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‘That’ll be three pounds ninety-five, please,’ John told the costumer with a smile. The guy, clearly corporate worker by the looks of that black pin-stripe suit, paid him and John told him to go to the bar to wait for his drink. That had been the last guy on the queue, so John just sighed and ran a hand through his face. He absolutely hated working at Starbucks, but sadly there were bills to pay now that he had graduated, and his art wasn’t making any money. Yet. He was hopeful. Sadly, “hopeful” was just an euphemism for stupid.
John looked up and saw Sarah entering the cafe. She smiled at him and bounced her way to the till.
‘Hi, darling,’ she said. It wasn’t a big deal, she called everybody “darling”. She looked lovely, though, in a flower-print sundress, brown tights, a pair of grey army boots and a green parka. Her hair was tied up in a loose knot atop her head and she wore no make-up, like usual. She smiled widely. ‘I’ve got great news for you!’
‘Oh?’ John asked as he arranged the paper cups. ‘Did I win the lottery so I can quit this job?’ he asked with a smirk. Mike walked past him and gave him a slight shove.
‘Oi, don’t diss the Mighty Bucks, dude!’ he said, walking out of the counter area with the grey plastic tray. John laughed and shook his head.
‘What is it, then?’
‘Well, you know my friend Lynn? From Art College, yeah? So, she’s got these friends at the Foundation Bar, the one at Covent Garden, see. And she’s helping them organise this new artists’s showing. It’s supposed to be really cool, only fabulous people, great food, lots of drinks, and brilliant music. That amazing underground indie band, Baskervilles, is supposed to play, and it should be awesome,’ she ranted. John nodded along, not really seeing the point to the story.
‘Yes? So? How is this great news for me?’
‘It’s a new artists show! I told her that my beautiful best friend — that’s you, of course — is an amazing artist and showed her some of your stuff from that art show we did last year, I’ve still got them on my phone. Anyway, she absolutely loved it!’
John’s eyes widened and he perked up, grabbing the edge of the counter with both hands. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Yup. Isn’t it marvellous?’
‘Yes! Oh, my God! Sarah, this is fantastic!’
Sarah grinned widely. Her phone beeped and she dug for it in her bag. ‘Oh, it’s Lynn. Look, I’ll text you all the info later, yeah? I’ve got to dash. Bye, love!’
John waved her good-bye and leaned against the counter. His art on display. At the Foundation Bar. That was one of the coolest places in London, but he had never been there himself, always too busy studying or drawing. Unlike most of his friends, who he had met through Sarah, John had studied Biology at UCL. He’d met Sarah herself in an art gallery during his first week in London. It seemed like years ago, he had been only 18 and overwhelmed by all the brilliant people around him.
He sighed and welcomed the next costumer on the queue. Sadly, he still had a lot of work to do before the art show.
*
On Saturday nights, John usually either went out on dates or just did something quiet, like art shows. This one, however, was special. It was The Night. Sarah’s friend Lynn had contacted him about the pieces he would display — four whole pieces! — and how much he would charge for each. Because they were selling them as well. John grinned widely as he walked around the flat trying to find the shoes he wanted to wear.
He thought he looked pretty good when he saw himself in the mirror. Hair tousled because he just couldn’t be bothered. A pair of moss green khaki vintage skinny chinos which he loved because they made him look more handsome than he was, a burgundy dyed check long sleeve shirt under a navy friar tuck crew sweatshirt. If only he could find the bloody brown suede Chukka boots — ah, there they are, John thought, pulling them out from under his sofa. He put them on, glanced at himself in the mirror once again, threw on his burgundy wax hunting jacket and left.
He decided to take the tube to Covent Garden because it was just too far to walk. Sarah kept saying that he should get more cabs, but, unlike her, he didn’t get an allowance from Daddy every month. Besides, he had arranged to meet his friend from uni, Molly, near the station anyway.
Molly was every bit as adorable as her name suggested. She had long brown hair and sparkly eyes, though she was a bit shy and blushed easily. They had had a biochemistry lab together once and befriended instantly. She was a really sweet girl, and John felt a bit protective of her.
‘Hey!’ he greeted as he approached Molly who was already waiting by the entrance. She smiled.
‘Hi, John!’
‘You look very pretty tonight,’ he said with a wink and Moly giggled. She really did, though, wearing a pair of denim chinos, a pair of coral crochet slip-on shoes, a pretty striped blouse and a brown jacket. They got their Oyster cards out and entered the tube station.
‘So you never told me why you agreed to come tonight. I know it wasn’t because of my art because you can see that any time…’ John asked. It was a pretty long walk to the platform and they chatted on the way. Molly shrugged a bit and blushed.
‘Well, fine. Okay, so I really like this band—‘
‘Baskervilles?’ John smirked. ‘I thought you would. Who do you like? I’ve never seen them in the flesh, actually.’
Molly smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘Well, the bassist…’
‘The bassist?’ Nobody ever liked the bassist, that was odd. John chuckled.
‘Stop laughing! When you see him, you’ll understand. His name is Sherlock Holmes, and he’s just… unattainable.’
‘What kind of name is Sherlock Holmes? I bet he’s all posh…’
‘Most of these people are, John… I mean, yes, they dress like homeless people, but they pay hundreds of pounds for it!’
That got a huge laugh from John and soon Molly joined him.
*
The Foundation Bar wasn’t a huge venue. It had a bar — obviously — and lounge area with really groovy sofas — and a picture of Madame Curie covering the whole wall, which John particularly liked as he walked in. Right at the back there was a huge open area which was supposed to be the mingle/dancing area and stage. The stage was already set up by the time they got there at around 8pm, with two guitars, a keyboard, drums and a bass. On the way there, Molly had told John more about this mysterious Sherlock Holmes, how he was new in the band — which was why John had never heard of him — and that he had this reputation of being incredibly anti-social. But a superb musician, she added, and John just shrugged because he didn’t really care about the music, as long as people liked his art.
Lynn and Sarah were already there, and greeted them with large smiles and hugs. Lynn showed John where his pieces would be, and he felt even giddier.
He got himself and Molly drinks, and the four of them chatted a bit as the other guests began to arrive. Only hip-looking people, apparently. Girls with pink-and-blue hair, lots of pierced and tattooed people, bald guys, bald girls, green-haired guys, more army-boot-wearing girls, and John had never seen so many pairs of coloured Dr Martens in his life — looked like a convention or something.
At that point, they had a DJ playing background music as the guests familiarised themselves with the venue and the art. John met a few of the other artists — a young woman, probably older than him, with wild brown curls and caramel skin names Sally; a slimy Irish dick-head called Jim; and some other people — and was complimented for his art by lots of people. He was standing by one of Sally’s abstract paintings when Lynn went up on stage and tapped the mic.
‘Hi, guys!’ she greeted and they all cheered. Molly found John and gripped his arm.
‘Come to the front!’ she mouthed and dragged him closer to the stage.
‘Thank you so much for coming in support of these new amazing artists!’ more cheers. ‘Now, it’s my pleasure to introduce these amazing guys, one of my favourite bands in the whole wide world, give it up for Baskervilles!’ such loud cheers John thought he’d go deaf. Five guys walked on stage. Four of them were smiling slightly and the fifth was not. But he didn’t need to. As soon as he saw him, John knew who he was. And he understood completely why Molly was so smitten.
Sherlock Holmes was… indescribable. His skin was marble white, cheeks a bit flushed because of the heat of the venue or probably due to the glass of whisky he placed near the stand of his bass guitar. He had a mop of black curls atop his head, slicked back, very Noah-and-the-Whale. He wore a pair of khaki geo print ultra skinny trousers that hugged the curves of his legs beautifully — and his bum, but John was trying very hard not to look at it — as well as a purple Caddensa shirt which was probably a bit tight on him but only looked all the more amazing because of it. And to top it all off, he had on a pair of the most amazing brown Florsheim Doon Oxford leather shoes John had ever seen, and the coolest velvet sub blue Sid blazer. He was indeed a 6’ sight for sore eyes.
After quickly tuning their instruments, they began to play and the crowd started dancing excitedly. Some knew the lyrics, some didn’t, but they were all having fun. John could hardly take his eyes off the bassist when Molly tugged his sleeve.
‘Told you,’ she yelled over the music and winked. John smiled and nodded.
Their music was really interesting. It sounded like an indie band, but it didn’t. It was Keane meets The Kinks with a bit of Beach Boys and Frank Zappa and a very Edvard Grieg tone. Not at all like Noah and the Whale, John observed, mesmerised by their sound. It was electronic and alternative and punk and mod all mixed together in a blend of classical tied up with a bow of awesome, and John felt like he had found his new favourite band even though he didn’t usually listen to indie music.
Their set lasted about forty minutes and they had two encores, though the audience was begging for more. They were not that popular, though, because there were no groupies around them as they left the stage. John followed Sherlock with his eyes until he vanished and than sighed.
‘Damn you, Molly,’ he muttered. Molly giggled.
‘You have a better shot at him than Molly does, though,’ said Sarah, slipping into the conversation, arms linked with a grinning Sally Donovan.
‘Oh, yeah, the Freak’s definitely gay,’ Sally confirmed.
‘Freak?’ asked John. Surely that was a bit harsh.
‘Yeah, he’s a total douche. Always correcting people’s grammar, being an royal fucking dick. Plus he does this thing where he can figure out your life story just by looking at you, which is so creepy…’ she explained. Molly nodded.
‘I’ve seen him do it. It’s strange, but kind of cool. But strange.’
‘All that, yes, but he’s really hot, though, right?’ asked Sarah with conspiratorial wink. The other girls laughed and John shook his head.
‘You guys are crazy,’ he smiled. ‘Excuse me while I go get a drink.’
At the bar, John was having a hard time getting the attention of the muscly bartender. He sighed as he tried to order a Corona for the fifth bloody time.
He felt something cold against his shoulder and turned, finding a bottle of Corona being offered to him by a very large, very pale hand. John looked up to see the face that owned the hand and almost choked on his tongue. Sherlock Holmes. Offering him a beer. Oh, boy.
‘Erm, thanks,’ John said, scrambling his brains for English words. Syllables. Anything!
‘You’re John Watson,’ Sherlock said. John nodded. ‘Nice painting.’ He pointed at a spot behind him where there were a few people standing around John’s Big Ben print. It was more Pop-Art-y than he would have liked, but it was a nice one. John smiled.
‘Thanks. Again,’ he chuckled nervously.
‘Do I make you nervous?’ now Sherlock was smirking.
‘Of course not,’ John replied, feeling himself blush and mentally cursing every cell in his body. ‘Even though I’ve just had three of my friends tell me how creepy you are, I’m not nervous,’ he managed to say, really proud of himself for getting it out. Sherlock’s smirk grew wider and John knew that that had been the wrong thing to say.
‘How’s the shoulder? Left one, yes? You suffered an accident at a young age, probably car crash, more likely statistically, which fractured your collarbone and left scapula. You still have tremors on your left hand, I can tell that because of some lines of the painting which were definitely not deliberate. You also work in a coffee house, which sells a particular brand of’ Sherlock sniffed the air around him, ‘Guatemalan espresso. Starbucks, then. But you only work the till because of your hand tremor, which is why though you smell faintly of coffee, you don’t have any stains or burns on your skin which would suggest you make it,’ Sherlock finished. John’s mouth was agape. He took a sip of the beer and swallowed without ever taking his eyes off the man standing in front of him.
‘That was… amazing,’ John said. And it had been. Spectacular, actually.
‘Really?’ now Sherlock seemed nonplussed, which made John grin.
‘Yes, it was quite extraordinary. You got that from one look and a sniff? Blimey…’ John snorted. ‘Sherlock bloody Holmes, whoa.’
With a chuckle, Sherlock nodded. ‘Indeed.’ He was blushing, which John found incredibly endearing. ‘I was, hm, thinking of buying that painting, actually.’
John’s eyes widened. ‘Seriously?’
Another nod. ‘Yes. Though…’
‘What?’
‘I might need a little help taking it home,’ Sherlock said suggestively. John could feel himself blush again, but he was too excited to care. He had just discovered this guy a little over an hour ago and was already head over heels. That was every bit Not Good. And yet…
‘Yes, it’s a rather large painting… It might take ages to get it up on the wall.’
Sherlock smiled, knowing that John got his meaning. ‘Right. The whole night, most likely. And perhaps even the morning…’
With a smirk, John said, ‘Lucky for you, I have no plans for tomorrow.’
Sherlock stepped closer to him, leaned in so that his mouth was right by John’s ear. ‘Lucky, indeed.’
Lucky bloody indeed.
