threepipeproblem | THE SOFT OPENING

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THE SOFT OPENING

Art courtesy of reapersun@tumblr

What for? Who knows! Where at? Who cares! Who's paying for all this? Mycroft!!

Time for some cheer, Sherlockians! Regardless of canonpoint or verse, everyone's invited to attending a wonderful party in this beautiful chateau with drinking, nibbles, and maybe a murder or two. All dinosaurs are to be left at the door (and I mean you, Anderson). Mix, mingle, deduce which of the other guests are having affairs, discover dead bodies in the closet, hold someone hostage in the basement; as long as you're having fun, you're welcome here.

THE SMALL TEXT!
This is the official soft opening for the open Sherlock Holmes sandbox

threepipeproblem. Link it to everyone, post and be merry, and pray that this works, because if it does then the whole thing will soon be open for business. AWESOME, RIGHT? GO GO GO.
And don't forget to read the rules and FAQs too.

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[Sherlock hadn't, strictly speaking, been invited to this party. He was neither a Lord nor a close friend of the Queen, but that hadn't stopped him.

Someone inside was responsible for the recent string of kidnappings. Sherlock knew they were male, of a certain height, smoked, and wore a toupee, and with or without help he was going to find them and bring them to justice. Queen's party be damned.]

[All in all, it wasn't that bad a night, for the annual Yard bash. Everyone who wasn't on duty got invited, everyone got a plus-one, and the big-wigs hadn't come this year because they were at a conference.

So maybe the decorations were lame and the music a bit rubbish, but that was probably just another sign he was getting old. Everyone was relaxed and the punch was good (someone had added brandy, which always made things fun) and Lestrade was ready to enjoy his night off.]

[Of course Sherlock had run off without bothering to explain where he was going. He'd just given him the look and then he was off like lightning to god only knows where.

John followed as best he could - (Yet another Sherlock-provided excuse to shout the words 'follow that cab!') - but by the time they got to the party, John was immediately at a loss. There was no way there were going to let him in, and no way that he could convince them to.

Right.

He slipped away, pulling to the side about half a block down. Sherlock was obviously long inside, John just had to wait for the right moment... There, the duchess. Everyone was distracted. No one would notice as he slipped in behind them - - and straight into a party where everyone was a lot better dressed than he was. He pulled into a side room and fumbled out his telephone.

A text:]

Right. Sherlock. No thanks to you, I'm finally here. Where the hell are you?

[Here was a snag. Roughly half of all the gentlement here were wearing some sort of fake hair or other. And even some of the ladies. Frustrating, but not insurmountable.]

Find man with black-grey toupee. Most likely Lord. Right-handed. Then find me.

[Technically, Lestrade hadn't been invited either. He lives in a small flat in Maida Hill, not in Kensington, and if he weren't a cop he wouldn't be setting foot Buckingham palace. Luckily for him, his badge gets him through the door.]

What the hell are we looking for, Sherlock?

[Sherlock was here almost entirely by accident. He'd arrived at the Yard, with John, for a other reasons, but as soon as the party was discovered he'd been prepared to turn right around and head home. Almost no one here was fond of him, nor was he enamored of them, and further interaction would only enforce the lack of goodwill. Sherlock was convinced John only wanted to stay so he could flirt with that girl from HR he'd met, but there was a kernel of a good point buried in there: they were already here. Lestrade was here. Sherlock had meant to talk to Lestrade. He supposed he could talk to Lestrade at a party.

He looked as sullen as a person holding punch could.]

Detective Inspector.

Edited 2012-01-18 21:07 (UTC)

[Sherlock is not a fan of family events. Most of them he avoids. Sometimes, however, he has no choice but to show up. Tonight - Mycroft's birthday - is one of those occasions.

And so here's a very surly little brother, here against his will, sat in a corner and watching the clock.]

[Next to him stands a man who is clearly more than relaxed. He nearly vibrates with an energy that is not nervous in the least, but a sort of active enjoyment and engagement with his environment. He holds a plastic cup of the punch, and after he takes a sip, glances down at it appreciatively.]

Nothing like punch with a little kick, is there?

[It's almost as if he can't help but acknowledge this truth to someone, to make sure that the world knew there was something right with it. His accent is American; his appearance is almost retro-clean cut, though he does not appear to feel out of place. The visiting FBI agent is simply enjoying the party.]

[Much as Sherlock watches the clock, John watches Sherlock. Though he hopes with more subtlety. Well, to the common eye, anyway. He has no illusions that Sherlock hasn't noticed. And he doesn't much care.]

You know, it doesn't actually make the hands move faster.

[The thing is, he's a bit bored, too, which is why he's approached, arms crossed, to stand next to Sherlock and look out at the rest of the meager collection of party goers.]

Remind me, how much longer must we stay before leaving would be seen as polite?

It's Mycroft, Sherlock. Nothing you do is going to be seen as polite. Or impolite, for that matter.

So we can go?

[he looks almost hopeful]

A man in a toupee, black and grey. Your height. He's too arrogant to think we'd follow him in here, but he's dangerous.

[The dirty looks they're being thrown pass right over Sherlock's head. He's scanning the crowd, calculating how long they have before the news that the police spreads through the party and the man legs it out the back door.]

[This is a surprise, and Lestrade isn't shy in showing it.] What the hell are you doing here? Please tell me someone hasn't offed themselves. Not tonight.

[John glared down at the text. How was he supposed to find a Lord when he wasn't even dressed--- He stopped, turning. There had to be something in this house that he could use...]

Just.. Give me a few minutes, Sherlock, If I wander out like this I'm just going to get kicked out. Do you have any idea where the servants set up?

[John doesn't mind these sort of parties: usually, there's an open bar and it's a lot less awkward hitting on his co-workers after a drink or two. (Not that he does it too much. It's still awkward, just less.) He takes a sip of his drink and scans the crowd again.]

[ John is at the bar enjoying a pint and the goings on around him. ]

[Seeing John in the crowd is a relief, even if it means that Sherlock isn't far behind. He doesn't fit in, and is sure he was only invited for some reason of Mycroft's that has not been disclosed yet. In fact, he's got his gun on him, because all he's done is assume. If Mycroft invited him without any information to do what he does best, he'll be ready. A concealed weapon, what have you come to Greg Lestrade?

Sliding into the seat next to John's he raises his drink in a toast of a hello.]

You've been dragged into this too, then?

Cheers, mate.

[He tips his glass to Lestrade's in greeting.]

God knows why, but yeah, here I am.

[John supposes it's an change, Sherlock looking to him for these cues. But for the better? No, he can't start doubting himself now.]

No, we can't. There hasn't been cake. I was promise cake, Sherlock.

[And this is Sherlock, not enjoying a pint because John will do it for the both of them and instead he's sitting at the bar and writing furiously in his notepad about something that's far more relevant than drinking, in his professional opinion. He doesn't look up]

You'll probably want another one. They've been watering it down here for the past two months.

I will more then likely have more then one more. But thanks. [ He pauses for a moment and looks at his friend. ] Sherlock... We're supposed to be out relaxing, what on earth are you writing?

[He taps his pen on the notepad]

I am relaxing. [Here, John. Have a look. Sherlock fans out his notes on the counter and there's a quite frankly alarming number of equations and ideas and it doesn't look relaxing at all with how productive he's been]

[ John balks a little at the work in the note book, and shakes his head taking another sip of his drink ] Sherlock? Do you ever allow your mind to slow down? Just sit back and have a pint with your friend? [ Be proud he's learned to use the singular. Even if he thinks Sherlock has more then just him as a friend. ]

This was "slowing down".

[Sherlock shoots him one of those looks. It's not quite the "keep up, Lestrade" one or the "you must be making a concentrated effort to be an idiot, Donovan" kind, but it's a special variant only John gets. It's almost quietly fond if you tilt your head]

If I wanted a watered down pint, I could easily have it at the flat. Anyway, it dulls what's up here. [Taps the side of his head] If I slow down, I'll turn into --

[He almost says "you"]

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THE SOFT OPENING

OPEN TO ALL 8D

OTA!

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ota!

Ota to the max

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Last tag for the night, it's 2am in bit my world.

PST for you too? :3a