Don't Stray From The Light

Dinner With The Detective

    There was an odd sort of anticipation that was festering in John's stomach, something that reminded him a bit of anxiety and yet he knew it was anything but. He felt almost excited as he approached the house, underneath the beautiful sagging sycamores that were lining the moonlit path of the Holmes manor's drive. The sun had long since fallen despite it only being five thirty, and so the house sat gloomily before him with an eerie glow to it, the dark windows gaping at him from the shadows and the iron gates creaking ominously in the quiet wind. When the hansom pulled up John saw that Sherlock and Michael were already on the porch waiting, clad in black so that it was very difficult to distinguish the two from the exterior of the house if it wasn't for their white skin. They both stood tall and proud, watching as the hansom approached and waiting for it to come to a stop before approaching. Michael got the door while Sherlock greeted John, not looking entirely surprised when he saw that John was alone.
"Mr. Watson, a pleasure to see you as always." Sherlock said with a grin, beckoning John with a handshake while Michael got out a small leather wallet so as to pay the hansom driver. John was in the midst of shaking Sherlock's hand when he realized that they had paid, and he turned with some urgency once he heard the sound of the horse's hooves clopping against the cobblestone.
"No, no you don't have to pay for me! I've got money!" John assured, reaching for his pocketbook with one hand while his other stayed clenched in Sherlock's fingers, almost as if he had forgotten to rescue it from the prison that had been laced around it.
"It's our pleasure, Mr. Watson. No need to worry about cab fares, now come inside, Michael has prepared us a wonderful dinner." Sherlock insisted, letting his hand fall away as he led John into the house once more. It was dimly lit with candle light as they moved through the sitting room and into the dining room, producing a strange yet relaxing aura in the old woodwork of the house. It truly was a beautiful manor, provided only more beautiful by the occupant that lived in it. Sherlock was dressed in his usual shirt and coat, missing a top hat off of his head so that his dark curls shone in the candle light, clean and springing as he obviously intended them to be. Most men preferred close cut haircuts these days, and for a man to have such a head of hair really was rather revolutionary. And yet it suited him, not just his personality but his lifestyle, he seemed like the type of man who was unwilling to conform. And maybe that was why Greg suspected him, not for crimes against humanity, rather crimes against normality.
"You are on your own tonight, Mr. Watson?" Sherlock presumed, looking past John at the empty space that should have been filled by Mary, should she have come along.
"Yes, Mary was feeling ill once more. She's pregnant, and honestly I didn't know that was so demanding on the health!" John admitted with a bit of a laugh. That produced a mere grin from Sherlock as they rounded the large, elegantly set table to the only three place settings that were arranged. Sherlock pulled out John's chair for him before sitting at the head of the table, looking about the beautiful dishes of food that were set out in elaborate displays for their consumption.
"Women are especially strong creatures, Mr. Watson, and to know what they go through for nine months is beyond any man's contemplation. I'm sure the entirety of the male population, if burdened with such a task, would take bedrest for the entirety of their pregnancy, and to think that up until the delivery the woman is most always on her feet, well that is astounding in itself." Sherlock said with a nod. He uncorked a bottle of wine and poured two generous glasses, focusing on the wine all while his eyes strayed every once in a while to his guest. John felt Sherlock's eyes lingering on him a lot, and to be quite honest he was getting worried that he had something altered about his personality, something that was interesting or concerning. Something at least, that would provide a reason for Sherlock to be focused on it so intently!
"Well she's sorry she couldn't be here, that is for sure." John lied, for Mary would probably have come along if she had known what was going on. And yet John didn't want her here, for her own good and for his as well. It just wouldn't be right to introduce the two, that was for sure.
"Maybe next time she will be feeling well enough to join us, and yet her absence, Mr. Watson, is no reason not to appreciate the meal that Michael had prepared for us. He makes a superb glaze for the duck, something he refuses to share with me." Sherlock said with a grin, gesturing to the glistening chunk of meat that occupied the center of the table, arranged in a bed of kale and multiple unidentifiable roasted vegetables. Michael appeared once more to cut into the thing, offering both the diners two very nice portions of meat and telling them to call if they wanted him to cut some more. They both served themselves from the other bowls and plates, happily ladling out the delicacies that Michael had put together. At first it was silent, not due to any sort of awkwardness however, but rather due to the delicious food that was set in front of them. It was a very comfortable silence, which was odd considering how they hardly knew each other just yet, and to be dining in each other's presence was an entirely new escapade for the both of them. Yet John felt, and he was sure that Sherlock did as well, a sort of appropriateness in the solitude between them. There was a sort of purpose, a force that had been drawn them together ever since the café and that was just now near satisfied as they sat together in this silence. Candles lit the table and flickered off of the beautiful pieces of art that hung about the dining room, tastefully arranged and complimenting the golden molding about the center and the top of the walls. It was a house that reeked of age old elegance, a place that had built for a king decades ago and still provides suitable housing for one now. It seemed as though it was just short, for Sherlock was no king and yet he would be undoubtedly make a good one. It was almost a shame to let such a beautiful house out to one occupant, it was almost as if it deserved to house more, so at least more than two pairs of eyes could look upon it and marvel at the architecture that went into it.
"How is the investigation going?" Sherlock asked finally, pausing so as to take a sip of wine. John took a minute to swallow his food, nodding so as to ensure that Sherlock knew he had heard his question.
"It's going well, yes thank you for asking." John said with a grin.
"No leads then?" Sherlock presumed with a grin, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with his napkin before continuing on with his dinner.
"Well no, not really. It's hard to get anything without another victim; we're just so lost that we almost need to count on this woman making a mistake so that we could catch her." John admitted with a sigh.
"You think it's a woman?" Sherlock wondered, his eyes lighting up in something of amazement as if the thought hadn't yet crossed his mind.
"That's my theory, Greg's got his own. I think it's someone at the brothel, for they had all been seen there at least once. I think the woman is finding them there and tempting them from their wives, taking them abroad to do who knows what. It'll be more probable that it's a gang of them, for a single woman probably couldn't get so many men at once if she's not disposing of them somehow." John admitted with a sigh.
"Lady Irene's, you mean?" Sherlock clarified. John nodded, and Sherlock's face fell just a bit. "I wouldn't be surprised, the women there are rather hostile."
"You um...you're acquainted with them?" John asked rather awkwardly, for he knew just what kind of question he was asking in the end. Sherlock seemed almost amused by John's question, that or he was amused by his nervousness upon asking it. He simply took another bite of dinner before answering, as if he wanted the question to simmer a bit in John's head before he got around to answering.
"I have a better taste in partner than that; I need not buy my lovers if I can get them for free. No I go there merely for the drinks, surprisingly it's a lot calmer than most of the bars, and it's better furnished. The women know to leave me alone and the clientele no better than to approach me." Sherlock admitted casually. John nodded, feeling his stomach twist almost uncomfortably as the idea of Sherlock's lovers came to mind. For such a man it wasn't a terrible leap to assume that he had someone in his bed, however it almost made John sick, just thinking of the man with a woman, with someone who almost didn't seem deserving of him. The most confusing part was simply why John cared, for he couldn't figure that out either.
"That's convenient, I suppose." John muttered, obviously unsure of how to even respond to such a thing. Sherlock laughed, something that immediately drew John's eyes to him, and yet he silenced himself with another sip of wine.
"Has being married for so long made you modest, Mr. Watson?" Sherlock wondered with a tease, to which John's cheeks glowed in humiliation. He shook his head pointedly, to which Sherlock just grinned once more.
"No of course not, it's just I don't usually have dinner conversations about brothels and lovers." John admitted with a bit of a nervous grin.
"Really? I'd have thought Detective Lestrade would be one to share stories of his nightly escapades, unmarried I presume?" Sherlock wondered with a raise of his eyebrow.
"Yes he's unattached, but for the sake of the world as we know it I hope he gets chained down eventually. Can't have him wandering about forever, how will the women control themselves for so long?" John teased, making Sherlock chuckle as he went on with his dinner.
"Chained down, what an odd way to put it. Is that your feeling on marriage then, mere shackles?" Sherlock wondered.
"You'll realize when you're married that it's not all that it's cut out to be. A lot of obligations, time together and all of that. Hard for a man to have his own life when he's got a ring on his finger." John admitted with a shrug.
"Just you wait until you're a father." Sherlock muttered, making John laugh a bit nervously. He hadn't thought of it that way, he hadn't yet considered the idea that a little child might make his life even more hectic, even more unsatisfactory! It wasn't like John asked for much, he did his job and occasionally he went out to enjoy himself, however with the arrival of a child all of that might change! What a horrible thought that was, having two people hanging on his arms and demanding his attention!
"I can't wait." John muttered sarcastically. Sherlock nodded, and the conversation faded back into silence once more. This time it was an awkward silence, for despite Mary's absence simply bringing her up in conversation reminded John that she was ever present. For some reason the thought of his wife soured the mood, for some reason Mary's very concept drained the soft glow from the room, deprived of the meal of its excellent flavor, and masked the beauty of John's host so that he couldn't see him as clearly as he had been appreciating before. And so he made an attempt to forget her, at least for tonight, and to concentrate on things that were more prominent, more present.
"Do you work, Mr. Holmes?" John wondered, thinking of the first topic of conversation that popped into his mind. Sherlock shook his head confidently, looking towards the dinner that was placed before him as if he was appreciating how readily accessible the money had been with to purchase it.
"No, I really have no need. My parents owned a business, and when they left they closed it down and left the money to me. They wanted rid of me and yet they didn't want me to die penniless, the Holmes name should still mean something around here, or at least that's what I presume was their motive. I've all the money I need, and for just myself and my servant, well it's not like funds are running low." Sherlock admitted with a sigh. John wished he could have that sort of life, and yet it was obvious to him that he would never be allowed such pleasures. Money was something that came to those who were born into it, while poverty was something that spread like a disease. If John didn't stay afloat in the world today he might sink down below the poverty line, and now that he was going to support not only Mary but a child as well, well of course he shouldn't ever fantasize of quitting his job!
"Do you intend to stay unmarried?" John wondered.
"Well after the way you make it sound I feel like I've dodged bullets thus far, and I have no intentions of getting hit!" Sherlock teased, to which John smiled over the rim of his upturned wine glass.
"Then you'll go without an heir?" John presumed. Sherlock nodded grimly, setting down his fork and knife aside his now empty plate and leaning forward so as to rest his chin atop his folded hands.
"Without an heir." He agreed quietly. Sherlock seemed almost upset about such a fact, as if he would want a child to inherit his estate and yet he had no chance of obtaining one, almost as if the very idea of having a child with a woman was out of the question. He was full of riddles, this man, riddles whose answers were housed purely in his own head. John wasn't exactly sure what to say to that, for he wasn't entirely sure what Sherlock was expecting him to say. Was he supposed to enforce Sherlock's opinion by assuring him that children were a nightmare, or was he to encourage him to try for a child, so as to leave the estate to its name? Thankfully neither of those options was valid, for Michael swept in right in time to collect their empty plates and clear the dishes from the table, reappearing impressively quickly with desert laden on a beautiful silver tray. It was some sort of circular rum cake, with white icing and sprinkled with chocolate shavings, a beautiful cake that seemed to be more art than food.
"Ah, thank you Michael." Sherlock said with an appreciative grin.
"My pleasure, my Lord." Michael said as if on instinct, cutting them both a large piece of cake and topping it with a raspberry or two, so as to garnish the plate appropriately.
"Do you host dinner guests often?" John wondered, noticing the rather unpracticed routine of the servant while serving to a stranger. Sherlock smiled almost sadly, refilling their wine glasses while shaking his head.
"Not often at all. In fact you may be one of the first, since my parents left." Sherlock admitted.
"How many years ago was that, then?" John wondered curiously.
"About ten years." Sherlock muttered, obviously having to ponder the question so as to get the exact date.
"Ten years! Well Mr. Holmes if you don't mind me saying, you appear to be a very lonely man!" John commented. He found it near impossible for a man of such stature and such class to go nearly solitary for all of ten years; however Sherlock shrugged his shoulders as if such a condition was nearly unavoidable.
"Mr. Watson you obviously don't know this city as well as you would like to. I advise you, at that, to try to stay as oblivious as you can. It's a terrible town to be prosperous in, a terrible place to have an ounce of class! It's mere ruffians who wander the streets here, none that would make suitable companions, none that would make good houseguests. I do not choose to be solitary, although I do not mind it, it is just by lack of options that I find myself alone." Sherlock defended, to which John nodded. He still couldn't help feeling bad for the man, for despite his seeming to have adapted to such living conditions John couldn't help but wonder how truly happy he really was.
"What of Molly Hooper, the waitress at the café? You seem to talk to her plenty." John suggested, almost as if he intended to play matchmaker for this lonely man. Sherlock just shook his head with a sad sort of smile, not for his own sake it would seem, but for John's. It was almost as if he thought John's ignorance was pitiful.
"Oh no, no Molly makes a mere morning companion, while I have enough coffee to hold conversation with her for longer than five minutes." Sherlock muttered. "Not the woman for me."
"I was suggesting friends more than wives." John corrected quickly, for he wouldn't want Sherlock to get the idea that he was setting him up just yet. No he rather despised the idea of Sherlock being with Molly Hooper, as kind and beautiful as that woman was she still didn't house the certain qualities that were necessary for Sherlock Holmes; she just wasn't perfect for him.
"Friends? No, not her either. I've never had many friends." Sherlock admitted with a shrug.
"Well you've got me now." John assured, only realizing how presumptuous he had grown when he saw Sherlock's eyes snap up to meet his. Those beautiful, elaborate irises stared into his own eyes for a moment of mutual staring, mutual amazement. John was just about to open his mouth when Sherlock interrupted him by picking up his wine glass and holding it up with a grin.
"I'll drink to that, Mr. Watson." He said, to which John nodded anxiously and grabbed his own cup in something of a desperate state of relief. They clinked glasses and drank mere sips before going back to their cake, feeling considerably better acquainted and a lot more purposeful in the other's eyes.