Chapter Text
“John,” Sherlock yelled across the flat, “Have you ever heard of a town called Storybrooke?” He kept his head pointed at the screen, his eyes darting from word to word, reading the new case in his inbox. He still couldn't understand why there was a literal mail icon to show a new email, that wasn’t how the internet worked, after all.
John peeked his head around the corner from inside the kitchen, two cups of tea in hand. “No, I don’t believe so, why?” He sat a cup of sugared tea next to the laptop on Sherlock’s desk and sipped from the other. John sat next to Sherlock and asked again.
“We have a new case in Storybrooke, where is that? I’ve never heard of it, I figure I would have by now.” He squinted and kept reading.
John pulled out his phone and searched Storybrooke. “Seems to be a small town on the coast of Maine, over in the States.”
Sherlock lowered his eyebrows, “Well that’s just ridiculous then.”
“What’s ridiculous?” John sipped his tea again, putting away his phone.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, “We aren’t going to America, I refuse to deal with people more stupid than they are here.” He shut the lid of the computer and stood, examining the room for something entertaining to do. He hurried over to his violin on the windowsill but didn’t play, just touched each string, imagining the notes they would elicit.
“Wait,” John started, moving to Sherlock's desk and opening the computer again, “They want us to go to America for a case?” He clicked on the mail icon and began to read, his mouth resting open as he focused.
“Yes,” Sherlock began, standing straight and lifting the instrument to his chin, “Idiots, really, they say a few things have gone missing in the town. Books from the library, pieces from a chess set in a cafe, silly things. Doesn’t seem any less normal than your typical, run of the mill thief. I, for one, wouldn’t go to a place as quiet as that for a ridiculously simple minded case.”
John looked at the computer. “Let’s go.”
Sherlock tilted his head, painting an annoyed look on his face, “Why on earth would you want to do that?”
John took a deep breath, “Remember how I needed that case during the wedding planning? There were invitations and flowers and suits and...well now there's the baby. There's bottles and yellow paint for the walls and Sherlock, I swear, last week we spent five hours in a store to pick out a crib. Marry will be fine for a few days on her own, can we please just do this?”
He thought a moment, but then nodded, “I suppose you’ll just owe me one, John Watson.”
⇹
“Are we almost there?”
John suppressed a groan, gripping the steering wheel tighter. It had been five hours since he and Sherlock rented a car in Boston and began their drive up to Maine. In that time, Sherlock had asked that question no less than twenty-three times. John suspected he was doing it out of boredom rather than genuine curiosity. That only made it more irritating.
“For the last time,” John said slowly, willing himself not to smack his best friend. “No, we are not.”
“Lie,” Sherlock muttered, curling further into his seat. John took a deep breath.
“What?”
“That’s a lie,” Sherlock said matter-of-factly. “We are almost there.”
“Then why did you ask?”
Sherlock shrugged. “Nothing else to ask.”
John was about to respond, but was saved from doing so by Sherlock sitting up abruptly. He leaned forward, squinting. John spotted it the same time Sherlock said, “There.”
A painted sign stood at the side of the road, its black letters proclaiming “Welcome to Storybrooke.” Excitement began to grow within John as they crossed the town line. He expected to get his first glimpse of the town right away, but as they continued along the road, all he could see was what had followed them for the past several miles: Trees.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” John asked. Sherlock’s response was an indignant huff as he hunched back over in his seat.
“I can’t believe we came here,” Sherlock mumbled. “This is so boring. Pointless, dull, ordinary…”
“Yes, thank you, I know what boring means,” John interrupted. “But you’re doing this for me, remember?”
“Can’t remember why.”
John merely smirked. He’d long since gotten offended at anything Sherlock said. Other people sometimes got offended on his behalf, but John simply brushed it off.
“Is this just a town of trees?” Sherlock complained. “Utterly ridiculous.”
“Calm down,” John said. “I can see something up ahead.”
After another moment, the area began to open up, and the two men could see houses. The excitement perked up again as they drove past them, and John found himself smiling. It was a cute town, by the looks of it. The kind of town that seemed to only exist in movies or storybooks. It was a far cry from the hustle and bustle of London. John quite liked it.
“What a quaint town,” Sherlock said derisively.
“Isn’t it though?”
“We shouldn’t’ve come.”
John glanced over at his friend. “Come on, we just got here. Don’t judge a book by its cover, yeah?”
“Don’t ever say anything like that ever again.”
John simply smiled. Finally arriving at their destination had improved his mood. And it really was a beautiful town. He turned on to Main Street and admired the shopfronts lining the road. Citizens walked on the sidewalks, chattering and laughing. John spotted a diner which looked to be bursting with people, and his stomach growled.
“We need some lunch,” he said, trying to find a place to park. Sherlock scoffed.
“We need to finish this wretched case so we can go home.”
“The case can wait. I’m hungry.”
Sherlock mumbled something incoherent, which John assumed to be an insult.
Spying an empty spot ahead, John pulled the car over. He parked and climbed out, groaning with pleasure as he stretched his legs. Sherlock slammed the door shut with unnecessary force, stomping over to John.
“I hate this place.”
“Figured you would,” John said. “Come on, let’s go explore.”
⇹
Henry barreled down the stairs of his grandparent’s apartment and came screeching to a halt at the stools, taking a seat. “Hot chocolate with cinnamon?” he asked his mom from across the counter.
Emma smiled at him, and ushered over the bottle of cinnamon from across the kitchen with the flick of a finger. “Anything for you.”
“Mom.” Henry rolled his eyes, “No magic, remember?” He smiled at her, and Emma passed over one of the cocoa mugs, sprinkled with cinnamon. Henry took a sip and smiled, remembering the first time he met his mom in the diner, when they bonded over their love of cinnamon hot cocoa. At that time she wasn’t really his mom, but things do change.
Emma slid her elbows down onto the counter and rested her face in her hands. It was hard to admit, but the normalcy of how life had been for the past few months had really made her realize how much she liked being a mom for Henry, being a girlfriend for Killian, and a daughter to Snow and Charming. The first time her and Killian had a dispute after everything was said and done, she had to laugh at how domestic they had become, without the constant threat of danger. Their lives began to focus on the everyday things, and although she never thought she would like it, she really did.
“Don’t you have school soon, kid?” She nodded to Henry, “Or is your project to lecture me on how I shouldn’t be doing magic anymore?” She teased him, but she knew he just wanted to follow rules. Emma understood them, too, of course, but it was nice to have the convenience of her powers.
Henry finished the mug and placed it on the counter, “Mom, you know what Mom says. Regina, that is.”
“Regina is a very smart woman,” Emma smiled at him, “but it’s okay to break the rules every once in a while.” She pointed at Henry’s cup, and it filled to the brim with cocoa again.
Henry picked it back up, “I guess it’s okay sometimes.” He smirked and got up to leave.
“Don’t forget your backpack!” Emma picked up his bag from the chair in the living room and brought it over to him. She reached over and gave him a hug, “See you when you get back.”
“It’s only six hours, Mom.” Emma rolled her eyes, and soon enough Henry was out the door.
Emma watched him go with a smile on her face. He’d grown so much, it was hard to picture him as the tiny boy who showed up at her apartment door all those years ago. A lot had changed, and while Emma sometimes doubted whether or not it was for the better, she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Silence settled over the apartment. Emma glanced over at her own mug of cocoa, sitting on the counter at the other side of the room. Her fingers tingled with the urge to bring it to her with magic. Clenching them into a fist, she walked over to the counter and sat down.
Not using her magic was a daily struggle, and one she lost to frequently. After being the Dark One for a couple months, it was hard to stop turning to magic for the simplest of tasks. She didn’t have a compulsion to use it for anything sinister, which was a weight off her shoulders, but she had to admit magic was a crutch she had gotten used to leaning on. But times had changed in Storybrooke, and magic was a big no-no.
“Alright, love?”
Emma lifted her gaze from the mug to her boyfriend Killian as he entered the room. She gave him a half-hearted smile as he kissed her lips before searching for a mug of his own. He hated to admit it, but coffee had become a bit of an addiction for him.
“Good morning,” she said, reaching out for her drink and taking a sip.
“Something’s bothering you,” Killian said. He set a mug down across from her and raised his eyebrows.
“What? Nothing’s bothering me.”
“Come on, Emma, I know when you’re lying.”
Emma stared at the countertop. “I used magic today.”
She heard Killian exhale. She winced, waiting to hear what he had to say.
“That’s all?”
Emma’s head snapped up. “Well, yeah, I guess.”
Killian chuckled. “I was afraid something else was the matter.”
“Killian, I’m not supposed to use magic. No one is, you know that.”
He shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. “The town won’t fall apart if you use it every now and then. Do you honestly think Regina hasn’t used it since that bloody rule was made?”
Emma sagged a bit, knowing he had a point. She scooped some whipped cream up with her finger and licked it clean.
“It’s weird,” she said, focusing back on Killian. “These past few months have been the quietest this town has ever seen, and yet so much has changed. Magic has been outlawed, the town line has been opened…”
“Everyone decided that would be best,” Killian reminded her. “They want a normal life.”
“I want a normal life, too,” Emma insisted. “I like the quiet. But it’s…”
“Odd.”
Emma nodded. “Yeah. Just the fact that anyone can come into town is crazy. We’ve been so separate from the outside world, it’s hard to think we could be a part of it now.”
Killian grasped her hand, giving it a soothing squeeze. “Just because the town is open doesn’t mean people are going to come in. We don’t have to change.”
“Aside from the no-magic rule,” Emma pointed out.
“I’ve never enjoyed it all that much anyway,” Killian said with a smirk. He leaned over and kissed Emma, thoroughly erasing all her concerns.
⇹
“Oh, Regina!” Snow beamed, grasping her hands together and smiling.
Regina rubbed at the white fabric, trying to hold in a smile. “I’m glad they didn’t mess up the alterations, some of the people in this town can be quite-”
Snow cut her off, “You look beautiful.”
Regina let herself smile, staring in the mirror at her wedding dress. “I honestly can’t believe this is happening. I know that’s a cliche,” she rolled her eyes at herself, but knew Snow wouldn’t judge her for saying so. “It’s just that we’ve been planning for weeks and I can’t believe it’s in two days.”
“This town needs a wedding, Regina,” Snow chirped, “It’s nice being safe and sound again, but I swear, everyone is pulling their hair out from boredom. You should have seen the look on Granny’s face when I asked her to bake the cake, it was like she had a purpose again.”
“I guess you could say that everyone in this town is better off when I’m telling them what to do,” Regina laughed. She knew it wasn’t true, but after all this time it only made her grateful to know that everyone had enough trust in her goodness to let her be in a position of power. And she didn’t even feel powerful anymore, not in the way she used to. She didn’t crave it anymore, it was just nice to be needed by everyone; Henry, Robin, everyone.
Snow rolled her eyes, still smiling, “I think it’s more about how we all want to make this the best day possible for you.”
Regina gave her a soft smile, thankful. She didn’t know who she would ask to come with her to this. It wasn’t a big deal of course, just her last fitting before the wedding, but she was surprised when Snow demanded she be there for moral support. It was a whirlwind to think about how much everyone’s relationships had changed. She had even been surprised when Emma asked if she wanted to go dress shopping with her. Emma wasn’t one for shopping, but Regina knew it was meaningful for her to be there, especially since she had been the reason it was held off so long. Although Regina refused to let the past affect her anymore, Emma’s intentions had always been kind.
“I’m so stressed out about this, though,” Regina admitted, “There's the flowers and the suits and the music and the food and the dress,” she motioned to her body, wrapped in white lace.
Snow shook her head. “Everything will be fine, Regina, you have so many people helping to make this right.”
Regina could feel herself starting to panic, getting high strung again. She knew it wouldn’t help anything. Just as she could feel herself doing this, someone walked up the steps and into the store, barging in on their conversation. It was Charming.
“David? What’s wrong?” Snow turned to her husband, who had a restless look and a cautious stance.
Regina felt somewhat vulnerable being walked in on in her wedding dress. It was Charming, so it didn’t matter, but it made her hesitate.
“Regina,” Charming said, his face pale, “We have our first visitors.”
Within five seconds, Regina had wrapped a purple cloud of smoke around herself and transformed into her normal clothes, motioning for Charming to get out of her way so she could walk out the door. Snow and Charming followed.
“Nice use of magic,” Snow muttered. Regina rolled her eyes.
“Where are these visitors?” she asked, turning to Charming. He nodded down the street. They weren’t hard to spot, as Regina had never seen them before. Two men, one tall and the other short, walking on the sidewalk on the other side of the street. The tall man had dark, curly hair and high cheekbones. The shorter man had sandy blonde hair and walked with the gait of a soldier.
“They just drove right in, apparently,” Charming said, exchanging a worried look with his wife. Regina watched the two men warily before drawing herself up to her full height.
“Congratulations, Snow,” she said. “Here’s the real cure for boredom you were looking for.”
Without waiting for a response, Regina set off across the street, her heels clacking loudly with every step. She didn’t have to look behind her to know Snow and Charming were following.
The tall man spotted her first. She saw his eyes fix on her intently, which would’ve unnerved her if she was a weaker woman. If anything, she saw it as a challenge.
“Hello,” she greeted with an air of fake-kindness. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you men around town. Are you new?”
The shorter man glanced at his companion, who hadn’t looked away from Regina, before answering carefully. “Yes, we just arrived. We were asked to come here by… Well, I suppose we don’t really know.”
Regina raised her eyebrows. Anxiety spiked within her. Few people in this town had connections to the outside world, and those who did were unlikely to call them.
“I didn’t catch your names,” Regina said, a slight edge to her voice.
“John Watson,” the shorter man said, holding out his hand. Regina shook it.
“Regina Mills, mayor of Storybrooke.”
John’s eyes widened. “Oh, mayor? It’s an honor, then.”
Regina smiled briefly before turning her attention to the tall man. He was surveying the street, seemingly taking in every single detail.
“And you are…?” she asked, getting his attention.
“Sherlock Holmes,” he said shortly. Regina waited for him to extend his hand like John had, but he simply stared back at her. John jabbed Sherlock with his elbow, and Sherlock mechanically reached his hand out. Regina shook it, curiosity growing.
A cough from behind her drew Regina from her thoughts. “And this is Mary Margaret and David, my… friends.” She stumbled over the word, still unused to the concept. Snow and Charming murmured their greetings, on edge.
“Pleasure,” Sherlock said, his tone suggesting it was anything but. “Now, we received an email requesting our assistance in solving a recent bunch of thefts. I would like to talk-”
“You’re mistaken,” Regina cut in. Sherlock looked startled, and Regina got the distinct impression he wasn’t interrupted often.
“I’m sorry?”
“There haven’t been any thefts recently. I’m the mayor, I would know.” She gave Sherlock an innocent look. He scowled.
“Maybe you don’t know your town as well as you think.”
Irritation prickled Regina’s skin. John coughed uncomfortably. Snow shuffled her feet.
“Well,” Regina said, fixing Sherlock with her coldest stare. “Our sheriff is right behind me, let’s ask him.” She turned to Charming and held her hands out in question.
“I’m afraid no thefts have been reported, Mr. Holmes,” Charming said. “I don’t know who emailed you, maybe if you told us we can talk to them.”
“It was an anonymous email,” John said before Sherlock could open his mouth. “We thought we would just give it a look, take a vacation.”
“Why would they be emailing you?” Snow asked. She blushed. “I don’t mean that in an offensive way, I just don’t understand why they would choose you over someone in town. You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”
“London, in fact. Excellent observation,” Sherlock replied. John closed his eyes. “I’m a consulting detective, some might even say I’m famous. Of course they would contact me.”
“Consulting detective?” Regina said. She looked over Sherlock, at his thick wool coat and scarf. “I’ve never heard of that profession.”
“Probably because I’m the only one in the world,” Sherlock shot back.
Oh, this man was infuriating.
“Good for you,” Regina said, her voice oozing sarcasm. “Regardless of who you are and what you do, there haven’t been any crimes for you to solve. I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing.” She smiled insincerely. “Have a nice trip back.”
Sherlock looked like he very much wanted to respond to her, but John beat him to the punch.
“We’ve traveled a long way today, is there a place we could stay for the night?” he asked.
Regina almost said no just to get them out of her town, but Snow stepped forward with a kind smile.
“There’s an inn just down this road, Granny’s,” Snow said. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the name. “I’m sure she has an opening, and would love to have you.”
“Thank you,” John said gratefully. He grabbed Sherlock’s arm and all but dragged him away. “It was lovely meeting you, sorry for our mistake.”
“It’s no problem,” Snow said. “Have a nice evening!”
John waved and continued to lead Sherlock away. Sherlock looked at Regina one last time, muttering, “Madam Mayor,” before following John.
The three Storybrooke residents waited until John and Sherlock were out of earshot before huddling around each other and talking.
“Why did you tell them about Granny’s?” Regina asked. “They could be on their way home by now!”
“We can’t just turn them away, Regina,” Snow answered. “They’ll be gone tomorrow, it’s fine.”
“I don’t want strangers walking around,” Regina said. “We need to protect everyone here, and having two people from the outside world poking around won’t be good.”
“Right,” Charming said. “That’s why you don’t want them here.” He gave Regina knowing look.
“Spit it out,” she snarled.
“Sherlock was getting under your skin,” Charming said.
“He was not.”
Snow suppressed a chuckle. “Oh, Regina, he was. I was half-expecting you to bring out one of your fireballs.”
Regina looked back down the street where John and Sherlock’s retreating figures could still be seen. Sherlock’s condescending expression popped up in her mind.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said tightly. “Tomorrow they will be gone. It’s fine.”
With one last look at the two men, Regina returned to the dress shop, determined to put the incident out of her mind. She had a wedding to prepare for.
⇹
The next morning, John and Sherlock dressed and went to find breakfast. Sherlock was determined to continue with the case, figuring that if they had been dragged to such a boring place, he might as well get some fun out of it. John agreed, knowing that if he didn’t, the inn might have bullet holes in its walls before the day was through.
The two men walked over to Granny’s Diner, and Sherlock commented on how ridiculous small towns were, “The same woman owns the Inn and the only place to get a cup of coffee?” He scowled and turned up his collar against the early morning breeze.
John held the door of the diner for Sherlock and they sat in a booth towards the back, trying not to draw attention to themselves. Granny, the same woman who checked them in the night before, asked for their orders a minute after they were seated. Sherlock noticed that after she left the table she went to ice a white cake in the back of the diner. John, of course, didn’t notice anything more than how Granny had been very polite to them while taking their orders.
Once they were well into their first cups of tea, Sherlock proposed an idea. “The tip said that everything missing was fairly cheap, but of somewhat sentimental value.”
John nodded, “Yes, I read it too.” He swallowed.
“So where would one sell sentimental but priceless things?” John could see Sherlock getting excited, keeping his face stationary, but his body moving at a faster pace than normal. He took the last sip of his tea and stood, hurrying out of the diner, John left behind. John stood quickly too, and handed Granny some cash, American dollars, that he hadn’t used before, and ran after his friend.
“Sherlock!” John raced down the street, catching up.
Sherlock walked quickly, speaking at a pace that John had to actively keep up with, “You sell them at a pawn shop, John, a pawn shop. Mycroft and I used to go to one down the street from our home when we were children and buy things that we thought were connected to different murders around the city. They never were, of course, but the point is that in this case they might be. When we drove in and you were looking for a bloody place to park I noticed a pawn shop down the street. ‘Mr. Gold’s’ or something of the sort. I’m sure that if a thief needed money, but lived in such a small town and didn’t want to leave, they would need to bring it to a place that was full of other things like it.”
John nodded, “You could have just said ‘might be good to check the pawn shop’ you know.”
Sherlock opened the door and bell went off, signaling their entrance. He looked around, making mental notes of everything he saw. Broken bottles, little machines, picture frames, things that looked like swords or wands, possibly children's toys, but crafted too well to be. He became curiouser and curiouser as he walked further into the store. John, on the other hand, tried to take in where they were. It was dark and a bit dusty. Before he could notice much else, a woman with soft brown hair and blue eyes greeted them.
“Hello, ma’am. I’m John, this is Sherlock.” He walked to the counter where she stood and shook her hand.
“I’m Belle, anything I can help you find?” Her eyes went to stare at Sherlock who was comically hunched over a pirate ship in a bottle laying horizontally on a glass counter top. John could tell that she was cautious.
“Sorry about him, he just, er, likes to examine things pretty closely.”
Belle nodded, but looked unsure.
John continued, “Actually, we are here for a case. Sherlock is a detective, and we were given a tip that there have been a lot of thefts in this town. We had the idea that maybe they were selling the stolen objects here. Have you noticed anything unusual lately?”
Belle looked cautious, but felt that John was being genuine with her. “Nothing really, all of the newest things we have gotten in are over on these shelves.” She led him to a place near the front on the wall. John assessed, but couldn’t see anything matching the descriptions in the email.
“Have there been any chess pieces, or books from the library, perhaps?”
Belle laughed, “No, I run the library, actually, I think I would have noticed. And I don’t think we would take chess pieces without a full set.”
John nodded, “well, I’m sorry to have bothered you, maybe the thief has been keeping the goods to himself, then.”
Belle smiled, “I appreciate your concern.” She looked back over to Sherlock who was now holding a chipped china cup in his large hands. “Oh!”
Belle ran to him and grabbed it from him. “Please,” she panted, her face covered in worry, “please don’t touch that.”
Sherlock seemed annoyed, but continued to another place in the store. John immediately apologized. “I’m sorry about him, he doesn’t really understand...normal people. I don’t really know how to explain Sherlock, but we love him anyway. And he’s a genius, can figure out any case you hand him.”
Belle smiled, slightly less frazzled, and set the teacup on a high shelf behind the counter, out of reach. She was about to say that she knew a thing or two about loving someone no matter their ticks, but refrained. She then nearly said something about how nobody in this town was normal, but also refrained. “If you are really looking for something suspicious, this morning I found a small wooden box on the doorstep.”
Sherlock peeked his head up and hustled over to where they stood. “A box?”
Belle nodded, “It’s unusual looking, seems hollow, but I can’t get it to open, I don’t even know if it does open. Nobody ever leaves things here without coming in, so I put it in the back for Rumple, my husband, to look at. Would you like to take a crack at it? It might have to do with the case, after all.”
Sherlock nodded and John sighed. Belle went back to bring them the box.
“What have I said about picking things up that don’t belong to you?” John said as though he were reprimanding a child. Sherlock let out a dramatic sigh.
“Not to do it.”
John patted Sherlock’s shoulder as Belle reemerged from the back room, a brown box in her hands. She placed it on the glass counter. John and Sherlock joined her, each giving the box a cursory look. It was a simple looking box, rectangular and made of wood. Upon further inspection, it became clear that it was less of a box, and more of a block of wood. There didn’t seem to be a lid, just a smooth surface.
“Are you sure it’s a box?” John asked. “It doesn’t look like it can be opened.”
“I thought the same thing,” Belle said. “But when I picked it up, I could hear something moving around inside.” To demonstrate, she shook it from side to side. A dull clunking noise could be heard. She looked up at the two men and shrugged.
“Curious,” Sherlock murmured. He picked up the box and shook it near his ear. His eyebrows furrowed. Holding it out in front of him, he inspected every side carefully, analyzing the dimensions and materials. Belle and John waited, not daring to speak and ruin his concentration.
Sherlock tilted the box this way and that. He turned it upside down before righting it again. With every movement, a thud sounded from inside. He decided it was a small object, and one not terribly heavy. The box was light in his hands, so whatever was inside wasn’t weighing it down. The question was, how did it get inside? And better yet, how could he get it out?
The simplest option was to smash the box, but Sherlock found another solution, and a cleaner one at that. Eyeing the top of the box, he set it back down on the counter. Slowly, he raised a finger and pressed it on a spot on the box that was a lighter shade than the rest. It was barely noticeable, so much so that John and Belle didn’t understand why Sherlock was aiming for that particular spot. As soon as he pressed it, the sides of the box collapsed outward into a flat board. Sherlock picked up the top of the box, now separate from the other pieces and tossed it to the side.
Lying on the middle of the board was a shiny diamond ring. Simple, yet no less beautiful. Belle gasped as soon as she saw it.
“That’s-”
“Thank you for your cooperation,” Sherlock said, paying no mind to what Belle had to say. He snatched the ring up and spun on his heel, heading out of the shop.
“Wait!” Belle cried. She turned to John. “He can’t just take it!”
“Yes, I-I know,” John said, looking quickly between the door and Belle. “And I’m terribly sorry. If this doesn’t work out, I’ll bring it back. Promise.”
John could hear Belle questioning what he meant, but he was already halfway out the door. He could see Sherlock a ways down the street, his coat flying out behind him. It made him look even more like a madman. A few passersby were already giving him curious looks.
“Do you want to explain where you’re going?” John panted once he caught up with him. Sherlock held up the ring in response.
“It’s an engagement ring, John.”
“Yes, I can see that. I’m surprised you recognized it as one, since you hate sentiment and all that.”
Sherlock ignored his comment, closing his fist around the ring. “There’s to be a wedding tomorrow, and the bride has lost her ring. We’re returning it to her.”
Sherlock suddenly turned right down another street, nearly knocking John over in the process. This street was lined with picture-perfect houses. John wondered how people could tell them apart.
“One,” John said, grabbing Sherlock’s arm to slow him down. “How do you know the wedding is tomorrow, and two, how do you know who the bride is?”
“It’s obvious.”
John could’ve punched him right then and there. “We’ve been over this millions of times, Sherlock.”
“Well, not millions.”
“What’s obvious?” John pressed. Sherlock sighed.
“In the kitchen at the diner, there was a wedding cake in the process of being decorated. That means the wedding is soon, and based on how far along it was, I would say tomorrow. There was also a large supply of flowers being directed towards the park. As for the bride,” Sherlock paused briefly, a small scowl on his face, “When we met the lovely mayor yesterday, she was coming out of the bridal store. She wasn’t wearing a ring, she must’ve lost it. Her friend, Mary Something is already married, based on the rings on her finger and how close she was standing next to the sheriff. Therefore, it’s the mayor.”
“Ah.” John let all the facts wash over them as he processed every bit. “Yeah, I suppose that’s sound. Like it always is.” He frowned. “But hang on, you can’t possibly know where the mayor lives.”
“I would expect the largest house in town,” Sherlock answered. “Which looks to be right up there.”
John followed Sherlock’s gaze to a white mansion at the end of the street. He nearly went slack-jawed at the sight.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, I bet that’s right.”
⇹
“No! Don’t put the blue tablecloths on the head table, those go on the buffet.” Will scratched at his head, rolling over the printed instructions paper for about the fiftieth time that day. He motioned for Henry and Roland to bring them to the tables off to the right of the park.
Ruby walked up to him with a huge bouquet of white peonies and roses. “Where do these go?”
Will scanned the paper and pointed to the head table, but there weren’t tablecloths on that yet either, and one of the instructions, number 35, was to make sure he didn’t set the tables before putting the tablecloth on. Only Regina would give such annoying instructions, although, he admitted, it did help a bit.
He helped Henry pick up a tub of china and they brought it to the food table once the cloth was on. Ruby came back over. “What can I do now?”
Will leaned against the table and sighed. “Blood hell if I know.”
“Yeah, who put you in charge anyway?” Ruby asked, laughing a second.
Henry rolled his eyes, “He was the last to volunteer to do something, so Mom delegated him to set up...the hardest job.”
“That woman hates me.” Will sighed again, over exaggeratedly. Ruby grinned and walked away to pick up more flowers from the florist.
“Maybe in a few minutes we could take a break and go to the Diner for lunch?” Henry, noticing Will’s distressed groan, mentioned.
Roland nodded in agreement. “Maybe Granny will let us try the cake!”
Will patted him on the head. “That, my friend, is not a bad idea.”
⇹
If Sherlock were to be perfectly honest, he wasn’t looking forward to facing Madam Mayor again. Sure, her straightforwardness impressed him, and she seemed like she could hold her own against him, which wasn’t easy to do. In that sense, he was intrigued by her.
But she also had an attitude and the iciest glare he’d ever seen (And he had Mycroft for a brother). She also treated him like an inferior person, which Sherlock loathed more than anything else.
Yet, here he was, moving up her front walk with her engagement ring in his palm.
He really hated this town.
John trailed behind Sherlock as they approached the door. Bracing himself, Sherlock knocked and waited. A few moments passed with no response.
“Maybe she’s not home,” John suggested. He peered over at the driveway in search of a car. A black Mercedes sat parked, effectively squashing his idea.
Sherlock huffed out a sigh and knocked again. This time, a muffled “Coming!” could be heard. A second later, the door swung open to reveal a bearded man, who gave Sherlock and John a curious look.
“Can I help you?” Sherlock was a little startled to hear a British accent coming from him, though he hid it well.
“You must be the groom,” he said. The man blinked.
“Yes, I am. And who are you?”
“Sherlock Holmes. I’m here to return your fiancee’s ring.” Sherlock held out his hand, showing the ring lying flat on his palm.
The man’s eyes widened. “You’ve found it! Regina was worried sick because she couldn’t find it anywhere.” He took the ring from Sherlock and gave it a quick inspection before tucking it into his pocket. “Thank you so much. Wherever did you find it?”
“Someone left it at the pawn shop,” John volunteered. “In a mysterious box.”
“That’s so odd,” the man remarked, frowning. “Who would do such a thing?”
“Someone who dislikes your fiancee is one possibility,” Sherlock said absentmindedly. “I imagine that list could be quite long.”
“What he means to say,” John said hurriedly, pinching Sherlock’s elbow, “is that she’s the mayor, yeah? She’s probably upset some people. Can’t please everyone, you know.”
Sherlock expected the man to look angry, but instead he just looked sad. How odd, he thought. Human sentiment would never cease to baffle him.
“In any case,” the man continued, now looking as though nothing had bothered him. “It means a great deal to Regina and I that you’ve returned this. How can we repay you?”
“Oh, there’s no need,” John said. “We’re happy to help.”
“Please, I insist,” the man said. “You’ve done us a great favor, Mr. Holmes and Mr…?”
“Watson,” John supplied. “John Watson.”
“I’m Robin,” the man said with a smile. “Pleasure to meet you both.” Robin’s face lit up. “Oh, why don’t you come to the wedding?”
Sherlock’s stomach twisted at the idea. He would rather jump off St. Bart’s again.
“Oh, we couldn’t impose,” John said. “It’s your special day.”
“That you’ve helped make better,” Robin said. “Just think about it. You don’t have to come, but you’re more than welcome to.”
John nodded. “We will certainly do that. It was nice to meet you, Robin.”
“You as well.” Robin beamed at them both, the kind of smile only a man in love could achieve. “Thank you again, truly.”
He disappeared back inside the house, shutting the door behind him. John and Sherlock turned and headed back down the walkway.
“It isn’t normal to invite strangers to your wedding, is it? Mary would never have approved of that, would she have?” Sherlock seemed baffled.
John laughed, “I doubt she would have been happy, but we did a kind thing for them, it’s not that strange.”
“Yes, but weddings are supposed to be intimate right?” He was confused.
“They are, although I’m sure this one is a full town event. It’s not as though we’ll actually go, Sherlock. We can even go back home tonight if you want. We got the ring back to her after all, and I don’t think the other case was really important. Probably someone just messing with us, if you ask me.”
Sherlock stared at the ground as they rounded the corner out of Regina’s yard and down the street. “We don’t have to go so soon.”
John looked surprised. “Well this isn’t much of a vacation anymore, you don’t have to stay for me. In fact I feel a little guilty about leaving Mary home. She’s fine and all, but it wouldn’t hurt to be back home.”
“But we could stay just for the wedding.”
John furrowed his brows, but then his expression softened. He thought Sherlock was just making the suggestion so that John could continue the trip, but it was clear this wasn’t the case.
“Oh, so Mr. Holmes finds this ‘boring’ little town interesting now, does he?”
Sherlock scowled at John, but then smiled a bit, “I say we don’t pass up an invitation, that would be rude. And you’re always telling me to mind my manners, aren’t you John?”
⇹
“Please tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.”
Robin turned to see Regina standing by the foot of the stairs. Her arms were crossed, and she had her trademark “You’re in trouble” look on.
“They did a good thing,” Robin said, walking over to her. “Not many people would go to all that trouble.”
“Yes, but our wedding?” She raised an eyebrow. “You could’ve sent them a fruit basket.”
“You’re just mad that Holmes character got under your skin yesterday.”
Regina flushed. “You’ve been talking to David too much.” She started to walk away, but Robin caught her hand and pulled her close.
“I’m sorry, milady. I didn’t realize it would upset you so much.”
Regina’s expression faltered. She sagged a bit and leaned against him, Robin’s hand coming up to cradle her back. She let out a content sigh.
“It’s fine,” she said. “Chances are they won’t come, and even if they do, I’ll just avoid them.”
“That’s my girl.” Robin kissed the top of her head before drawing back. He pulled out the ring from his pocket and knelt to the floor. Regina beamed at him, a soft giggle escaping her.
“Regina Mills,” he said dramatically, “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“I’ve already spent money on a dress, so I guess so.”
Robin laughed and slid the ring on her finger. Regina tugged him up and kissed him, her hand coming up to cup his cheek. Robin deepened the kiss, holding her even closer.
“As much as I would love to do this for the rest of the day,” Regina said with a sigh, pulling away, “I have a lot to get done, and you have your bachelor party with the Merry Men, which means you need to go.”
“I still don’t understand why I can’t come back and sleep here tonight,” Robin said, sneaking in another kiss.
“It’s Snow’s idea. She wants me to get the traditional wedding experience now that I’m marrying someone I truly love.”
Robin smiled. Regina tilted her head to the side. “What?” she asked.
“I just love hearing you say you love me.”
Regina pressed her forehead to Robin’s. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“You need to go.”
“I know.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.
“You better,” he said with a smirk. “Don’t leave me at the altar.”
Regina kissed him once more. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”