221B

Chapter 2 - A Scandal in Belgravia

Back at 221B, Sherlock, wearing heavy protective gloves and safety glasses walks into the living room, carrying a glass container containing green liquid in one hand and blowtorch in the other. He walks over to the living room table to look at John's blog entry; I already know that it's titled 'Sherlock Holmes baffled'.

"No, no, no, don't mention the unsolved ones." Sherlock says indignantly.

"People want to know you're human." John says.

"Why?"

"'Cause they're interested."

"No they're not." Sherlock says. "Why are they?"

John smiles at his laptop. "Look at that." He says. "1,895."

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock and I ask in unison..

"I reset the counter last night. This blog has had nearly 2,000 hits in the last eight hours. This is your living, Sherlock-not 240 different types of tobacco ash."

"Two hundred and forty three." Sherlock corrects sulkily. He fires up the blowtorch, puts on his safety glasses back on, and heads back to the kitchen.

Sherlock, John, and I walk across the stage of a theater while police officers mill around nearby.

"So, what's this one? 'Belly Button Murders'?" Sherlock asks.

"'The Navel Treatment'?" John says.

"Urgh!"

We walk backstage and meet up with Lestrade as we head for the exit.

"There's a lot of press outside, guys." Lestrade says.

"Press?" I repeat.

"Well, they won't be interested in us." Sherlock says.

"Yeah, that was before you were an internet phenomenon. A couple of them specifically wanted photographs of you three."

Sherlock and I both turn to John. "For God's sake!" We cry out exasperatedly.

I see John quirk a smile as we walk on. Sherlock spots something inside a nearby dressing room. He walks in and comes back out a moment later.

"John." He says, and tosses a cap to him. "Kate." He tosses a cap to me. "Cover your face and walk fast."

"Still, it's a good thing for the public image, a big case like this." Lestrade says as I put on the hat, tilt it down as low as possible over my face, and flip my coat collar up to better conceal my face.

"I'm a private detective. The last thing I need is a public image." He says, tugging the deerstalker hat that he grabbed low over his eyes and also flipping up his coat collar.

"No. I am not good with press people." I mutter.

Sherlock nudges me. "It's okay, I'm not either."

I look at him. "You're not always good with people in general either."

He nods. "True."

We walk out the door, and photographers immediately start taking pictures of us.

Later on, some of the pictures of us have been used in numerous newspapers with headlines along with them.

"Damn." I mutter, and hand them back to Sherlock, who turns and carelessly tosses them into the small trash bin behind him. "Well, you've got to thank your genius brain, John's psychiatrist person, and John's blog for this."