[Sherlock] Circo de Pastel - 6/13
Title: Circo de Pastel
Author: Mesita
Words: 3719/21152/50,000+
Pairings: Sherlock/John (Eventual) Lestrade/Mycroft (Implied)
Warnings: Slight torture, kidnapping, violence, death
Summary: John Watson runs away to join a circus where he is forced to live with the resident consulting psychic. After one of the circus members is murdered, it's up to John and Sherlock to solve the case.
First Chapter
CHAPTER SIX
LIFE AT THE CIRCUS
John woke the next morning feeling more refreshed than he had for years. For the first time in what felt like forever, John woke up almost happy. Sure, he had more than a handful of things to worry about but he did not let a single one of them bother him this time.
He counted his blessings. He had a place to stay, a job, an interesting flat mate, plenty of things to do, places to see, people to meet and best of all, he was part of a circus, now.
The sun shone rather splendidly through Sherlock’s curtains and it gave John even more of a boost to wake up. His muscles and bones did not even creak as he went into the bathroom to freshen up. He grabbed a few clothes from his bag and changed for the day.
He took his time to explore more of Sherlock’s sitting room. He had one wall pinned with different papers and research articles on murders and victims and alcohol levels and decomposing bodies. John did not think anything of it. To be honest, he let Sherlock have his hobbies. John was perfectly content to go into the kitchenette and find himself some coffee.
Sherlock, it seemed, did not believe in milk for coffee or tea. John all but glared at the contents of the fridge. Apparently, Sherlock did not believe in eating anything in general, and John highly doubted Sherlock ate slime moulds or eyeballs or cut-up worms.
Things would not have been so bad if the store were a lot closer than it was. John wondered briefly if he should go to see Mrs. Hudson, but he needed a much better excuse than for milk. Instead John held his breath and prepared coffee for himself and for Sherlock without any milk or creamer. If he needed to run any errands outside the circus grounds, he made a mental note to pick up some milk.
The smell of coffee must have pulled Sherlock from his slumber. John had the pleasure of seeing a very disheveled and unruly Sherlock stagger awkwardly into the kitchenette. John poured his new flat mate a cup of coffee and held it out to him.
“I’m not sure how you take it, so you can finish preparing it yourself, if that is all right?” John inquired as Sherlock took the mug from him.
“Black, two sugars,” Sherlock mumbled and hobbled over to the cupboard to get the sugar. John really should have known. No wonder Sherlock did not have any milk. Sherlock made no movement to prepare his coffee for himself, so John sighed and finished the job. When he handed over the mug, Sherlock took it with half-lidded eyes and swayed on the spot. John watched him with mild fascination.
“I’m about to head out,” John offered up just to break the silence. Sherlock did not answer as he tried to immerse himself in his coffee, instead. John made a ducking motion with his head, trying to see if he could get Sherlock to wake up properly and recognize his existence. “Do you know where everyone gathers this time of day?”
Sherlock mumbled something into his coffee and when prompted again by John he said, “Under the Big Top.” John knew enough about circus lingo to know what Sherlock meant.
“Okay,” John took a swig of his coffee. “Guess I’ll start there.
--
When John entered the big tent, he was not at all surprised to see that it was filled with the circus crew. It was nearly nine in the morning and John could not help but to feel a little bit late. Sherlock had stayed behind in his trailer. John already knew better than to think Sherlock would come out and actually help with the circus.
John had missed the clean up from the night before, so the major change from one day to the next overwhelmed him a little. Clearly these people had been working on their set skills for a while, now. The crew seemed to work like oversized ants. Each person had a role and it fit so well into everyone else’s role that everything moved like clockwork. John began to feel a bit nervous that he would not find a place to fit in.
Mike somehow managed to see John at the opening to the tent and beckoned him over toward his group. John assumed they were all clowns like Mike, but he could not tell as they were in ordinary street garb.
“There you are, John. Had a bit of a lie-in, did you?” Mike slapped John on the back in greeting, as if they had been friends since birth.
“I didn’t set an alarm…” John hating using excuses. “I didn’t know what time to come out here.”
“It’s your first day,” Mike seemed to give him this one. He motioned toward the guys behind him. “Everyone, this is John Watson. New recruit. John, this is Carl Powers, John Ferrier, Hilton Cubitt, and Tad Sholto. We heard you were rooming with Sherlock Holmes.” Mike looked over at his buddies and they all began grinning strangely at John as if they expected some sort of reaction out of them.
Instead, John raised an eyebrow. “He’s really not all that bad,” he said, knowing full well of Sherlock’s presumed reputation. “He plays the violin very well.”
“Oh, he played the violin for you, did he?” one of the younger men asked. John strained his brain to remember which one he was. The Powers one? He looked as if he never needed to shave a day in his life. A couple of the other guys made high pitched ‘ooooo’ noises.
John chuckled to himself and shook his head. “I like the violin. I asked him to.”
“Come on, Carl.” Mike gave the younger man a shove, “We have work to do. Stop heckling the new guy.”
“Yeah, alright,” Carl muttered and moved to a set of bleachers.
Before John could look properly confused, Mike explained the situation to him. They were moving bleachers to the correct angles along the edges of the tent. This way they could easily pull the bleachers out for the audience when the shows started in a few hours. Until then, there would be ample space around the three main rings for the actors and performers to practice their art.
Afterward, John found plenty to do. With the guidance of Mike and the others, he shoveled elephant, horse, lion and tiger droppings. He swept and dusted every bit of surface he thought possible. He double-checked the grounds for bits of food and wrappers, filled pamphlet stands, hauled water for the animals, and as the time grew closer to the show, he helped set up lights and filled the food stands with condiments.
He interacted with the actual performers very little. He rarely saw any of the acrobats, and the Magnificent Professor Moriarty may as well have been non-existent. He spent most of his time with Mike and Carl and the others. After a time, however, Mike had to go practice with the other clowns: Hilton and Tad amongst a few others, so John was left with the young Carl and a very bitter John Ferrier.
“So… do you two often watch the show?” John asked the two of them they had a break. All three men sat on a wooden bench eating burritos wrapped in foil.
“Nah, I’ve seen it so many times, I don’t bother. I use the time to catch up on some me time, you know?” Carl said.
“And by ‘me time’ he means chatting up some little thing and taking her back to the trailer while the rest of us are working our stations,” Ferrier growled at the younger boy. John Ferrier looked like he was in his late forties and clearly had been working the circus for some time. He may have been very handsome in his younger years, but years of scowling, resentment and anger had turned him into a bitter middle-aged man. John did not much like talking to him.
“I can’t help being a hit with the ladies,” Carl bragged and pretended to brush off some invisible dust from his shoulder. John thought the action extremely cheesy and fake. “What about you, Watson? You got a girlfriend back home?”
“Naw, no, not me…” John said as he nursed his burrito. “I had no one to hold me back, so I left. I’m a free man, now.”
“Free to work your arse off for just about nothing, you mean.”
“Better than what I had before, mate,” John pointed out. He popped the last of his burrito in his mouth and stood up. “How much we have left for today?”
John Ferrier stole a glance at his watch, “Not too much, now. The show is about to start. I’m on backstage duty tonight. Have to make sure that Anderson git doesn’t get his head bitten off backstage by that massive cat of his.”
“Sounds fun,” John said, not even remotely sincerely. It sounded strange, but he doubted fun would be the correct word to describe it. John knew he certainly would be unable to deal with a lion like that. The idea of hanging around backstage and seeing the actual magic of the circus happen appealed to him, however.
“Hmph…” was all John Ferrier would say. He pulled himself up to a standing position and made his way back to the tent. “You working backstage detail tonight, then, eh Watson?”
“I would love to!” The words escaped John’s mouth before he could stop them and he all but covered his mouth with his hand in embarrassment. “I mean, yeah, all right. Should be interesting.”
Both John Ferrier and John Watson left Carl and headed back to the tent. John assumed Carl would be going back to his trailer or picking up a girl amongst the patrons to take back with him, so he did not mind. The atmosphere around the stage had increased exponentially. Sequins and feathers littered the ground. Behind the curtains, John found himself thrust in a world where everyone knew their part but him.
Over the next hour, John became a go-to guy for small items. He ran back and forth, locating and handling bottles of water or favorite combs. He smoothed out collars and learned very quickly how to be handy with a lint brush.
Everything proceeded quite smoothly until it was time for The Magnificent Professor Moriarty to go onstage. Both Moriarty and Molly were standing beside John backstage. John was brushing any stray hairs or feathers off Moriarty’s costume when Molly suddenly piped up from beside the two of them.
“Excuse me,” she said softly, her doe-like eyes giving her shyness away instantaneously. “But are you the new recruit that has moved in with Sherlock?”
Moriarty immediately turned toward John as if he had just noticed him standing there, despite having spoken a word or two to him just moments before. “You? With Sherlock?”
“I uh, yeah,” admitted John. He tore off a new sheet on the lint roller as the other was filled with all kinds of lint bits. “It’s not a big deal. I’m crashing on his couch until I’m moved somewhere else.”
“Sherlock lets you stay in his trailer?” Moriarty’s eyes widened.
“Yes, is that really hard to comprehend? He’s not as bad as everyone says he is.”
“You don’t know a thing about Sherlock,” Moriarty snapped. It did not take a genius to see that Moriarty was obviously jealous of John’s situation.
John was not fazed, but he hadn’t expected someone as amazing as Moriarty to be such a jerk. “I’ve only just met him yesterday. Of course I don’t know a bloody thing about him! What does that have to do with me living with him? It’s only temporary.”
“You don’t know what you’ve got,” spat Moriarty. He then thought the better of it when Molly placed a delicate hand on his forearm. He looked at her for a moment, sighed, and shook his head. “I apologize, John, was it? Yes. You have fun with Sherlock. But don’t think it’ll last. Sherlock doesn’t take kindly to those less... fortunate than him.” John was very certain that fortunate was not the word Moriarty was looking for. John was also very certain that the apology was not sincere.
Before John could answer, Moriarty received word from a stagehand that his queue was up and he would be going on in a few moments. Moriarty gave John one last sneer before nearly whipping John purposely in the face with his cape as he made an overly dramatic exit.
Any respect John had had for Moriarty as a performer left him.
The rest of the show moved onward without a hitch. John watched what he could from the sidelines. It was interesting to see how different a performance was viewed from someone in the back versus someone out in the crowd. Before going out into the rings, each performer did his or her best to get their nerves in order. They practiced lines, stretched, did vocal exercises and mimicked actions. When an act was over, and the performers would make their way backstage, they were always greeted with silent smiles, hugs and pats on the back for a job well done. The circus really was like a family. John found himself wanting to belong.
After the show ended, John headed out with the other members of the clean-up crew. It was hard to imagine that just the night before, he was a member of the audience and just under 24 hours later, he was cleaning up after everyone. He never realized just how messy everyone could be? He spent almost an hour sweeping up wrappers and popcorn. Even though the ground was bare, it was required to sweep up any leftover food out of courtesy to the patrons as well as the park-keepers when the circus finally left.
John groaned when he checked the time on his mobile. It was nearing ten thirty in the evening. He would not have any time to get the washing done for Sherlock. In fact, he hadn’t even seen Sherlock the entire day. It was no surprise, however. John was so busy working the rounds, and Sherlock probably did not want to leave his trailer. At one point during the day, John had stolen a glance back at the place he assumed he should call ‘home’ and saw a bit of a line outside. At least Sherlock had had his hours up, again.
John pulled his old dark coat around him, and zipped it up. The night air had gotten chilly very quickly. He said his goodbyes to Mike and the other clowns, as well as to John Ferrier. The clowns were the only performers to stay behind after the show and clean up. John suspected that maybe they were considered the lowest on the circus totem pole. Even the bearded lady and the contortionist did not need to stay behind.
For a brief second, John wondered if he would get promoted to clown.
With a laugh, he quickly wiped the thought from his mind. He would much rather stay as a lackey or a circus janitor than to be a clown. He had to respect those that could pull it off, though, but it was definitely something John would never have a hand in.
He trudged through the cold grass, letting the cool night air try and numb his cheeks. The night sky was dark and cloudless, and despite being outside of the city limits, it was still impossible to see any stars. The lights of London were unrelenting in taking their hold of the night sky. John did not mind, however. He was used to not seeing the stars, after all. He enjoyed the total blackness of a night sky. To him, it felt as though the sky had wiped its slate clean as it prepared itself for the clouds that would inevitably appear in the daylight.
Because he had been so lost in his thoughts, the scream that shattered the darkness had much more of an impact on him that he would have liked to admit. John jumped about a mile in his shoes and he turned quickly to the source of the sound.
It was coming from the grounds just outside the gate to the main campus, where all the trailers were located.
A flash of fear seized John’s chest and caused his blood to run cold. He thought for a moment that he had been paralyzed, but a few milliseconds later he realized that was not the case. The cold in his chest actually came from the night air around him as he ran toward the sound, unknowingly. His body had acted of its own accord.
John was one of the first people to arrive at the scene-the first being John Ferrier. He had been walking back to the trailer just as John was walking back to his own. Judging by the quality of the trailers, this was probably where all the stagehands and other crewmembers were located. Both Johns exchanged a determined glance and made their way around the trailer in question.
Near the back entrance stood the bearded lady, Jennifer Wilson, clutching her heart. The way her breathing caught in her chest and the way her bottom lip trembled made it obvious that it was she who had screamed. Even though John had barely known her, he dashed to her side and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. Almost immediately, she turned toward him and sobbed into his shoulder.
The beard wasn’t even off putting.
John Ferrier stood next to the two of them, and spoke up in his gruff voice, “What happened, here, Miss Wilson?”
The Bearded Lady took a few moments to sob into John’s shoulder and he let her, while he rubbed her back absent-mindedly. He may have whispered a few words of encouragement to her, but he could hardly remember.
In the mean time, more and more people arrived on the scene, including Mrs. Hudson, and, John’s breath hitched, Sherlock Holmes.
Mrs. Hudson fought her way through the throngs of people gawking at the scene to Jennifer. “I can take it from here, John dear. Thank you,” she said. John let the older lady take over and he relinquished his grip. He felt awkward with so many eyes on him, so he escaped to where he felt safe, if safe was the correct word: with Sherlock.
He did not have to go far because Sherlock was right there in the midst of it. He took one look at Jennifer and frowned. “What happened?”
“I’ll be the one asking the questions around here,” a familiar, booming voice sounded out over the crowd of milling people. John was not at all surprised to see the performers and crewmembers parting to let Lestrade through.
Sherlock let Lestrade take over, but he did not look happy about it.
Lestrade turned to Jennifer and laid a careful hand on her shoulder. “What happened, Jennifer?”
Jennifer Wilson sniffed. The effect was odd as much of her runny nose had mixed up with her mustache. “I came back early from the show. You guys must have noticed. We didn’t have many customers stay after tonight’s show due to the cold, so I retired for the night. On my way back here, though, I heard some noises over there…” She pointed to a bit of shrubbery and bushes behind her. The trailer was near the outskirts of the park. “I thought it was an animal at first, maybe a rabbit. I didn’t think anything of it, until I heard it again: a moan. I thought someone was in trouble…” Her face turned a delicate shade of pink that almost matched her overcoat.
“Go on,” Lestrade coached her.
Jennifer swallowed hard, and continued. “When I went to check it out, well, no one was hurt. I found, er, Carl Powers, snogging in the bushes with some trollup.”
“And that made you scream?” Lestrade raised his eyebrows. He did not bother to hide his annoyance.
Jennifer shook her head. “No, no… I let the two of them be, yeah? So I started back toward my trailer. I think maybe… ten minutes went by, I suppose, and I thought, well, I thought the better of it. I thought maybe I should have given him a piece of my mind-show him that our circus is more dignified than snogging some trollup in the bushes. So I went back… but they weren’t there. That’s when I heard a door slam from the trailer here, Carl’s trailer.” She indicated the trailer in question. “It’s dark, so I couldn’t really tell, but someone ran out and brushed by me and disappeared past our borders. So, naturally, I worried and knocked on Carl’s door. No answer. So I … I opened it.” Jennifer choked back a sob.
“What did you find?” Lestrade’s voice was filled with worry, now.
Jennifer could not speak any more. She was sobbing uncontrollably by that point. The best she could do was simply to point toward the door of the trailer.
Lestrade nodded, knowing what she meant. He stepped up to the trailer door, took a deep breath and opened it. Nearly everyone strained their necks to see inside. John, being as short as he was, had no hope of seeing what needed to be seen. He sighed in frustration.
Beside him, Sherlock stood as tall as ever, and John assumed he could easily see inside the trailer door. Before John could even ask Sherlock what was in there, he felt Sherlock’s hand on his shoulder.
“John,” said Sherlock.
“What is it?” John asked. “Can you see it?”
“It is a body, John,” Sherlock answered. His eyes twinkled far too much for a normal human when faced with this knowledge. John could feel his insides squirming a little. He had dealt with death too much, lately.
“Who?”
“Who else?” Sherlock snapped. He looked at John with a gaze that said more than it needed: that he had a lot of patience for someone as slow as John. “Carl Powers.”
Next Chapter
Author: Mesita
Words: 3719/21152/50,000+
Pairings: Sherlock/John (Eventual) Lestrade/Mycroft (Implied)
Warnings: Slight torture, kidnapping, violence, death
Summary: John Watson runs away to join a circus where he is forced to live with the resident consulting psychic. After one of the circus members is murdered, it's up to John and Sherlock to solve the case.
First Chapter
CHAPTER SIX
LIFE AT THE CIRCUS
John woke the next morning feeling more refreshed than he had for years. For the first time in what felt like forever, John woke up almost happy. Sure, he had more than a handful of things to worry about but he did not let a single one of them bother him this time.
He counted his blessings. He had a place to stay, a job, an interesting flat mate, plenty of things to do, places to see, people to meet and best of all, he was part of a circus, now.
The sun shone rather splendidly through Sherlock’s curtains and it gave John even more of a boost to wake up. His muscles and bones did not even creak as he went into the bathroom to freshen up. He grabbed a few clothes from his bag and changed for the day.
He took his time to explore more of Sherlock’s sitting room. He had one wall pinned with different papers and research articles on murders and victims and alcohol levels and decomposing bodies. John did not think anything of it. To be honest, he let Sherlock have his hobbies. John was perfectly content to go into the kitchenette and find himself some coffee.
Sherlock, it seemed, did not believe in milk for coffee or tea. John all but glared at the contents of the fridge. Apparently, Sherlock did not believe in eating anything in general, and John highly doubted Sherlock ate slime moulds or eyeballs or cut-up worms.
Things would not have been so bad if the store were a lot closer than it was. John wondered briefly if he should go to see Mrs. Hudson, but he needed a much better excuse than for milk. Instead John held his breath and prepared coffee for himself and for Sherlock without any milk or creamer. If he needed to run any errands outside the circus grounds, he made a mental note to pick up some milk.
The smell of coffee must have pulled Sherlock from his slumber. John had the pleasure of seeing a very disheveled and unruly Sherlock stagger awkwardly into the kitchenette. John poured his new flat mate a cup of coffee and held it out to him.
“I’m not sure how you take it, so you can finish preparing it yourself, if that is all right?” John inquired as Sherlock took the mug from him.
“Black, two sugars,” Sherlock mumbled and hobbled over to the cupboard to get the sugar. John really should have known. No wonder Sherlock did not have any milk. Sherlock made no movement to prepare his coffee for himself, so John sighed and finished the job. When he handed over the mug, Sherlock took it with half-lidded eyes and swayed on the spot. John watched him with mild fascination.
“I’m about to head out,” John offered up just to break the silence. Sherlock did not answer as he tried to immerse himself in his coffee, instead. John made a ducking motion with his head, trying to see if he could get Sherlock to wake up properly and recognize his existence. “Do you know where everyone gathers this time of day?”
Sherlock mumbled something into his coffee and when prompted again by John he said, “Under the Big Top.” John knew enough about circus lingo to know what Sherlock meant.
“Okay,” John took a swig of his coffee. “Guess I’ll start there.
--
When John entered the big tent, he was not at all surprised to see that it was filled with the circus crew. It was nearly nine in the morning and John could not help but to feel a little bit late. Sherlock had stayed behind in his trailer. John already knew better than to think Sherlock would come out and actually help with the circus.
John had missed the clean up from the night before, so the major change from one day to the next overwhelmed him a little. Clearly these people had been working on their set skills for a while, now. The crew seemed to work like oversized ants. Each person had a role and it fit so well into everyone else’s role that everything moved like clockwork. John began to feel a bit nervous that he would not find a place to fit in.
Mike somehow managed to see John at the opening to the tent and beckoned him over toward his group. John assumed they were all clowns like Mike, but he could not tell as they were in ordinary street garb.
“There you are, John. Had a bit of a lie-in, did you?” Mike slapped John on the back in greeting, as if they had been friends since birth.
“I didn’t set an alarm…” John hating using excuses. “I didn’t know what time to come out here.”
“It’s your first day,” Mike seemed to give him this one. He motioned toward the guys behind him. “Everyone, this is John Watson. New recruit. John, this is Carl Powers, John Ferrier, Hilton Cubitt, and Tad Sholto. We heard you were rooming with Sherlock Holmes.” Mike looked over at his buddies and they all began grinning strangely at John as if they expected some sort of reaction out of them.
Instead, John raised an eyebrow. “He’s really not all that bad,” he said, knowing full well of Sherlock’s presumed reputation. “He plays the violin very well.”
“Oh, he played the violin for you, did he?” one of the younger men asked. John strained his brain to remember which one he was. The Powers one? He looked as if he never needed to shave a day in his life. A couple of the other guys made high pitched ‘ooooo’ noises.
John chuckled to himself and shook his head. “I like the violin. I asked him to.”
“Come on, Carl.” Mike gave the younger man a shove, “We have work to do. Stop heckling the new guy.”
“Yeah, alright,” Carl muttered and moved to a set of bleachers.
Before John could look properly confused, Mike explained the situation to him. They were moving bleachers to the correct angles along the edges of the tent. This way they could easily pull the bleachers out for the audience when the shows started in a few hours. Until then, there would be ample space around the three main rings for the actors and performers to practice their art.
Afterward, John found plenty to do. With the guidance of Mike and the others, he shoveled elephant, horse, lion and tiger droppings. He swept and dusted every bit of surface he thought possible. He double-checked the grounds for bits of food and wrappers, filled pamphlet stands, hauled water for the animals, and as the time grew closer to the show, he helped set up lights and filled the food stands with condiments.
He interacted with the actual performers very little. He rarely saw any of the acrobats, and the Magnificent Professor Moriarty may as well have been non-existent. He spent most of his time with Mike and Carl and the others. After a time, however, Mike had to go practice with the other clowns: Hilton and Tad amongst a few others, so John was left with the young Carl and a very bitter John Ferrier.
“So… do you two often watch the show?” John asked the two of them they had a break. All three men sat on a wooden bench eating burritos wrapped in foil.
“Nah, I’ve seen it so many times, I don’t bother. I use the time to catch up on some me time, you know?” Carl said.
“And by ‘me time’ he means chatting up some little thing and taking her back to the trailer while the rest of us are working our stations,” Ferrier growled at the younger boy. John Ferrier looked like he was in his late forties and clearly had been working the circus for some time. He may have been very handsome in his younger years, but years of scowling, resentment and anger had turned him into a bitter middle-aged man. John did not much like talking to him.
“I can’t help being a hit with the ladies,” Carl bragged and pretended to brush off some invisible dust from his shoulder. John thought the action extremely cheesy and fake. “What about you, Watson? You got a girlfriend back home?”
“Naw, no, not me…” John said as he nursed his burrito. “I had no one to hold me back, so I left. I’m a free man, now.”
“Free to work your arse off for just about nothing, you mean.”
“Better than what I had before, mate,” John pointed out. He popped the last of his burrito in his mouth and stood up. “How much we have left for today?”
John Ferrier stole a glance at his watch, “Not too much, now. The show is about to start. I’m on backstage duty tonight. Have to make sure that Anderson git doesn’t get his head bitten off backstage by that massive cat of his.”
“Sounds fun,” John said, not even remotely sincerely. It sounded strange, but he doubted fun would be the correct word to describe it. John knew he certainly would be unable to deal with a lion like that. The idea of hanging around backstage and seeing the actual magic of the circus happen appealed to him, however.
“Hmph…” was all John Ferrier would say. He pulled himself up to a standing position and made his way back to the tent. “You working backstage detail tonight, then, eh Watson?”
“I would love to!” The words escaped John’s mouth before he could stop them and he all but covered his mouth with his hand in embarrassment. “I mean, yeah, all right. Should be interesting.”
Both John Ferrier and John Watson left Carl and headed back to the tent. John assumed Carl would be going back to his trailer or picking up a girl amongst the patrons to take back with him, so he did not mind. The atmosphere around the stage had increased exponentially. Sequins and feathers littered the ground. Behind the curtains, John found himself thrust in a world where everyone knew their part but him.
Over the next hour, John became a go-to guy for small items. He ran back and forth, locating and handling bottles of water or favorite combs. He smoothed out collars and learned very quickly how to be handy with a lint brush.
Everything proceeded quite smoothly until it was time for The Magnificent Professor Moriarty to go onstage. Both Moriarty and Molly were standing beside John backstage. John was brushing any stray hairs or feathers off Moriarty’s costume when Molly suddenly piped up from beside the two of them.
“Excuse me,” she said softly, her doe-like eyes giving her shyness away instantaneously. “But are you the new recruit that has moved in with Sherlock?”
Moriarty immediately turned toward John as if he had just noticed him standing there, despite having spoken a word or two to him just moments before. “You? With Sherlock?”
“I uh, yeah,” admitted John. He tore off a new sheet on the lint roller as the other was filled with all kinds of lint bits. “It’s not a big deal. I’m crashing on his couch until I’m moved somewhere else.”
“Sherlock lets you stay in his trailer?” Moriarty’s eyes widened.
“Yes, is that really hard to comprehend? He’s not as bad as everyone says he is.”
“You don’t know a thing about Sherlock,” Moriarty snapped. It did not take a genius to see that Moriarty was obviously jealous of John’s situation.
John was not fazed, but he hadn’t expected someone as amazing as Moriarty to be such a jerk. “I’ve only just met him yesterday. Of course I don’t know a bloody thing about him! What does that have to do with me living with him? It’s only temporary.”
“You don’t know what you’ve got,” spat Moriarty. He then thought the better of it when Molly placed a delicate hand on his forearm. He looked at her for a moment, sighed, and shook his head. “I apologize, John, was it? Yes. You have fun with Sherlock. But don’t think it’ll last. Sherlock doesn’t take kindly to those less... fortunate than him.” John was very certain that fortunate was not the word Moriarty was looking for. John was also very certain that the apology was not sincere.
Before John could answer, Moriarty received word from a stagehand that his queue was up and he would be going on in a few moments. Moriarty gave John one last sneer before nearly whipping John purposely in the face with his cape as he made an overly dramatic exit.
Any respect John had had for Moriarty as a performer left him.
The rest of the show moved onward without a hitch. John watched what he could from the sidelines. It was interesting to see how different a performance was viewed from someone in the back versus someone out in the crowd. Before going out into the rings, each performer did his or her best to get their nerves in order. They practiced lines, stretched, did vocal exercises and mimicked actions. When an act was over, and the performers would make their way backstage, they were always greeted with silent smiles, hugs and pats on the back for a job well done. The circus really was like a family. John found himself wanting to belong.
After the show ended, John headed out with the other members of the clean-up crew. It was hard to imagine that just the night before, he was a member of the audience and just under 24 hours later, he was cleaning up after everyone. He never realized just how messy everyone could be? He spent almost an hour sweeping up wrappers and popcorn. Even though the ground was bare, it was required to sweep up any leftover food out of courtesy to the patrons as well as the park-keepers when the circus finally left.
John groaned when he checked the time on his mobile. It was nearing ten thirty in the evening. He would not have any time to get the washing done for Sherlock. In fact, he hadn’t even seen Sherlock the entire day. It was no surprise, however. John was so busy working the rounds, and Sherlock probably did not want to leave his trailer. At one point during the day, John had stolen a glance back at the place he assumed he should call ‘home’ and saw a bit of a line outside. At least Sherlock had had his hours up, again.
John pulled his old dark coat around him, and zipped it up. The night air had gotten chilly very quickly. He said his goodbyes to Mike and the other clowns, as well as to John Ferrier. The clowns were the only performers to stay behind after the show and clean up. John suspected that maybe they were considered the lowest on the circus totem pole. Even the bearded lady and the contortionist did not need to stay behind.
For a brief second, John wondered if he would get promoted to clown.
With a laugh, he quickly wiped the thought from his mind. He would much rather stay as a lackey or a circus janitor than to be a clown. He had to respect those that could pull it off, though, but it was definitely something John would never have a hand in.
He trudged through the cold grass, letting the cool night air try and numb his cheeks. The night sky was dark and cloudless, and despite being outside of the city limits, it was still impossible to see any stars. The lights of London were unrelenting in taking their hold of the night sky. John did not mind, however. He was used to not seeing the stars, after all. He enjoyed the total blackness of a night sky. To him, it felt as though the sky had wiped its slate clean as it prepared itself for the clouds that would inevitably appear in the daylight.
Because he had been so lost in his thoughts, the scream that shattered the darkness had much more of an impact on him that he would have liked to admit. John jumped about a mile in his shoes and he turned quickly to the source of the sound.
It was coming from the grounds just outside the gate to the main campus, where all the trailers were located.
A flash of fear seized John’s chest and caused his blood to run cold. He thought for a moment that he had been paralyzed, but a few milliseconds later he realized that was not the case. The cold in his chest actually came from the night air around him as he ran toward the sound, unknowingly. His body had acted of its own accord.
John was one of the first people to arrive at the scene-the first being John Ferrier. He had been walking back to the trailer just as John was walking back to his own. Judging by the quality of the trailers, this was probably where all the stagehands and other crewmembers were located. Both Johns exchanged a determined glance and made their way around the trailer in question.
Near the back entrance stood the bearded lady, Jennifer Wilson, clutching her heart. The way her breathing caught in her chest and the way her bottom lip trembled made it obvious that it was she who had screamed. Even though John had barely known her, he dashed to her side and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. Almost immediately, she turned toward him and sobbed into his shoulder.
The beard wasn’t even off putting.
John Ferrier stood next to the two of them, and spoke up in his gruff voice, “What happened, here, Miss Wilson?”
The Bearded Lady took a few moments to sob into John’s shoulder and he let her, while he rubbed her back absent-mindedly. He may have whispered a few words of encouragement to her, but he could hardly remember.
In the mean time, more and more people arrived on the scene, including Mrs. Hudson, and, John’s breath hitched, Sherlock Holmes.
Mrs. Hudson fought her way through the throngs of people gawking at the scene to Jennifer. “I can take it from here, John dear. Thank you,” she said. John let the older lady take over and he relinquished his grip. He felt awkward with so many eyes on him, so he escaped to where he felt safe, if safe was the correct word: with Sherlock.
He did not have to go far because Sherlock was right there in the midst of it. He took one look at Jennifer and frowned. “What happened?”
“I’ll be the one asking the questions around here,” a familiar, booming voice sounded out over the crowd of milling people. John was not at all surprised to see the performers and crewmembers parting to let Lestrade through.
Sherlock let Lestrade take over, but he did not look happy about it.
Lestrade turned to Jennifer and laid a careful hand on her shoulder. “What happened, Jennifer?”
Jennifer Wilson sniffed. The effect was odd as much of her runny nose had mixed up with her mustache. “I came back early from the show. You guys must have noticed. We didn’t have many customers stay after tonight’s show due to the cold, so I retired for the night. On my way back here, though, I heard some noises over there…” She pointed to a bit of shrubbery and bushes behind her. The trailer was near the outskirts of the park. “I thought it was an animal at first, maybe a rabbit. I didn’t think anything of it, until I heard it again: a moan. I thought someone was in trouble…” Her face turned a delicate shade of pink that almost matched her overcoat.
“Go on,” Lestrade coached her.
Jennifer swallowed hard, and continued. “When I went to check it out, well, no one was hurt. I found, er, Carl Powers, snogging in the bushes with some trollup.”
“And that made you scream?” Lestrade raised his eyebrows. He did not bother to hide his annoyance.
Jennifer shook her head. “No, no… I let the two of them be, yeah? So I started back toward my trailer. I think maybe… ten minutes went by, I suppose, and I thought, well, I thought the better of it. I thought maybe I should have given him a piece of my mind-show him that our circus is more dignified than snogging some trollup in the bushes. So I went back… but they weren’t there. That’s when I heard a door slam from the trailer here, Carl’s trailer.” She indicated the trailer in question. “It’s dark, so I couldn’t really tell, but someone ran out and brushed by me and disappeared past our borders. So, naturally, I worried and knocked on Carl’s door. No answer. So I … I opened it.” Jennifer choked back a sob.
“What did you find?” Lestrade’s voice was filled with worry, now.
Jennifer could not speak any more. She was sobbing uncontrollably by that point. The best she could do was simply to point toward the door of the trailer.
Lestrade nodded, knowing what she meant. He stepped up to the trailer door, took a deep breath and opened it. Nearly everyone strained their necks to see inside. John, being as short as he was, had no hope of seeing what needed to be seen. He sighed in frustration.
Beside him, Sherlock stood as tall as ever, and John assumed he could easily see inside the trailer door. Before John could even ask Sherlock what was in there, he felt Sherlock’s hand on his shoulder.
“John,” said Sherlock.
“What is it?” John asked. “Can you see it?”
“It is a body, John,” Sherlock answered. His eyes twinkled far too much for a normal human when faced with this knowledge. John could feel his insides squirming a little. He had dealt with death too much, lately.
“Who?”
“Who else?” Sherlock snapped. He looked at John with a gaze that said more than it needed: that he had a lot of patience for someone as slow as John. “Carl Powers.”
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