You Are My Mystery {Sherlock Holmes}

Chapter 38

"Can I 'elp you with anything, ma'am?" I hear above me after being seated. I continue looking at my menu.

"Hello, yeah. I'm looking for a bottle of champagne – a good one," I laugh.

"Mmm! Well, these are all excellent vintages," the man says with an accent I can't quite place.

"It's not really my area. What do you suggest?"

"Well, you cannot possibly go wrong, but, erm, if you'd like my personal recommendation," the man with a odd French accent says.

"Mm-hm," I say aloud, still listening to his voice... It almost sounds fake.

"...this last one on the list is a favorite of mine," the man says as he points to the menu with an eyeliner pen. Why would he have that?

I don't think about it any longer. I'm on a break, therefore no time for inquiries. I nod along with what he's saying.

"It is – you might, in fact, say – like a face from ze past."

"Great. I'll have that one, please." I finish my glass of red wine.

"It is familiar, but, er, with the quality of surprise!"

I grimace at the taste of the wine, then – still without looking round – I hand the wine list to the man, "Well, then surprise me."

"Certainly endeavouring to, ma'am," the man says, his voice almost changing. The man walks away. I reach into my inside jacket pocket and I pull out a picture of Sherlock and I. Glancing at it, I remember it's one of the ones from the newspapers. My phone goes off and I notice it's Lestrade calling me.

"Hello?" I ask.

"Rachelle," I hear from the other end.

"Yes? What would you like?"

"I have a case for you," Lestrade says.

"I'm busy right now," I mutter into the phone, pissed Lestrade called me on my night off. 

"Ma'am, I think you'll find this vintage exceptionally to your liking," the waiter from earlier says. "It 'as all the qualities of the old, with some of the colour of the new."

"No, sorry, not now, please," I say, annoyed with the waiter. "Hold on, Lestrade," I whisper into the phone.

"Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers... suddenly one is aware of staring into ze face of an old friend," the waiter says again. I start to turn to face him.

"No, look, seriously... I'm on the phone," I say. I look up to see the mans face.

His eyes.

My face drops. My entire body jolts and I stares with an expression of utter disbelief.

"Shit," I mutter, it just happening to be through my phone. I blink to myself, overwhelmed which what I am seeing.

"What? Is everything alright? Rachelle?" Lestrade questions.

I hang up on Lestrade just as my eyes start to fill with tears. I duck before clumsily standing to my feet.  As I straighten up, the 'waiter' begins to move his right hand forward as if expecting me to shake it. I look down at the table breathing heavily before lifting my head and briefly locking eyes with him. I look down again, clearly still in shock.

"Well, short version... Not Dead," Sherlock says. I stare at him, my face hot, and full of shock and growing anger. Sherlock finally seems to catch on and looks a little guilty as I stand before him, bewildered.