic twirl of his coat, left the bar. David turned to Kurt. Kurt looked back with wide eyes.
“Always nice to meet a fan,” he said, faintly.
***
John was officially not a cat person.
By his count, he had no less than two dozen claw marks, three bites, and was most certainly developing an allergy. When Sherlock came back, he taking the blasted thing, no matter how hard he tried to get out of it. Most people thought Sherlock was a cat person, John knew. He also knew that they couldn’t be more wrong. Sherlock was too much like a cat himself to ever get on with cats; he much preferred dogs.
Sherlock wasn’t going to be around much to prefer anything if he didn’t hurry his arse up!
John opened the door, ignoring the look from the bartender, and called sharply, “Sherlock! Come on!” He let the door shut and glared down at the kitten. Never. Again.
The door swung open next to him, and Sherlock burst forth, striding out to the curb to hail a cab. The door closed fully before David followed, tie loosened and jacked rumpled. “Did you really--”David shook his head at John’s jacket, and the cat inside. “May I?” David held out his hands, and John handed over the cat gratefully.
The cat, that had been struggling to get free of John, settled easily in David’s arms.
“Amazing,” John muttered. “He loves you.”
“She,” David corrected, absently. “Tigerlilly and I have an understanding.”
Tigerlilly? John thought. He opened his mouth, but Sherlock interrupted, crawling into a cab. John had to scramble to not be left behind. The cab took off as soon as John shut the door behind them. It was incredibly crowded in the back of the cab, between Sherlock’s height and David’s overall size, John began to wish he had taken the front seat.
“So,” John said. “Catch us up, then.”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Sherlock blinked at him, leaning around David. David leaned back as far as he could, cradling Tigerlilly to his chest. “Tim’s lover was smuggling information.”
John blinked. “Sorry, what?”
“Tim’s lover, the footballer, has valuable information stolen from a foreign power, given to him by a family member whose involved in one of the resistance groups. Military secrets from Iran. No doubt, only the one who lost the information is aware of it, and the rest of the country assumes it was stolen by Israel. Indeed, the information probably was taken to sell to Israel, but disappeared with the lover. When the lover couldn’t produce it, they took Tim.”
“Brilliant,” John breathed. It didn’t matter how many time John saw Sherlock’s mind work, it still amazed him. He smiled proudly at Sherlock, as David gaped.
“And you just figured that all out?”
“Yes,” Sherlock said. “That is what I do.”
“So where are we going now?” John asked.
“To get Tim, of course,” Sherlock said, pulling out his phone. He hit a few buttons, and held it up to his ear. Mycroft, then.
“You got my email. We’re in route.” Sherlock paused, listening. “Yes we have it. And a familiar face. I understand these things are valuable.” He scowled. “I didn’t lose him. My-croft. You did.” Sherlock snarled and ended the call.
“I take it we’ll be meeting Mycroft’s men at the scene?” John asked mildly. “Or, his American branch, anyway.” Sherlock grunted, and stared out of the window. John laughed.
“So,” David asked, “Where’s the information now?”
Sherlock didn’t respond, and John smiled at David, patting his arm. “All in good time. Sherlock likes a bit of drama with his reveal, something Mycroft delights in foiling.” He snorted. “Sibling rivalry at the level of Global War.”
Sherlock sat up, like a dog catching a scent. “We’re here.
Chapter 6
Chapter 8
“I don’t say this often,” Kurt said. “But, Fuck me. What have you gotten yourself into, David?”
David shrugged, and drained his beer. He held it up to the bartender, who nodded at him in acknowledgement. “I wish I knew. That Sherlock guy keeps things pretty close to his chest. Even Irene’s been less forthcoming than usual, and she’s always willing to share gossip with me.”
“Yes,” Kurt waved his hand. “But that’s because she knows you’ll tell me, and then I’ll reciprocate, and then you’ll tell her.”
“Well, that’s true.”
The bartender placed David’s beer on the table, and took the empty glass. When he was far enough out of earshot, David took a small sip and said, “I don’t know.” He said. “Oh, did I tell you they were together?”
“What? Irene and Sherlock?”
“No, Sherlock and John.”
Kurt’s eyes nearly shot off his forehead. “They’re gay British private detectives?”
“No. They’re gay British consulting detectives.”
“Whatever,” Kurt said. “They’re not real. They’re characters out of some--some coded Victorian novel. Or a BBC series.”
“Handsome, too. Well, John’s handsome. Sherlock looks weird until you get him in the right light. Then he’s just--gorgeous.” David stopped talking when he saw the grin on Kurt’s face. “What?”
“Look at you,” Kurt said. “Dishing on some guys you just met.” David, face already flushed from alcohol, could feel his face redden further and he looked down into his beet. “Who’d have thought you’d get to here, ten years ago?”
David looked up and smiled when he met Kurt’s eyes. “You did.”
Kurt smiled back and raised his martini glass to toast. “To proving the past wrong.”
“Cheers,” David said, and raised his glass. He was mid-swallow when he heard:
“So this is your friend from school. The source of that motivating guilt.” David coughed, sputtering beer all over himself. He cursed under his breath and dabbed at himself with a cocktail napkin. He glanced up at Kurt, who was looking at Sherlock--and really, who else could it be with that voice--with a blankly assessing look that David hadn’t seen since High School. David looked and Sherlock stepped closer to the table and into the light.
“And you must be Sherlock.” Kurt sniffed, and turned back to his drink. “You’re right, David. It takes a certain quality of light.”
David could see Sherlock narrow his eyes, and looked for John. He was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s John?” he asked.
Sherlock waved a hand, never looking away from Kurt. “Outside. Cats aren’t allowed inside, so he had to wait.”
“Cats?” David said. “Why would he--you took Tigerlilly?”
Sherlock finally looked at David. “Who’s Ti--oh, I see. Tigerlilly? Really?”
David grunted. “I didn’t name her.” He took another sip of his beer and said. “Sherlock, you were right. This is Kurt. Kurt, this is Sherlock.”
“Charmed.”
“You better be.”
Sherlock’s eye narrow seemed almost fond. David knew, at the moment, he either was spending too much time with Sherlock, or he was more than a little tipsy. He suspected reality lay somewhere in between. “Why are you here?”
“To collect you,” Sherlock said. “We’ve cracked it.” He paused. “I say we. I mean I. I figured it out. But John’s got the cat, so he is helping.”
“Oh I certainly see what someone would see in you,” Kurt said, dry as dust.
“The sex is fantastic.”
Kurt paused, as if he couldn’t be sure if that’s what he heard. “Really?”
“Of course. It’s what people always expect to be the reason, and I’ve no time nor inclination to educate people who refuse to be educated.”
Now Kurt grinned. “Okay. So that’s what he sees. Good on him. Everyone needs a Diva.”
Sherlock huffed. “I am not--”
“Sherlock!” John called from the door. “Come on!”
“Right,” Sherlock said, still eyeing Kurt. He cut his eyes to David for a minute. “You need to come with us.”
“Right,” David said, and put his beet down. As he reached for his wallet, Sherlock stuck his hand out to Kurt.
“Always a pleasure to meet such an accomplished person. I had a chance to see you sing when you were last in London. You’re range is impressive, and your performance immaculate.”
Kurt took Sherlock’s hand, looking touched and a little stunned. “Thank you. London was a wonderful experience.”
Sherlock nodded, and with a dramatic twirl of his coat, left the bar. David turned to Kurt. Kurt looked back with wide eyes.
“Always nice to meet a fan,” he said, faintly.
***
John was officially not a cat person.
By his count, he had no less than two dozen claw marks, three bites, and was most certainly developing an allergy. When Sherlock came back, he taking the blasted thing, no matter how hard he tried to get out of it. Most people thought Sherlock was a cat person, John knew. He also knew that they couldn’t be more wrong. Sherlock was too much like a cat himself to ever get on with cats; he much preferred dogs.
Sherlock wasn’t going to be around much to prefer anything if he didn’t hurry his arse up!
John opened the door, ignoring the look from the bartender, and called sharply, “Sherlock! Come on!” He let the door shut and glared down at the kitten. Never. Again.
The door swung open next to him, and Sherlock burst forth, striding out to the curb to hail a cab. The door closed fully before David followed, tie loosened and jacked rumpled. “Did you really--”David shook his head at John’s jacket, and the cat inside. “May I?” David held out his hands, and John handed over the cat gratefully.
The cat, that had been struggling to get free of John, settled easily in David’s arms.
“Amazing,” John muttered. “He loves you.”
“She,” David corrected, absently. “Tigerlilly and I have an understanding.”
Tigerlilly? John thought. He opened his mouth, but Sherlock interrupted, crawling into a cab. John had to scramble to not be left behind. The cab took off as soon as John shut the door behind them. It was incredibly crowded in the back of the cab, between Sherlock’s height and David’s overall size, John began to wish he had taken the front seat.
“So,” John said. “Catch us up, then.”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Sherlock blinked at him, leaning around David. David leaned back as far as he could, cradling Tigerlilly to his chest. “Tim’s lover was smuggling information.”
John blinked. “Sorry, what?”
“Tim’s lover, the footballer, has valuable information stolen from a foreign power, given to him by a family member whose involved in one of the resistance groups. Military secrets from Iran. No doubt, only the one who lost the information is aware of it, and the rest of the country assumes it was stolen by Israel. Indeed, the information probably was taken to sell to Israel, but disappeared with the lover. When the lover couldn’t produce it, they took Tim.”
“Brilliant,” John breathed. It didn’t matter how many time John saw Sherlock’s mind work, it still amazed him. He smiled proudly at Sherlock, as David gaped.
“And you just figured that all out?”
“Yes,” Sherlock said. “That is what I do.”
“So where are we going now?” John asked.
“To get Tim, of course,” Sherlock said, pulling out his phone. He hit a few buttons, and held it up to his ear. Mycroft, then.
“You got my email. We’re in route.” Sherlock paused, listening. “Yes we have it. And a familiar face. I understand these things are valuable.” He scowled. “I didn’t lose him. My-croft. You did.” Sherlock snarled and ended the call.
“I take it we’ll be meeting Mycroft’s men at the scene?” John asked mildly. “Or, his American branch, anyway.” Sherlock grunted, and stared out of the window. John laughed.
“So,” David asked, “Where’s the information now?”
Sherlock didn’t respond, and John smiled at David, patting his arm. “All in good time. Sherlock likes a bit of drama with his reveal, something Mycroft delights in foiling.” He snorted. “Sibling rivalry at the level of Global War.”
Sherlock sat up, like a dog catching a scent. “We’re here.
Chapter 6
Chapter 8