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adventure: copper beeches

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Hi, Sherlock!
Been thinking about you, and I'd love to get together!
Got this really weird job offer, and since I've been following your friend's blog, I thought you might like to hear about it!
If you're not busy Friday, let's get lunch!!
Love,
Vi

Sherlock contemplated the email.

Under any other circumstances, he would have ignored it immediately. Violet Hunter was prone to exaggeration, and that was being kind. She also had far too much of a penchant for smiling and optimism, to the point of being an irritant. Still, she had gotten him through a very, very dull university literature course for which attendance was mandatory and he could not manage to test out of, bribing him with free coffee after every class he attended. Her promise of something to interest him offered some slight appeal. At the very least, it might pacify John. He wanted to see Sherlock take more cases, so he might as well sit down with Violet and hear her out.

Besides, it might be a welcome break. Even the prospect of something to vaguely interest him for even an hour would be better than the appeals of strangers about their mundane little problems. Affairs they desperately did not want confirmed, "stolen" credit cards their son or daughter had charged that they did not want to pay for, business partners hiding assets in preparation for a severance: all terribly, painfully dull. The answers were all too obvious. Even Lestrade had failed to turn anything up of interest. Sherlock was, of course, always concerned with Jim Moriarty, but the consulting detective knew he had to be patient to unravel the web his spider had made.

"John," Sherlock called. "We're going to lunch on Friday. A," 'friend' was not a word the man used lightly, "woman I went to university with is coming up to see us." That she might really only intend to see him did not even begin to occur to him. "She saw your blog and seems to think she has something to interest us."

He paused. Knowing Violet, she has already made reservations at a restaurant. He would still have a suggestion or two for where they could eat. Or, rather.

"Good places for lunch. What are some?"

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John wanted Sherlock to take more cases for several reasons. First, they were always interesting; exhilarating, if often macabre. John enjoyed them, of course, almost enough to forsake his responsibility to be an active contributor to his community (although not quite - he needed the money and there was the issue of conscience, self-worth, his pull on women, other concepts Sherlock chose not to grasp, etc etc). At this point as well, he did have a sort of... readership to entertain. The thought of having anyone perusing any of his opinions of their own volition was strangely satisfying, despite the fact that that John knew, of course, that most of the attention was due to the scintillating work of Sherlock (who deserved the publicity, no matter what he said). The commenters were ever hungry for more information, almost as implacable as Sherlock's own will to solve singular cases.

And finally, most importantly, Sherlock was an absolute terror when he was bored. John was in the kitchen now, actually, washing dishes and eying the collection of insidious implements in the nearby tray. The sooner the detective got back on a case, the better, because they were at the point where the flat actually didn't smell so much like smoke anymore and John was considering the potential consequences of confiscating the stash he knew the man hid.

When his name was called, John didn't respond right off, knowing that the other man's habit was to continue talking whether or not he was actually present. He blinked, however, at the proceeding statement, echoed it in his mind, and leaned back just enough to peer out of the kitchen to where Sherlock was in the living room. John didn't know what he was expecting to see there, but... a woman? A schoolmate? John was curious. The last person they'd met from Sherlock's university days had been Sebastian the Banker, hadn't it? And, well, from the way Sebastian was speaking, it didn't seem like there had been much beyond him in the way of friends.

"A good place or a good place?" John inquired, then remembered this was Sherlock he was speaking to and-- "Well, we happen to live next to a cafe. It's alright. That Indian place we get carry-out from serves lunch; that's just a couple blocks down. There's a few Italian places..."

And here it was, the polite yet oh-so obvious indication of his curiosity.

"So you took classes together, then?"

"We were sent to Epsom at the same time."

...A fact on which he does not elaborate. In fact, for a moment after that statement, he fell quite silent. A rare, rare thing, to hear silence when he had been speaking. Usually it was either a flow of words or nothing at all, not a simple answer then nothing.

Still, normalcy returned after a few more moments, which saw him picking up a related thread. "She's emailed me about some job offer she's received. It's likely to be nothing, just exaggerated fancy she's convinced herself of. Likely a waste of time." Yet there was something about it that piqued his interest. He'd left Epsom some time ago, and he hadn't heard from Violet since. Not like this, at least. Maybe an email now and then, but not something that requested his physical present.

So maybe there was something worth finding out. Maybe.

Epsom - college, then. That was bordering on a childhood acquaintance. Sherlock as a teenager... well, probably much as he is now. John will spare Sherlock the fact that he's been told, and is now reminded, of the man's aspirations to become a pirate. The silence is odd - had it been anyone else, the doctor might naturally assume that it meant reflection, a memory. It seemed, instead, to be the potential within the case.

"People don't normally see you for career counseling," John agreed, letting his hands return to work in the sink, "Suppose that's something. Anyway, it's worth a listen if she's traveling to see you. You've got nothing on." And maybe John would like to see her as well. He was almost as interested to hear about Sherlock's antics as he was to watch them himself (which was, really, not always advisable for his health or sanity).

"Are you finished with the pliers, or...?"

People don't normally see you for career counseling.

Especially not Violet Hunter. But John wouldn't know that. No. John doesn't know the girl, more interested in chattering on than realising anything going on around her. So stupid and blind. Unaware that her first boyfriend had three other girlfriends, one at the very same school. Oblivious to her mother's affair. She knew all the petty little dramas, took on every 'lost' soul. More than a few had taken advantage of that. Lied to her. ...Stupid. But in a way that only hurt her. And she never even got angry when someone told her, when someone painted it so clearly. She always had excuses, explanations. She refused to see the truth. But she never got angry.

"Hm? What? Of course." He hadn't been listening, and he didn't care that he hadn't been listening. His mental analysis of the type of person who Violet was turned to what she could want.

If she was talking to him about a job, she might just be wanting to gossip. But a girl like Violet would have women to talk to, a whole circle to flit and chatter with. To bring it to him... She must at least think there was something intriguing about it. Something unusual. He looked at the email again. No hint of suspicion or foul play or fear. Just... Violet being Violet. Unless she had changed drastically.

And people didn't do that.

"You'll like her," he finally said. "Quite your sort. Really, might be another girlfriend, though I don't really think that would be a good idea. Draining, more than anything. You've had quite enough of that, I think."

John wasn't really offended that Sherlock wasn't listening to him - it wasn't that important and he didn't mind potentially penalizing the man for agreeing to something he normally wouldn't. Maybe one of these days, he'd have an experiment of his own. Probably not, but he could think about it. Imagination got him through sometimes.

"Not sure how I'd feel about dating someone you went to college with, or you setting me up with them," He didn't actually mind either way and it was probably evident in his tone. John was a little shameless in that area. And Sherlock might actually know what he liked, which was perhaps a bit disturbing, but most definitely not the topic he was going to dwell on right now. "How do you mean 'draining'?"

"Chatty. Never shuts up. She can tell you the tabloid stories, that sort of thing. If you ran in the same circles, she could tell you what everyone was doing. Optimistic, too. So very... cheerful." He made a slight, dismissive motion with his hand, unimpressed by the girl he was summing up. "Very good in English classes, dreadful in mathematics. We had an arrangement."

...Granted, the arrangement was that Sherlock helped her understand the mathematics assignments while glancing at her paper during exams in English...

But it was an arrangement.

"People come to me-- especially when they've read your... blog...-- when something is wrong. Not because something is odd. I don't think she knows it yet... No. No, I'm sure she doesn't know it yet. But something is wrong. Wrong about this job."

...Surely he didn't actually sound concerned.

Social, cheerful, optimistic... How did she and Sherlock ever survive one another? An arrangement. John tried to consider how likely it would be for Sherlock to endure someone he couldn't stand for the sake of an English class...

A quiet snort through his nose. Sherlock was still talking.

Actually, it did sound a little like concern. That was alright, though - that was an emotionally healthy thing, concern. Much as he can occasionally be amused by Sherlock's swallowed-sour-milk expression that often comes with calling him out on such matters, John won't. He's curious. And of course, the mention of something possibly being wrong is a bit sobering.

"Well, only way to know for sure is to hear her out."

Now, "What do you want for dinner tonight?" Better try to get as much food into the man as he can before a case comes up, and there will be no such hope.

A younger Sherlock Holmes had kept company for different reasons than he did now. Granted, he always loved an audience. He needed people around him. Violet had been a wonderful audience. Nothing offended her-- not for long. She'd laughed off some of his most scathing remarks and admire the more insightful. She also had been exactly the type of girl who would have driven his older brother and father insane if they'd had to spend more than five minutes with her.

And a very bitter thirteen-year-old boy had liked that idea very much.

After the first year, she had become routine. She lived at the school too, unlike the students who simply went to it as a day school. Her mother travelled. Father out of the picture. She was always there, liked Epsom well enough to never want to go to another school... and she did what many students couldn't-- She tolerated Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock frowned. What could be wrong with a job offer? Why would she come to him?

John's question occurred to him. He wasn't sure how long ago it was asked. "Anything. Whatever you'd like." Meaning he would eat very little of it, already distracted by the idea of a case.

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