The party had been Sherlock’s idea.
In an effort to flush out a larcenous, faux designer, one that had already bled them of more than ten million pounds, the largest fashion and jewelry house in Europe put on the most exclusive party in London, and Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson attended.
The event had been replete with private fireworks, champagne coming from silver taps, and caviar so rare that even the fish which produced it were reputed to be over-awed.
The ruse had worked. The thief had been drawn to the glitter like a moth to flame and they’d had cuffs on the man as dawn just began touching the Thames.
Though flushed with their success, here’s a fact about Sherlock Holmes: Though he can spend all of a long night literally running criminals to ground, it turns out that staying up until the morning hours drinking and disco dancing is completely, utterly, so absolutely beyond his purview that all he had energy for when they at last got home was undoing his bow tie, his tuxedo shirt, and the ribbons on his heels.
The thing is, the sight of those very things gave John energy for so very much more. And when John laugh-growled, “I’m a criminal,” and took off up the stairs at speed?
Well, the ruse worked.
Suddenly Sherlock found the energy to, uh, run John to ground.
Wee fic: Atlin Merrick; Shoe: Alberta Ferretti Woven Raffia