Jan Hits The Fan

Joan Watson meeting Sophie Devereaux

They’re halfway through the con that will take down a pharmaceutical executive when a woman edges up to the bar next to Sophie.

“You’re not the heiress to a pharmaceutical dynasty,” the woman tells Sophie, as casually as if she was commenting on the weather.

Sophie is a professional, so she doesn’t flinch. “I beg your pardon,” she says in a flat American accent. “My father–”

“Is not the reclusive CEO of Beredine Pharmaceuticals.” The woman smiles at the bartender. “A glass of Riesling, please.”

“I assure you, I am–”

“You’re not.”

Sophie ignores Nate squawking in her ear, takes comfort in the silence that means Eliot is abandoning his post on the fifth floor to come watch her back.

“When you were talking to the C-Suite executives you displayed prominently different traits than when you were working the rest of the room,” the unknown woman tells her. “You also touched your ear—and what I suspect is an earbud—on three different occasions that I noticed, and each time you took efforts to hide your mouth, as though you were talking and didn’t want to be seen.”

Sophie furrows her brow into a frown, laughs simply, and says, “I have no idea what you mean, Miss…”

The woman takes her wine from the bartender and turns to face Sophie fully. “Watson. Joan Watson.”

Sophie freezes. In her ear she hears Nate and, surprisingly, Hardison gasping.

“Oh.”

Joan tilts her head. “Yes. Oh. Mind sharing what you’re up to?”

Before Sophie can think of anything, or follow through on what Nate is trying to spew at her, someone speaks from behind her.

“She’s conning someone, Watson.”

Sophie closes her eyes and lets a full-body wince overtake her. “Bloody buggering hell.”

“Indeed,” none other than Sherlock Holmes intones, sounding delighted. “Watson! This is Sophie Devereaux, the best grifter in the business.”

Watson arches a brow. “I’d argue the term. It has unethical connotations that I don’t think are entirely truthful in recent years.” She links her arm through Sophie’s and waves Sherlock away. “Go talk to Mr. Henderson.”

Sherlock narrows his eyes and Sophie expects him to put his foot down and dismiss Joan Watson. Instead, he nods affably and spins on his heel, presumably in search of the CIO of Beredine.

“Ms. Watson,” Sophie begins, but Joan interrupts her.

“You don’t have to use the accent. I’m well aware of who you are and what kind of work you do of late.”

Sophie studies her for a moment and then reaches up to turn off her ear bud, which is filled with a clamor of voices, minus Eliot who has arrived and is unobtrusively posing as a waiter ten feet away.

“So, Ms. Watson, what are you and the esteemed Mr. Holmes investigating at this event?” Sophie asks a moment later.

“We believe the CIO has been leaking information to a rival company.” Watson tilts her head and narrows a look at Sophie. “What about you and your…crew?”

If her earbud was on Sophie is sure everyone on her team would have something to say, especially Nate. She pretends she doesn’t know that.

“The VP of Research and Development has been hiding information on the adverse effects of their latest proposed drug. The FDA is set to provide its stamp of approval in two days, unless information surfaces to deter them.”

Watson nods. “Makes sense. Henderson has been cashing in on his stock options in a way that demonstrates knowledge that the stock might go up significantly in the near future. If he knows the FDA determination is going to be positive, he stands to benefit.”

“Our thoughts exactly,” Sophie confirms.

“But what about the CEO? Chad Beredine–”

“Is truly a recluse and has no idea what’s happening,” Sophie interjects.

Watson nods and is silent for the time it takes her to apparently put together clues it took Hardison five days of deep data mining to connect. “His sister died after being unable to afford a treatment for her rare immune disorder disease, didn’t she?”

Sophie comes to a stop in their circuit of the permiter of the room, Eliot just five feet behind them, and studies Joan Watson carefully. “Yes, she did. Chad has been focusing on alpha level research and leaving the focused research, as well as the running of his company, to others.”

“Which worked out well for him,” Watson goes on, “until the CIO and the VP of R&D began to take advantage of his distance from the day-to-day happenings of the company.”

“Exactly.”

The two women exchange a meaning look and then dip into an alcove.

Three hours later Nate is railing at Sophie for going off script while Hardison keeps mumbling about everyone’s twilight, and Sherlock is beaming proudly at Watson.

There’s a bruise forming on Sophie’s cheek, and Watson has an already scabbing bullet graze on her forearm.

By the time Sherlock and Nate are going head-to-head, something Sophie previously would have paid money to see but is now too tired and in pain to appreciate, Eliot has whipped out a first aid kit and is seeing to the both of them.

“Dammit, Sophie!” he hisses. He gently presses a cold pack to Sophie’s cheek, and tilts Joan’s arm into better light. “Next time let me know you’re going off script so I can have your back.”

The CIO and VP are both indicted and Sophie goes to Tea and Sympathy their last day in New York City.

Joan Watson is at a table and waiting.

“Is it true you broke the Moriarity case wide open?” Sophie asks.

Joan snaps her napkin open across her lap and gives Sophie a Mona Lisa smile. “Did you really pull off a White Rabbit?”

Sophie returns her smile and orders a pot of Earl Gray.

“To new friends,” she toasts when it arrives.

Joan Watson dips her head even as dimples appear on her cheeks. “To new friends.”

.End