Welcome to 221B Baker St.

Art Imitates Life II

"Ah, there you are!" Louise exclaimed brightly upon spotting Sherlock by her painting. John and Barry weren't too far behind. Was it just Sherlock's imagination, or did John look relieved, as though he had been prepared to defuse a bomb and just discovered it was a dud...? "So, what do you think?" she asked. "Be honest with me. I can take it." Participating in some brutally honest critiques during her college art classes had helped her develop a thick skin, and it was good for an artist to receive constructive criticism on their work, since it could help them spot areas of weakness in a piece that they may have overlooked.

Sherlock was about to reply when the redheaded stranger beside him cut into their conversation.

"Excuse me, but are you the artist?" he asked Louise curiously, glancing between her and Sherlock, clearly wondering what their relationship might be.

"Oh, yes, I am," Louise replied, a little caught off guard, as she actually looked at the man standing beside her husband. "And you are...?" she inquired, smiling politely. He was looking at her with such open admiration, she wasn't quite sure how to react. His smile was genuine, but there was something about the look in his eyes that made her feel a bit uneasy. Should she offer to shake his hand or run and hide?

"I am—" the man began to introduce himself, only to be cut off by Sherlock.

"—Mr. Jayson Burns," the detective finished, putting on a polite smile, as he stepped in and shook the man's hand, noticing Louise's uncharacteristic hesitation to do so herself.

Mr. Burns furrowed his brow slightly in confusion as he glanced between the petite woman he had been addressing and the tall man currently shaking his hand. Who... what...? "Why, yes. How did you know?" Burns asked, bemused. He wasn't that famous, was he?

"Oh, don't get him started," John mumbled, praying the future of poor Louise's artistic career wasn't about to take a swan dive thanks to Sherlock's mouth.

"As I moved through the gallery, I noticed you were going out of your way to greet various guests and speak with staff members. A tailored designer suit, genuine Italian leather designer shoes, well groomed, manicured fingernails on rough hands full of calluses and stress marks, your golden cufflinks, and that pinky ring with the substantial canary diamond on it all tell me that you're a successful entrepreneur who used to perform heavy labor with his hands, but who can now afford to hire staff to do the work for him instead. And, judging by your attire, you've clearly got money to burn. Funding a small gallery like this should be no problem for a man who can afford a diamond of that quality and size. It also helps that your cufflinks have the initials J.B. engraved on them—'J.B.' for 'Jayson Burns'," Sherlock explained effortlessly, stunning the man before him. In fact, both Mr. Burns and Barry were now gaping at the brilliant detective with unabashed astonishment.

"Bloody hell... Louise told me you were quick, but I had assumed she was exaggerating..." Barry said, shaking his head, as he stared at Sherlock with wonder and tried to get ahold of himself. "I see now that I was grossly mistaken."

"Obviously," Sherlock replied drolly, suppressing a smirk, as he raised an eyebrow at his wife. So, she talked about him, did she...?

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" Mr. Burns asked, glancing between them, wondering how they knew each other. Even Barry seemed to know more about the situation than he did.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Burns. This is my husband, Sherlock Holmes," Louise said, smiling apologetically, as she rather belatedly introduced them. "He's a consulting detective, as well as something of a showoff," she explained, shooting her husband a look, slightly chagrined. Couldn't he turn it off for just one night? John smirked slightly at that last little barb she threw in.