Chapter Text
John tugged at his collar of his new shirt for the umpteenth time as the man who calls himself Sherlock Holmes inspected his discarded jacket with a keen eye. The brunette insisted that John be fitted with a new set of clothes, proclaiming that what he was wearing was unsuitable.
"A gentleman does not show their shirt sleeves in public."
"Then I won't go out!"
"Mrs Hudson comes in here often. She will be aghast! And other people visit at times for consultations."
John threw up his hands in defeat submitting himself to be fitted for TWO shirts, TWO waistcoats and TWO pair of throusers. He was also given a hat, a frock coat and a tie which at that moment he was in the process of loosening to allow himself some breathing space. Bugger! I've never felt collars this stiff in my life! What are they made from? Cardboard?!
He had to admit, though, that he felt really dapper in his new clothes, lessening his disgruntlement at his suspicion that all Holmes actually wanted was to freely look over his clothes that he bought at Debenhams in 2009 without being incumbered by a body, more than to protect the virtues of Victorian ladies of London.
It was a few hours ago that John realised that he was not set up in an elaborate prank by Sherlock or Mrs Hudson or God forbid, Mycroft, and he began to set out explaining to Holmes that he may have inadvertently slipped back in time after a clash with one of his friend's enemies - his friend that happened to be named Sherlock Holmes as well.
At Holmes' blank look, John continued, "Maybe he's your great-great-great-great grandson or whatever? But what are the odds that you have a landlady called Mrs Hudson and living at Baker Street as well... Coincidence?"
"Are you saying that you are from the future?"
"Yes! Like... like that scene from Charles Dickens' A christmas Carol with the Ghost of Christmas Past..."
Holmes continued to look non-plussed before he eyes lit up in realisation. "AH! Goethe's Faust: The Second Part of the Tragedy!"
"Err..."
"A German play with Greek mythologies full of backstabbing, lust, envy, murder," Holmes explained, the last part said in relish, "But the idea of time travel was mere fantasy and no fact to base the fiction."
John sighed, one hand on his waist while his thumb and index finger of his other hand rubbed the ridge of his nose, wishing that this 19th century Sherlock was more knowledgable in disciplines of science other than Chemistry. Like Physics, for example, because he sure as hell can't explain time travel without bringing Doctor Who into the conversation. And he only watches the series for the adventure and less on the scientific mumbo-jumbo.
"I don't know..."
Holmes patted his shoulders in comfort. "Fear not, Doctor Watson. I've not found you mad, yet. Your manner, although anxious, is calm and controlled. No sign of erratic breathing or heart rate and your eyes are clear and your speech without hint of dishonesty. Probably you did travel through time or have just sustained enough injury to muddle your mind into thinking so. Whatever the reason, we'll get to the bottom of this."
John gave him a grateful smile which Holmes returned crookedly but before the doctor could say anything else, Holmes suddenly pounced on his jacket which John left laying on the sofa as soon as he changed into his new casual wear. If what he was wearing was casual wear, he dread to think what he would need to use for non-casual occassions.
"Synthetic leather, you say?" Holmes asked, scrutinising the the leather bits patched on the elbows and shoulders.
John shook himself to the present time and nodded even if Holmes wasn't looking at him. "Yeah, genuine leather's pretty pricey in my time," he replied, tucking his hands in his throusers to stop himself from fighting with his collar again. Belatedly, he realised that he should've chosen the simple bow tie like the one Holmes was using instead of the noose around his neck...
Holmes snorted.
"What?" John said.
"Oh nothing..." the brunette murmured. "Your time..."
John sighed. "Yeah, all right. Still not buying that yeah?" he said, finally sitting down on an armchair with a huff, tapping the arm of the chair with his fingers or a bit before picking up the newspaper on the side table to occupy himself as Holmes started on his jumper next.
A few minutes later, there came a knock on the door and Mrs Hudson, a woman who might've been an older sister of his Mrs Hudson if they were both living in the same era, entered and nodded at John before speaking to Holmes. "Excuse me, Mr Holmes, a lady is here to see you - a Miss Ogilvy, for consultation."
"A client! Yes, thank you, Mrs Hudson," Holmes said, stashing his newest puzzles i.e. John's clothes, on the chair behind his writing desk as a young woman walked in, her face plain but pretty behind puce-coloured netting attached to her hat.
Sherlock turned to John, giving him a look but the younger man merely looked at him back, not understanding that Holmes would want John out of the room to give him and the woman some privacy, until at the last minute.
"Oh! Sorry! I thought - well, I always helped Sherlock with his cases..."
"He's a policeman?"
"A consulting detective, he calls it."
"Impossible!" Holmes hissed under his breath, "It never existed until I created it!"
"Future," John reminded him smugly.
"If he is real, he sounds like an unimaginative boy already," Holmes said in disgruntlement before sighing. "Fine. You can stay and help."
And with that, he turned away from John and gave his attention towards their guest.
"Good morning Miss Ogilvy. I'm Sherlock Holmes and.... ah... this is Doctor Watson," Holmes said, nodding towards John, who stood up with Holmes when their visitor appeared. John gave the woman a welcoming nod and a smile which the lady returned.
"Miss Ogilvy, please take a seat," Holmes said, waiting for the woman to sit on one of the chairs before he took the sofa across from her. John decided to remain standing, leaning against the frame of the fireplace for the heat. He was already missing indoor heating and was grateful for the casual coat Holmes made him wear.
"Now, Miss Ogilvy," Holmes said, "Are you here for assistance on the disappearance of your fiancee, Mr Algernon Berry?"
The women's lip thinned in response. "I suppose you've read it in the newspaper two days ago. The police are at wit's end that they have even taken to thinking that I was involved in his disappearance! I was the one who insisted it was foul play when all they could think about was kidnapping or burglary gone wrong, and they have the gall to imply I was behind it!"
The woman's hands started to shake and quickly, John poured the still warm tea which Mrs Hudson made for them early on into a cup, balancing it carefully on a saucer before handing it over to Miss Ogilvy who accepted it gratefully.
"Thank you, Doctor," the woman said, giving John another smile before taking a sip to calm her nerves. As soon as she was able to, she continued her account, "Algy has a laboratory out in Clapham. He spends most of his time there researching alone or with a fellow scientist on experiments small pharmaceuticals contracted him to carry out while finishing his thesis in King's College. I visited him last Sunday and he was pleased to see me and said to me that if I was able, to wait for half an hour before he could be done with his latest tests so that we may walk home together. I left him in his laboratory, went to one of the rooms where a housekeeper was sorting out a few messes, and read a book while I waited for him to finish. As soon as I finished my book, I realised it has been a quarter past the time so I went back to fetch him. But he was nowhere to be seen! When I saw his crutch in the room, I became worried. He would never have gone far without it! As you may have read Mr Holmes, that my fiancee is crippled in the right leg. I suspect he has been abducted by force!"
Holmes brushed his finger against his lips in a pose John began to recognise as his thinking pose - much like Sherlock who would steeple his fingers in front of his mouth when he was busy processing all the information at once.
"No one has seen him coming in and out?" Holmes asked.
"No one, Mr Holmes," Miss Ogilvy said, "the housekeeper was in the next room, cleaning, and she said she didn't hear the door opening or closing because the hinges makes such a racket when it does."
"The police found no trace of oil on the hinges?" Holmes asked.
"None, Mr Holmes," the woman replied, "It still makes a racket when they tried the door."
"Hmmm... the windows?"
"Locked from inside."
"I see... Has anything been moved since you've called the police?"
"No," she told him, "I made sure of it. I told the housekeeper to keep everything in its place and not let anyone in an out except the police and myself and that if the police were to come without me, that she should keep an eye on them."
"Excellent!" Holmes said, jumping out of his seat, "If I may trouble you madam, that Doctor Watson and I may visit the scene of Mr Berry's disappearance today?"
"Oh, thank you Mr Holmes," the woman said, her eyes alight, "I was afraid you would not take my case! But I must tell you in all honesty that I do not have enough funds to pay your normal fee-"
"I shall accept whatever you are able to part with, Miss Ogilvy," Holmes told her magnanimously, "Although, I cannot promise you now that I'll be able to find the whereabouts of your fiancee until I'm able to examine the laboratory from whence he disappeared."
Miss Ogilvy looked down in a moment of sombreness. "Yes, I understand, Mr Holmes. Thank you."
"Come Doctor Watson!" Holmes said, taking his frock coat from the rack beside the door, "Let us be off!"
John sped down the steps to chase after Holmes but before long an annoyed shout bounded against the stair walls, "Watson! Your coat and hat!"
A few seconds later, John appeared back in 221B to snatch his new frock coat and hat from the rack before bounding back down the stairs again. He hasn't been scolded for not bundling up before going outside since he was five! Red-faced, he joined the consulting detective who stamped his foot in impatience as John hurriedly put on his coat on the way.
"Really!" Holmes said in a huff, "Do people in the future wear any clothes at all?"
"Just enough to cover the important bits," John shot back, silently enjoying the mixture of disbelief and horror on Holmes' face.