The Mayfair Murders
Aug. 31st, 2019 07:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
darnedchildSummary: A short fic for Molly Hooper Appreciation Fall 2019 - Day 3 and for the Sherlolly Monthly Prompt for August. A sequel to "The Mayfair Murderer" - Sherlock finds a way to speak to the intriguing Ms Hooper, the woman he had literally bumped into the evening before.
Rating: G
A/N - MHAW Summer 2019 Day 3 - Historical Fiction (fiction set in any time period other than the 2000s and later) / Future Fic (fiction set at any point after “The Final Problem”)
SAW August Prompt – Revisiting/remixing “The Mayfair Murderer” as the Sherlolly Monthly August prompt. TMM was originally posted on 2/14/2017 on Ao3.
The Mayfair Murders
“Mayfair Murderer strikes again. Brute continues to stalk streets,” Watson huffed.
Sherlock heard the newsprint crinkle as his friend continued to read aloud from The Morning Post. “Local authorities were forced to release their only suspect from custody after a second victim was discovered in the pre-dawn hours.”
“Much to Inspector Samuels annoyance, I’m sure.” Sherlock opened his eyes to acknowledge Watson for the first time since the pair had entered the carriage in front of Scotland Yard. “If he had spent as much time speaking to his prisoner as he did preening for the press, he wouldn’t look the fool now.”
“Yes, well, I think the fact that he’d insisted on holding an innocent man in a cell for the last week should be more of a concern,” Watson snapped.
“Would it make you feel any better to know Mr Richards is far from an innocent man? He regularly collects on gambling and protection debts owed to a small criminal syndicate, and is guilty of several unsolved assault cases in the Mayfair area.”
Watson lowered the paper just enough to peer over the top. “How do you know that?”
Sherlock smirked in response and turned his attention to the passing streets visible through the carriage window.
Before long they drew to a halt in front of St Bartholomew’s. He waited for Watson to pay the cab driver, anxious to view the body currently housed in the morgue below the hospital.
And after that there was a visit to Mike Stamford’s office to look forward to.
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
“Are you going to tell me why we’re here? Why you endeavoured to procure an invitation for us to join the family for dinner when you could have easily finished your discussion this morning? We both know you didn’t have a pressing engagement to attend to as you’d claimed,” Watson pressed the moment they’d been left alone in Stamford’s sitting room so his man could announce their arrival.
Sherlock paused his patrolling around the perimeter of room long enough to glance at Watson. “As I told you before, I have long wished to cultivate a relationship with a contact inside the hospital. Consider the resources I would have access to once you re-establish your friendship with Doctor Stamford.”
“And that’s the sole reason?”
Sherlock turned away and continued his inspection of the family photographs displayed on the walls. He stopped in front of one that included Ms Hooper, and it must have been taken relatively recently as she was not wearing her mourning dress. “Of course. What other reason could I have?”
“I couldn’t possibly imagine.”
He didn’t like Watson’s tone. Fortunately, he was saved from having to endure any more of Watson’s pestering by the arrival of Stamford and his wife. Sherlock made sure to remain on his best behaviour—which consisted of biting his tongue on more than one occasion and leaving Watson to answer any questions that were sent their way—while they waited for Stamford’s daughters and niece to join them.
The girls were both old enough to be accepting suitors, and clearly considered their father’s visitors to be potential matrimonial prospects. Sherlock dismissed them from his mind almost immediately. It was the young woman who entered the room with her cousins that held his attention.
Ms Hooper was . . . lovely.
She met his eyes briefly, then looked down to her feet when her cheeks began to flush with the slightest hint of pink.
“If you’re ready, Mr Holmes?”
Stamford’s voice drew him out of his momentary distraction and he realized he had become the centre of attention. He glanced at Watson, who subtly jerked his head toward the door. “Yes, of course.”
Watson stepped forward and offered his arm to Mrs Stamford. “If you’d allow me the honour?” She tittered, clearly taken in by the infamous Watson charm. The sisters immediately latched on to him, one on either side, and he had no choice but to escort them to the dining room. That left Ms Hooper with her uncle, who leaned down to whisper something that made her laugh softly.
The meal was less tedious than he had anticipated due to Stamford’s unexpected wit and Mrs Stamford’s amused tolerance for Sherlock’s frank description of one of his more interesting cases. Thankfully the sisters had been raptly listening to Watson’s far more sanitized and heroic version of the same events.
Ms Hooper made sure to divide her attention amongst everyone at the table, but he was pleased to note that the majority of her awareness seemed to be centred upon him. He found her questions and observations to be delightfully insightful, and once again he wondered how she’d managed to become so familiar with certain topics that were frowned upon in polite society. Judging by Stamford’s proud expression, Sherlock deduced that her uncle readily encouraged her chosen fields of interest. The depth of her knowledge of human anatomy alone made him suspect her studies were begun long before she’d come under Stamford’s care.
Before they left that evening, Sherlock managed to draw her aside and far enough away from her curious cousins to avoid being overheard. “Ms Hooper, if I may have a moment of your time?”
“Of course, Mr Holmes.” She smoothed the front of her dress down her waist and shifted her weight from foot to foot. Obvious signs of nervousness.
Interesting.
“I was wondering . . . Will you be attending the ball at Wickham?”
“I-I believe so.” She stared up at him with wide brown eyes that threatened to derail his thoughts.
He swallowed and tried to regroup. “So will I.”
She waited a moment, as if expecting him to continue speaking. When nothing further issued from his mouth, she tilted her head in confusion. “Well, I suppose that means we’ll see each other there?”
Sherlock could see Watson watching him from across the room. The absolute last thing he wanted to do was have a witness as he stumbled his way through the next few moments, but Watson only grinned when Sherlock glared in his direction.
“Or not.”
He snapped his attention back to Ms Hooper. “Pardon?”
She gestured toward his disgruntled expression. “You seem displeased at the thought.”
“No! Far from it.” Sherlock took a deep breath. “I would like the chance to continue our discussion from last night, about the Mayfair murderer. I am very interested in the rest of your thoughts on the matter.”
Ms Hooper blinked, then her lips pursed in such a way that he suspected she was trying to supress a wide smile. “Shall we meet in the garden again?”
He knew he was fighting a similar urge. “Perhaps this time we might share a dance first?”
“I believe that can be arranged, Mr Holmes.”
“I look forward to it, Ms Hooper.”
Rating: G
A/N - MHAW Summer 2019 Day 3 - Historical Fiction (fiction set in any time period other than the 2000s and later) / Future Fic (fiction set at any point after “The Final Problem”)
SAW August Prompt – Revisiting/remixing “The Mayfair Murderer” as the Sherlolly Monthly August prompt. TMM was originally posted on 2/14/2017 on Ao3.
The Mayfair Murders
“Mayfair Murderer strikes again. Brute continues to stalk streets,” Watson huffed.
Sherlock heard the newsprint crinkle as his friend continued to read aloud from The Morning Post. “Local authorities were forced to release their only suspect from custody after a second victim was discovered in the pre-dawn hours.”
“Much to Inspector Samuels annoyance, I’m sure.” Sherlock opened his eyes to acknowledge Watson for the first time since the pair had entered the carriage in front of Scotland Yard. “If he had spent as much time speaking to his prisoner as he did preening for the press, he wouldn’t look the fool now.”
“Yes, well, I think the fact that he’d insisted on holding an innocent man in a cell for the last week should be more of a concern,” Watson snapped.
“Would it make you feel any better to know Mr Richards is far from an innocent man? He regularly collects on gambling and protection debts owed to a small criminal syndicate, and is guilty of several unsolved assault cases in the Mayfair area.”
Watson lowered the paper just enough to peer over the top. “How do you know that?”
Sherlock smirked in response and turned his attention to the passing streets visible through the carriage window.
Before long they drew to a halt in front of St Bartholomew’s. He waited for Watson to pay the cab driver, anxious to view the body currently housed in the morgue below the hospital.
And after that there was a visit to Mike Stamford’s office to look forward to.
“Are you going to tell me why we’re here? Why you endeavoured to procure an invitation for us to join the family for dinner when you could have easily finished your discussion this morning? We both know you didn’t have a pressing engagement to attend to as you’d claimed,” Watson pressed the moment they’d been left alone in Stamford’s sitting room so his man could announce their arrival.
Sherlock paused his patrolling around the perimeter of room long enough to glance at Watson. “As I told you before, I have long wished to cultivate a relationship with a contact inside the hospital. Consider the resources I would have access to once you re-establish your friendship with Doctor Stamford.”
“And that’s the sole reason?”
Sherlock turned away and continued his inspection of the family photographs displayed on the walls. He stopped in front of one that included Ms Hooper, and it must have been taken relatively recently as she was not wearing her mourning dress. “Of course. What other reason could I have?”
“I couldn’t possibly imagine.”
He didn’t like Watson’s tone. Fortunately, he was saved from having to endure any more of Watson’s pestering by the arrival of Stamford and his wife. Sherlock made sure to remain on his best behaviour—which consisted of biting his tongue on more than one occasion and leaving Watson to answer any questions that were sent their way—while they waited for Stamford’s daughters and niece to join them.
The girls were both old enough to be accepting suitors, and clearly considered their father’s visitors to be potential matrimonial prospects. Sherlock dismissed them from his mind almost immediately. It was the young woman who entered the room with her cousins that held his attention.
Ms Hooper was . . . lovely.
She met his eyes briefly, then looked down to her feet when her cheeks began to flush with the slightest hint of pink.
“If you’re ready, Mr Holmes?”
Stamford’s voice drew him out of his momentary distraction and he realized he had become the centre of attention. He glanced at Watson, who subtly jerked his head toward the door. “Yes, of course.”
Watson stepped forward and offered his arm to Mrs Stamford. “If you’d allow me the honour?” She tittered, clearly taken in by the infamous Watson charm. The sisters immediately latched on to him, one on either side, and he had no choice but to escort them to the dining room. That left Ms Hooper with her uncle, who leaned down to whisper something that made her laugh softly.
The meal was less tedious than he had anticipated due to Stamford’s unexpected wit and Mrs Stamford’s amused tolerance for Sherlock’s frank description of one of his more interesting cases. Thankfully the sisters had been raptly listening to Watson’s far more sanitized and heroic version of the same events.
Ms Hooper made sure to divide her attention amongst everyone at the table, but he was pleased to note that the majority of her awareness seemed to be centred upon him. He found her questions and observations to be delightfully insightful, and once again he wondered how she’d managed to become so familiar with certain topics that were frowned upon in polite society. Judging by Stamford’s proud expression, Sherlock deduced that her uncle readily encouraged her chosen fields of interest. The depth of her knowledge of human anatomy alone made him suspect her studies were begun long before she’d come under Stamford’s care.
Before they left that evening, Sherlock managed to draw her aside and far enough away from her curious cousins to avoid being overheard. “Ms Hooper, if I may have a moment of your time?”
“Of course, Mr Holmes.” She smoothed the front of her dress down her waist and shifted her weight from foot to foot. Obvious signs of nervousness.
Interesting.
“I was wondering . . . Will you be attending the ball at Wickham?”
“I-I believe so.” She stared up at him with wide brown eyes that threatened to derail his thoughts.
He swallowed and tried to regroup. “So will I.”
She waited a moment, as if expecting him to continue speaking. When nothing further issued from his mouth, she tilted her head in confusion. “Well, I suppose that means we’ll see each other there?”
Sherlock could see Watson watching him from across the room. The absolute last thing he wanted to do was have a witness as he stumbled his way through the next few moments, but Watson only grinned when Sherlock glared in his direction.
“Or not.”
He snapped his attention back to Ms Hooper. “Pardon?”
She gestured toward his disgruntled expression. “You seem displeased at the thought.”
“No! Far from it.” Sherlock took a deep breath. “I would like the chance to continue our discussion from last night, about the Mayfair murderer. I am very interested in the rest of your thoughts on the matter.”
Ms Hooper blinked, then her lips pursed in such a way that he suspected she was trying to supress a wide smile. “Shall we meet in the garden again?”
He knew he was fighting a similar urge. “Perhaps this time we might share a dance first?”
“I believe that can be arranged, Mr Holmes.”
“I look forward to it, Ms Hooper.”