Sherlock fic - Idle Gossip
May. 1st, 2012 07:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dimity_blueI'm not sure this works, but here it is anyway. I didn't take to Sebastian (the banker Sherlock knew from university) and I do like the idea of Mycroft casting thunderbolts from afar.
Title: Idle Gossip
Author: Arnie
Genre: Gen, episode tag
Rating: Teens
Characters: Sebastian Wilkes, original characters, a passing 'minor official'.
Word count: 1,143 words
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warning: Contains bad language, references to het, assumptions made about Sherlock and John's relationship.
Contains spoilers for Blind Banker (series 1, ep 2).
Summary: Sebastian Wilkes goes to dinner with some old friends from university.
Idle Gossip
By Arnie
Sebastian smirked to himself as he made his way into the restaurant, was greeted by the Maitre d', and escorted to the table where his old friends were sitting. He considered this monthly get-together to be a meeting of the Old Boys' Network as each and every one of them had been at university together. It wasn't often that one of them had news about a non-member of their select group, but he did. He was looking forward to sharing that news.
He waited until dinner had been eaten and they were all sitting back, relaxing over glasses of brandy. Oddly enough, it was Figgy Newton who gave him the perfect opening. Figgy - so-named because of his surname and his fondness for Fig Newton biscuits - had always held that Sherlock was a bit of a weird one but not as freakish as the others considered him to be. Not that that had stopped Figgy from joining in the pranks when Sherlock was the intended target.
"You're quiet tonight, Seb." Figgy blinked at him in the subdued lighting. "Delia giving you a hard time?"
"She can give me a hard time," Percy Philpott put in with a lewd snicker.
"She's not in the market, Tosspot," Seb retorted, taking a sharp pleasure as Philpott's face flushed at the sound of his hated nickname.
"Well, not unless Charlotte finds out."
Seb held Frobisher's gaze, ignoring the gleeful look in them. "That's not going to happen; I'm very good at keeping track of my schedule." It wasn't as though Charlotte was that interested in their marriage either, but Seb wasn't about to give her the opportunity to play the victim card. "In any case, I wasn't thinking of Delia." He paused, then let his smile widen. "I have news of an old...acquaintance of ours."
"Oh?" Figgy blinked some more, and Seb wished, for the hundredth time, that Figgy had kept his glasses instead of having eye surgery; it had been so much easier to ignore his incessant blinking with those bottle-bottoms in the way.
"I ran into Sherlock."
"My God! He's still alive?" Frobisher's grin rivalled Seb's own. "Last I heard, he was a washed-up drug addict."
"Still alive and..." Seb paused for effect. "He has a friend."
The response that greeted that was just as he expected, and Seb joined in the raucous laughter.
"A friend?" Philpott leaned forward. "How did he get one of those?"
"Well, I say friend, but the fellow corrected that to 'colleague'."
"Who can blame him?" Frobisher murmured. "Tell us all, Wilkesy. When did you meet Sherlock and his...friend?"
"It seems Sherlock's been a busy little bee," Seb replied. He swirled the brandy in his glass, idly watching the light catch in the amber depths. "He's built up a bit of a reputation with the police."
"Drug addicts do that," Frobisher pointed out.
"No, not as an addict. As a - would you believe it - private detective?"
There was more laughter, then Figgy put in, "That one's no surprise. No one could keep anything secret around Sherlock."
"Remember when you hired the porter's daughter to seduce him?" Philpott added, more than a hint of spite in his tone. "That one didn't end well."
"Only when the stupid tart objected to Sherlock referring to her as a prostitute!" Seb snapped.
"And he argued the point with the dean, saying the dictionary definition of a prostitute was a woman who engages in sex for money, and since Seb had paid her -"
"Yes, all right, Figgy - shut up!" Seb took a breath, then a gulp of his brandy. He'd almost managed to forget the fall-out from that prank. "In any case, Sherlock and his bit of rough - I mean, friend," Seb sneered, "were hired by my firm to find out who'd vandalised one of the founders' portraits."
"I read about that," Frobisher said. "Didn't one of your top boys kill himself over it?"
Seb shook his head. "It turned out to be murder, which must have pleased Sherlock. He - Van Coon, that is - had given a jade hairpin to the silly bint who was working as his secretary. It turned out to be worth nine mil., and she'd been wearing it in her hair!"
"Isn't that what women do with hairpins?" Figgy asked.
"You wouldn't know, Figgy," Philpott said flatly.
Seb smirked, then added, "Neither would Sherlock. I'm amazed he figured it out. He got paid for it, of course. Quite well, I might add."
"More money he can spend on drugs, then." Frobisher tilted his glass in Seb's direction. "If he goes out in the middle of a massive bender, it will - technically - be your fault."
"That'll be no loss," Seb retorted. "Well, except to his bit of rough." He glanced up as the man at the table opposite them got up and moved away. Their eyes met for an instant, then he was gone, leaving Seb feeling vaguely unsettled. The man's face had seemed familiar, somehow. Or maybe it had been the cool, assessing gaze that was oddly similar to Sherlock's.
"Seb?"
Seb turned back to the table, then turned again to look after the man.
"Someone you know?" Philpott enquired.
"No." Seb shook his head and turned his attention to his brandy. "He just...seemed familiar."
"I've seen him before," Frobisher told them. "In Downing Street. Not that I know the man's name - he's just some minor official."
"Obviously unimportant, then." Seb grinned again. "So, that's the latest on Sherlock."
As the gibes and spite resumed, Seb relaxed into his chair. He was almost glad he'd called Sherlock in, given the amount of entertainment he'd got out of it tonight.
~~~
One week later...
Seb slumped into his office chair and glared resentfully at his desk. He wasn't the only one to, well, fudge his expense sheet slightly. It wasn't like it had cost the firm that much for him to take Delia with him on that trip abroad, but the board of directors considered it that he'd blotted his copybook with them. And hadn't they let him know about it! Damned interfering old fogeys. They'd probably forgotten what it was like to have a mistress.
And how the hell Charlotte had found out, after all this time, was beyond him! Now she was talking about a divorce, and pretending to be the injured party - as if Seb didn't have a damned good idea what she got up to in her tennis lessons.
As if that wasn't enough, the tax office was insisting on auditing his taxes for the past five years. Seb covered his face with his hands and resisted the urge to scream into his palms. One week ago he'd been on top of the world, and now look. He just wished he knew what deity he'd offended.
The end.
1st May 2012
Title: Idle Gossip
Author: Arnie
Genre: Gen, episode tag
Rating: Teens
Characters: Sebastian Wilkes, original characters, a passing 'minor official'.
Word count: 1,143 words
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warning: Contains bad language, references to het, assumptions made about Sherlock and John's relationship.
Contains spoilers for Blind Banker (series 1, ep 2).
Summary: Sebastian Wilkes goes to dinner with some old friends from university.
Idle Gossip
By Arnie
Sebastian smirked to himself as he made his way into the restaurant, was greeted by the Maitre d', and escorted to the table where his old friends were sitting. He considered this monthly get-together to be a meeting of the Old Boys' Network as each and every one of them had been at university together. It wasn't often that one of them had news about a non-member of their select group, but he did. He was looking forward to sharing that news.
He waited until dinner had been eaten and they were all sitting back, relaxing over glasses of brandy. Oddly enough, it was Figgy Newton who gave him the perfect opening. Figgy - so-named because of his surname and his fondness for Fig Newton biscuits - had always held that Sherlock was a bit of a weird one but not as freakish as the others considered him to be. Not that that had stopped Figgy from joining in the pranks when Sherlock was the intended target.
"You're quiet tonight, Seb." Figgy blinked at him in the subdued lighting. "Delia giving you a hard time?"
"She can give me a hard time," Percy Philpott put in with a lewd snicker.
"She's not in the market, Tosspot," Seb retorted, taking a sharp pleasure as Philpott's face flushed at the sound of his hated nickname.
"Well, not unless Charlotte finds out."
Seb held Frobisher's gaze, ignoring the gleeful look in them. "That's not going to happen; I'm very good at keeping track of my schedule." It wasn't as though Charlotte was that interested in their marriage either, but Seb wasn't about to give her the opportunity to play the victim card. "In any case, I wasn't thinking of Delia." He paused, then let his smile widen. "I have news of an old...acquaintance of ours."
"Oh?" Figgy blinked some more, and Seb wished, for the hundredth time, that Figgy had kept his glasses instead of having eye surgery; it had been so much easier to ignore his incessant blinking with those bottle-bottoms in the way.
"I ran into Sherlock."
"My God! He's still alive?" Frobisher's grin rivalled Seb's own. "Last I heard, he was a washed-up drug addict."
"Still alive and..." Seb paused for effect. "He has a friend."
The response that greeted that was just as he expected, and Seb joined in the raucous laughter.
"A friend?" Philpott leaned forward. "How did he get one of those?"
"Well, I say friend, but the fellow corrected that to 'colleague'."
"Who can blame him?" Frobisher murmured. "Tell us all, Wilkesy. When did you meet Sherlock and his...friend?"
"It seems Sherlock's been a busy little bee," Seb replied. He swirled the brandy in his glass, idly watching the light catch in the amber depths. "He's built up a bit of a reputation with the police."
"Drug addicts do that," Frobisher pointed out.
"No, not as an addict. As a - would you believe it - private detective?"
There was more laughter, then Figgy put in, "That one's no surprise. No one could keep anything secret around Sherlock."
"Remember when you hired the porter's daughter to seduce him?" Philpott added, more than a hint of spite in his tone. "That one didn't end well."
"Only when the stupid tart objected to Sherlock referring to her as a prostitute!" Seb snapped.
"And he argued the point with the dean, saying the dictionary definition of a prostitute was a woman who engages in sex for money, and since Seb had paid her -"
"Yes, all right, Figgy - shut up!" Seb took a breath, then a gulp of his brandy. He'd almost managed to forget the fall-out from that prank. "In any case, Sherlock and his bit of rough - I mean, friend," Seb sneered, "were hired by my firm to find out who'd vandalised one of the founders' portraits."
"I read about that," Frobisher said. "Didn't one of your top boys kill himself over it?"
Seb shook his head. "It turned out to be murder, which must have pleased Sherlock. He - Van Coon, that is - had given a jade hairpin to the silly bint who was working as his secretary. It turned out to be worth nine mil., and she'd been wearing it in her hair!"
"Isn't that what women do with hairpins?" Figgy asked.
"You wouldn't know, Figgy," Philpott said flatly.
Seb smirked, then added, "Neither would Sherlock. I'm amazed he figured it out. He got paid for it, of course. Quite well, I might add."
"More money he can spend on drugs, then." Frobisher tilted his glass in Seb's direction. "If he goes out in the middle of a massive bender, it will - technically - be your fault."
"That'll be no loss," Seb retorted. "Well, except to his bit of rough." He glanced up as the man at the table opposite them got up and moved away. Their eyes met for an instant, then he was gone, leaving Seb feeling vaguely unsettled. The man's face had seemed familiar, somehow. Or maybe it had been the cool, assessing gaze that was oddly similar to Sherlock's.
"Seb?"
Seb turned back to the table, then turned again to look after the man.
"Someone you know?" Philpott enquired.
"No." Seb shook his head and turned his attention to his brandy. "He just...seemed familiar."
"I've seen him before," Frobisher told them. "In Downing Street. Not that I know the man's name - he's just some minor official."
"Obviously unimportant, then." Seb grinned again. "So, that's the latest on Sherlock."
As the gibes and spite resumed, Seb relaxed into his chair. He was almost glad he'd called Sherlock in, given the amount of entertainment he'd got out of it tonight.
~~~
One week later...
Seb slumped into his office chair and glared resentfully at his desk. He wasn't the only one to, well, fudge his expense sheet slightly. It wasn't like it had cost the firm that much for him to take Delia with him on that trip abroad, but the board of directors considered it that he'd blotted his copybook with them. And hadn't they let him know about it! Damned interfering old fogeys. They'd probably forgotten what it was like to have a mistress.
And how the hell Charlotte had found out, after all this time, was beyond him! Now she was talking about a divorce, and pretending to be the injured party - as if Seb didn't have a damned good idea what she got up to in her tennis lessons.
As if that wasn't enough, the tax office was insisting on auditing his taxes for the past five years. Seb covered his face with his hands and resisted the urge to scream into his palms. One week ago he'd been on top of the world, and now look. He just wished he knew what deity he'd offended.
The end.
1st May 2012