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indeedsir_backup2013-06-02 11:05 am
krisreinke.livejournal.com) wrote in indeedsir_backup2013-06-02 11:05 am
Entry tags:
Sherlock & John & Bertie & Reggie (1932)
Intro to a crossover I should not write. (Sends plot bunny hopping off into dense and uncharted wilderness.) But Musey insisted on this opening – so… here it is. A Wooster fic entirely absent of any Wooster. Likewise sans-Jeeves.
It actually comes AFTER sorta-plotted events in the epic-of-eternal-unwritten-angst.
For the chronologically pure? This pairing would be the B&W movie pairing from the 1940’s – and so not far off from J&W by age.
I will confess I have NO IDEA who the intended villain might be – nor could I guess why they would want to off either of the boys – but the 1930’s were the heyday of pulp detectives, and LA one of the strongholds of the novel noir – so?
Maybe YOUR muse will have an idea.
* * *
“Go flirt with the actress by the piano,” Sherlock said suddenly, snatching John Watson’s focus from the truly excellent Steak Diane.
“What? Why?” The last had more meaning; as of all questions it was the only one with a hope of pulling an answer from Sherlock Holmes. “I’ll assume she is some undiscovered criminal, but unless the murder is taking place as we sit here?” John shot a glance at the woman, knife-edged chlorine whose rawhide companion looked too healthy to be facing immediate mortality. “I’ll defer the tactical flirtations until after the second course.”
“Not quite a murderess,” Sherlock allowed, something of a grumble in his tone, “but worth a line of type for Strand Magazine none-the-less.”
“Oh?”
“Look closely, Watson. The lady is about to become famous. It can only enhance your womanizing credentials to be one who ‘knew her when’.
“Really?” John took a sharper look, masking his interest behind his napkin. Even so alerted, he saw little to distinguish her from the bevy of would-bes and could-bes flaunting their finest tea gowns in the restaurant of the Ambassador Hotel. His speculation must have continued over-long, or some hint of doubt ghosted over his expression, since his musing ended with a sharp kick to his ankle – gift of Sherlock’s boot. “Oh, never that I doubt your talents, dear friend.” John covered his error hastily. “I merely inquire as to the details.”
Sherlock smiled, accepting the explanation. “She is seated where she can be decorative, but not in a place of particular status. So she is a known actress, but not yet a ‘star’, as the colonials would put it. Note, however, how she constantly glances away from her companion at the table beside the bandstand.
“Yes.” The woman was watching, and far less covertly than John at his most careless.
“The place is empty, so it can not be the absent diners that lure her. Rather, she is imagining herself there.”
“Granted – so far as it goes.” Truthfully, John was inclined to grant anything Sherlock might chose – save that such compliance would be found boring. A bored Sherlock was desperately to be avoided, while a miffed Sherlock could – within the boundaries of his ego – prove a source of endless entertainment. “However, I would point out that any girl can dream.”
“True.” It was a concession without concession. “I also note that she is dining with a junior producer under contract with Megalith Studios.”
“And that convinces you that Megalith has signed her?”
“Again, Watson, you come so close yet fall short in the last details. Look how her shoulders tilt away even as she seems to flatter him. She accepted the invitation back when a junior producer was a good prospect, but now she suffers from the awareness that he is a drag rather than a boost to her reputation. A more foolish woman – or one more certain of her fame - might have called off, but our actress is too wise to burn bridges. Thus I deduce that she is aware of her elevation, but it is not yet confirmed by the wider community. To the point – a new contract.”
“Bravo, Holmes. I’ll grant your points. With the proviso, you will allow, that we check Variety tomorrow for confirmation.”
Sherlock allowed that last point with a wave of casual good grace.
John looked around for a second challenge. Not that he expected any of this very conventional assembly (for his and Sherlock’s unique and bohemian values of conventional) to provide any truly original discoveries.
“What would you say to the women by the garden window?”
Sherlock huffed. “As little as possible.”
“What?”
Sherlock wasted a second glance at the bevy of twenty-somethings, but with an expression that shouted he did so only to humor his companion.
“Writers, and would-be intellectuals. Or, as they would have it, intellectuals and would-be writers. They’ve come to Hollywood desperate to make their fortune scribbling scripts, and packed along too much pride of themselves to actually do so. Thus they drink tea and tell each other how superior they are to the studio scribblers.”
The last John allowed, now that Sherlock has opened the prospect. As he watched, the bob-haired brunette at the far end shot a vicious glare at a well-known scenario man at the bar. He was chatting up one of the Meyer brothers, and the polished walnut before the two men was covered with notes.
Sherlock shook his head. “Such females are socialists until they marry, and fascists after.”
“Depressing, Holmes.”
“I would agree. How fortunate I was spared the fragility of nature, and more fortunate I found you instead.”
It actually comes AFTER sorta-plotted events in the epic-of-eternal-unwritten-angst.
For the chronologically pure? This pairing would be the B&W movie pairing from the 1940’s – and so not far off from J&W by age.
I will confess I have NO IDEA who the intended villain might be – nor could I guess why they would want to off either of the boys – but the 1930’s were the heyday of pulp detectives, and LA one of the strongholds of the novel noir – so?
Maybe YOUR muse will have an idea.
* * *
“Go flirt with the actress by the piano,” Sherlock said suddenly, snatching John Watson’s focus from the truly excellent Steak Diane.
“What? Why?” The last had more meaning; as of all questions it was the only one with a hope of pulling an answer from Sherlock Holmes. “I’ll assume she is some undiscovered criminal, but unless the murder is taking place as we sit here?” John shot a glance at the woman, knife-edged chlorine whose rawhide companion looked too healthy to be facing immediate mortality. “I’ll defer the tactical flirtations until after the second course.”
“Not quite a murderess,” Sherlock allowed, something of a grumble in his tone, “but worth a line of type for Strand Magazine none-the-less.”
“Oh?”
“Look closely, Watson. The lady is about to become famous. It can only enhance your womanizing credentials to be one who ‘knew her when’.
“Really?” John took a sharper look, masking his interest behind his napkin. Even so alerted, he saw little to distinguish her from the bevy of would-bes and could-bes flaunting their finest tea gowns in the restaurant of the Ambassador Hotel. His speculation must have continued over-long, or some hint of doubt ghosted over his expression, since his musing ended with a sharp kick to his ankle – gift of Sherlock’s boot. “Oh, never that I doubt your talents, dear friend.” John covered his error hastily. “I merely inquire as to the details.”
Sherlock smiled, accepting the explanation. “She is seated where she can be decorative, but not in a place of particular status. So she is a known actress, but not yet a ‘star’, as the colonials would put it. Note, however, how she constantly glances away from her companion at the table beside the bandstand.
“Yes.” The woman was watching, and far less covertly than John at his most careless.
“The place is empty, so it can not be the absent diners that lure her. Rather, she is imagining herself there.”
“Granted – so far as it goes.” Truthfully, John was inclined to grant anything Sherlock might chose – save that such compliance would be found boring. A bored Sherlock was desperately to be avoided, while a miffed Sherlock could – within the boundaries of his ego – prove a source of endless entertainment. “However, I would point out that any girl can dream.”
“True.” It was a concession without concession. “I also note that she is dining with a junior producer under contract with Megalith Studios.”
“And that convinces you that Megalith has signed her?”
“Again, Watson, you come so close yet fall short in the last details. Look how her shoulders tilt away even as she seems to flatter him. She accepted the invitation back when a junior producer was a good prospect, but now she suffers from the awareness that he is a drag rather than a boost to her reputation. A more foolish woman – or one more certain of her fame - might have called off, but our actress is too wise to burn bridges. Thus I deduce that she is aware of her elevation, but it is not yet confirmed by the wider community. To the point – a new contract.”
“Bravo, Holmes. I’ll grant your points. With the proviso, you will allow, that we check Variety tomorrow for confirmation.”
Sherlock allowed that last point with a wave of casual good grace.
John looked around for a second challenge. Not that he expected any of this very conventional assembly (for his and Sherlock’s unique and bohemian values of conventional) to provide any truly original discoveries.
“What would you say to the women by the garden window?”
Sherlock huffed. “As little as possible.”
“What?”
Sherlock wasted a second glance at the bevy of twenty-somethings, but with an expression that shouted he did so only to humor his companion.
“Writers, and would-be intellectuals. Or, as they would have it, intellectuals and would-be writers. They’ve come to Hollywood desperate to make their fortune scribbling scripts, and packed along too much pride of themselves to actually do so. Thus they drink tea and tell each other how superior they are to the studio scribblers.”
The last John allowed, now that Sherlock has opened the prospect. As he watched, the bob-haired brunette at the far end shot a vicious glare at a well-known scenario man at the bar. He was chatting up one of the Meyer brothers, and the polished walnut before the two men was covered with notes.
Sherlock shook his head. “Such females are socialists until they marry, and fascists after.”
“Depressing, Holmes.”
“I would agree. How fortunate I was spared the fragility of nature, and more fortunate I found you instead.”
no subject
“The couple by the palm tree? They are interesting.”
“Really?” To his eye they were a conventional enough couple. Neither young nor old. His medical judgment put the woman in her thirties passing well for perhaps twenty - five. Well made up, fashionably dressed without actually risking the disparagement ‘flashy’, and equipped with the expected trappings of independent wealth. Of his own, John would have dismissed her as a snowbird, perhaps from Boston, come to avoid an unpleasant winter.
“Oh – not the woman. Not taken on her own. She is a common sort of adventuress. She hopes to marry wealth. No, the interesting aspect come in that the man she hunts is as poor as she, and just as commercial in his affections. “
Her date was in his late twenties, dressed to add a few years by means of careful presentation. He had a nervous earnestness under his polished surface, observable in his occasional sideways checks to the decorative mirrors. Common enough for young men in these unstable times – and yet Watson had no doubt that his partner was correct in his speculation.
“Perhaps their case will suit your gamblers blood. We might wager on when they will discover their mutual poverty. Before the wedding – or after.”
“Oh Sherlock.” John sighed, disappointed and forever resigned. “Can you concede no serious devotion?”
“Other than mine and yours?”
“Beyond our improbably unique status as the only Pyramus and Thisbe in your mental mythology.”
“At least you do not demand we play Baucis and Philemon.”
“Not with wine this fine.” John lifted the glass in appreciation. “But surely in a room this well-attended there must be one honest company.”
“Very well.” Sherlock gave the room the most cursory of reviews. The two men in the corner. The table under that dreadful painting of misarranged sail boats.”
It took a moment for John to pick out the couple, and even longer to find any reason for Sherlock’s judgment. The two men did seem content enough, chatting easily over their plates, but beyond that? “The pair of wealthy inverts?” he asked.
“Please, Watson. That even you can detect.”
“Then what?”
“You tell me. You know my methods by now.”
no subject
“Go on.” From Sherlock, that was as good as an agreement.
“They are ignoring the actress, so I would guess they are not themselves actors, although both men are handsome enough for the screen.”
“Weak, Watson. Could that not just reflect their tastes?”
“They also ignored the director, and that agent sitting by the bar. So not writers or directors or… whatever titles you would give to the celluloid combine.”
“Much better.” Sherlock turned to watch – or rather to watch John Watson watching. “Go on.”
“They’ve spent the past year in California, so they are not just tourists.”
“You know this because?
“Tans, but with no hint of sunburn.” None on the blond man, and John had checked twice the strip of skin where hairline gave way to collar. That particular anatomy was the easiest to overlook, and the hardest to protect, so the best signal that a man had spent longer than usual out of doors. The darker haired man sat with his back to the wall, making such an inventory impossible, but as his completion would have been less vulnerable? John was willing to gamble. “Given that even in Los Angeles one does not sunbathe in winter, I conclude that they did not just arrive, but have been in town several months.”
“At least, in the south,” Sherlock amended.
“No. I would say Los Angeles. Both their suits are by Cohn. Had they visited a tailor in Mexico, the jackets would be slimmer. So by my deduction they have been in town since last spring.”
“Now, Watson. You are speculating beyond your evidence. Those could have been ordered in any month.”
“There I have the advantage of retaining the trivia you discard. The fabric of both men’s clothing was in the fashion magazine I read in the lobby just last week. The suits can be little older.”
“How do you know they did not arrive in step with the periodical you mention?”
“If you check the darker gentleman’s overcoat it is of very conservative London construction. It is also several years old and showing signs of hard wear, for all that it has been meticulously mended. There are ten month when a visitor needs no coat. Had he come earlier, he would not have packed along so shabby an article, but would have purchased a coat along with the rest of his wardrobe. So I deduce the coat came over last winter, and the man with it.
“Excellent – so far as you go. But I know you have more. Tell me what you can make out about their histories.”
no subject
“You say this because?”
“Eton manners. Plus - no man butters his bread with such enthusiasm unless he has first suffered a public school diet.”
“Scholarship student?” Sherlock pressed.
“Not clever enough,” Watson countered. “By which I do not dismiss his intelligence. I merely remove him from the category you assigned to the lunching ladies. Sharp enough – but not sharp-edged with it. Definitely the surplus son of a good family.”
“So far you impress me, Watson. What about the other man?”
“Welsh, or partly so. By blood – not by personal history.”
Sherlock nodded. Not agreement, permission to continue.
“He is well educated. I confess to having some advantage here, since unlike his companion I was able to hear him address the maître de hotel when they ordered. His French is excellent, but Parisian rather than scholastic. He does not show the brand of a public school education, nor the Cain-mark of the charitable religious academies. That would locate him on one of the rare extremes – too poor for classes or so wealthy as to be tutored at home.”
“From which you conclude?”
“I would judge him old money.”
“Why?” Sherlock’s question was academic. Not a denial, but definitely showing signs of interest in the methodology.
“Because he wears an old coat without apology. A newly risen man would have endured the cold.”
“And how do you know he did not spend all his money on the suit, and so have nothing more to buy a coat?”
“Please, Sherlock. He is eating here, is he not?” John Watson sat back, sipping his wine and well please with his conclusions. He was not, and would never be, a genius like Sherlock, but he was making progress in the investigative craft.
“So. If they did not come for chance at stardom, and you say they are not tourists, why would you say the pair chose to venture unto this coast?”
“That does not even require deduction, my friend. Tuberculosis.”
no subject
With both your methods and my own.” At Sherlock’s show of interest, he continued. “Both men wear new suits – even though the quality of the overcoat indicate that their past wardrobe can not have been less desirable. Why would two men buy new suits at the same time from the same tailor – especially when those suits follow magazine fashions more than their true tastes? Because they needed clothing, and the outfits they brought with them were no longer useable.”
John Watson held up one finger, then raised a second to follow the first.
“When does a man replace his wardrobe? After disaster, perhaps, but they went to a tailor rather than visiting the quite-acceptable emporiums of the department stores. Alternatively, one changes costume when the weather changes – but they both have been here long enough for the climate to swing back to English temperatures – yet they did not change back to an English wardrobe.
My answer? They lost weight. Enough that they needed to have their English suits taken in. In the sanitarium they wore the hospital uniform, so needed no tailoring. When released? Upon the return of their old kit they discovered they had changed shape to the point that the old jackets and pants no longer fit.
“The solution?” Three fingers now marked the progress of Watson’s logic. “ They employed a bespoke tailor who prospers by paying calls on his clients rather than demanding they visit his atelier, and likewise one who has deep connections to the Hebrew community, which in turn is deeply connected to the chain of sanitariums taking advantage of the clean local air.” With the last two points, all five fingers stood outstretched between Watson and Holmes. John Watson waved briefly before folding the hand back onto his lap. “But most of all?” He grinned broadly. “I saw the release ticket in the darker man’s pockets. It is an advantage to be a Doctor, and so familiar with such forms.”
“Excellent Watson! You even cheat as I taught you.”
“Now that I have passed your examination, will you answer mine? What about those two men interests you? For I will not be fooled that you proposed this exercise without some deeper purpose.”
no subject
“It was you who chose the restaurant, and the time, and who began this course of conversation. You, for that matter, who pulled be half way around the planet on this most-improbable ‘vacation’. So I ask again. Why are we interested in two inoffensive British travelers?”
“ Very well. The blond gentleman is a Mr. Bertram Wilberforce Wooster. His companion is one Reginald Jeeves. At the time of their departure from England – and here I must grant you had your timeline well set - Mr. Jeeves was the valet to Mr. Wooster.”
And so, John realized, very poor. He had missed the mark by a country mile. He said as much to Sherlock, ending with “I’m shocked you did not mock me for my misgauge.”
“I did not count it one,” Sherlock countered. “It is generally granted that the modesty of an impecunious fiancée is forever unrelated to the privilege of a wealthy married woman – and I can not see the rule much changes when the wife in the case in a man. The pair are just as clearly joined in community property, even if not documented by the clerks of the state.”
“You do not make deductions. You came in with that information.”
“Gained via telegraph, and before we even left London. I have a commission from the blond one’s Aunt to discover…”
“No! Sherlock. No.” John Watson’s palm slapped the table. “I can not believe you would consider betraying them. Not after…”
no subject
“Then what?”
“Quite simply? She has a suspicion of murder – and one of those two men is the intended victim.”
no subject
As for the villain... now you've got my brainwheels turning. Maybe whoever'd been managing Bertie's money before Jeeves came on the scene was using the Wooster fortune as a front to launder money for some nefarious schemes. And now that Jeeves has taken over care of the Wooster finances these gangster-types plan to kill him before he puts two and two together and ruins the good thing they've got going with Bertie's bank account.