The Trouble With Sentiment

Chapter Two

And that was it. They were all completely ordinary. There was absolutely no one of note.

It didn't make sense. Sherlock knew this was the right place. The lights had been the final clue. But who were they supposed to meet?

A dark-haired woman wearing the same uniform as the cooking staff approached. Her gaze flitted over his shoes, coat, and hair, then settled on his face. "You must be Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"The one and only," Sherlock said.

She smiled, teeth white against her coffee skin. "You are easy to spot."

"And who told you that?"

"Why, our guest, who's been patiently waiting for you and Doctor Watson, of course."

His mouth quirked. "How very illuminating." Not to mention delightfully intriguing.

The woman's smile widened. "Follow me." She wove her way around the crowded tables to the back of the restaurant and gestured them through an ornate door. "Continue down the hall and into the banquet room, please." They walked through, and she shut the door behind them, leaving them alone. The noise from the main dining area ceased. Light flickered at the end of the dim corridor. The brightness of the main room had ill-prepared them for such an abrupt change in lighting. Spots danced in front of Sherlock's eyes.

"I can hardly see," John said.

"I know. Isn't it fun?" This was far more enjoyable than being cooped up in 221B and enduring John's ceaseless humming.

"You realize this could be a trap, don't you?"

"Oh yes. I'm hoping for it." Though he'd settle for any sort of surprise at this point, life-threatening or otherwise.

"Right. Attempted abduction on your Christmas list, is it?"

"Yes, just below ritual murder."

John snickered, and they continued onward. Anticipation curled in Sherlock's stomach as the hall ended and opened up into the banquet room. Unused tables and chairs were stacked against one wall, and strings of dimly lit white fairy lights hung from the rafters. They approached a small round table set for three near a flickering fire. While the lighting was better here than in the hallway, the far reaches of the room were still lost in shadow.

"Just in time," a woman's voice said. She sounded pleased. And familiar.

Sherlock went still. A tall, dark silhouette moved into the light.

Red hair. Green eyes. Lips curved in greeting. "Hello."

"Vivian!" John rushed past him to embrace her.

Irritation pricked at Sherlock. Why did John feel the need to hug every single woman he came across? Didn't he have a girlfriend for that very purpose? Or was Abigail not giving him enough attention?

Vivian smiled at him over John's shoulder. "It's good to see you, Sherlock."

He managed a nod, still startled by her unexpected appearance.

John finally released Vivian, and she waved a hand at the table. "Won't you both sit down? The food should be out soon. I took the liberty of pouring the wine."

Sherlock sat and took a sip. It was a German Riesling. Tart, with a residual sweetness. An excellent contrast for heavily spiced Indian food.

Vivian hung their damp coats on a rack near the fireplace. A glowing vitality suffused her skin, one that hadn't been present before. He blinked. This was the first time he'd seen her at full health. Her cheekbones were no longer so starkly defined, the dimples framing her smile deeper.