Indispensable for Gossip

Warning: This was written by an American, so the mix of American and British words should not surprise you. Apologies in advance, and I'd love to hear any feedback! The story's already finished, I just have to edit the remaining chapters and upload them as I finish. Enjoy?

"Lane Tavish," Mariella called from the kitchen, swishing something that smelled like bacon around in the skillet. "If you don't eat some breakfast, you'll pass out on that fancy laptop of yours and never find a new job!"

"There are job ads in the papers, Ell," I called back, taking a glance at my loose sweatpants and swiping a hand through my greasy hair. "And I think I'm going to take a shower and go to the cafe."

I guarantee Ella rolled her eyes. "Eat, you stubborn American," she replied. The sizzling and swishing stopped. I shut my laptop and set it to the side, walking the few steps into the kitchen.

"Ella, you really don't have to do this for me," I said as she doled the bacon and toast onto two plates. She shoved one plate into my hand with her only smile- too sweet. Her clothes, professional and yet sensible enough for teaching grade school, reminded me just how drab I must look in comparison.

"Nonsense," she replied, walking past me to the living room. She took the armchair, switching the television onto a news network. "You'd do the same for me." She concentrated on the television as I walked back to my seat on the couch opposite.

Our flat may not be the largest, but it had enough rooms for Ella and me in the best and worst moments of our friendship. After being roommates for six years, we'd worked out most of the kinks in our relationship, but there still came the times where we just needed to be three or four rooms away, with all the doors between shut securely. So, when I say I was on the couch and she was in the armchair, she was practically on my lap.

I picked up my laptop and returned to clicking through job offers. When the words started swimming in front of my eyes, I closed the laptop. Ella was bustling around, calling out a goodbye and leaving without shutting the television off as usual. I sighed, taking a bite of toast and grabbing the remote off of the chair's arm and pointing it at the television.

But who was that guy on the television, sneaking past the cameras with a silly hat on his head? I turned the volume up.

"-ock Holmes and his partner, Dr. John Watson. However, the two web sleuths aren't the only popular topic in London today, for..." The picture slipped away from the attractive curly haired man and his friend, to a picture of a van almost submerged in water. I hit the red power button, writing the name "Dr. John Watson" on a nearby post-it note. For now, I had a shower to take and breakfast to consume.

After finishing Ella's scrumptious meal and a shower that put a dent in our water's heat, I trudged to my usual cafe. Lizzie smirked at me from behind the counter and slapped a newspaper down on the counter in front of me, turning around to make my usual without saying a word. I laid out the cash on the counter, skimming the paper already.

That name jumped out again, "Dr. John Watson." I picked up the paper and read the article more closely.

"What's this about a web detective?" I asked Lizzie. She was usually more on top of the news than I was.

"What do you read in those papers?" she asked, setting my drink on top of the paper. "The John Watson fellow has this blog that he talks about Sherlock's cases on. Sherlock Holmes apparently helps the police out on some cases." She shrugged. "They're kind of interesting, I'm more of a romance girl."

I laughed. "You probably lead a more fulfilling life than a mystery girl," I replied, picking up my drink and paper. "And I just read the crime and the classifieds."

"Should've read about them then." Lizzie shook her head at me, mouth turned down in mock disappointment. I rolled my eyes with a smile before walking to my usual table.

The article on Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson was interesting, but it was the only front page article I read before turning to the crime section. I marked a few things with my highlighter before turning to the classifieds. Nothing appealing, as always, but I circled a few things anyway.

Then I booted up my laptop and looked up Dr. Watson's blog. After finding Sherlock's (more informative, less attention catching) blog and a Sherlock Holmes forum, I knew where I could share some of my findings.

Three weeks later and I was surprised how well I fit in on the Sherlock Holmes forum. Although I didn't really have any interest in the man besides his attractive curls and very warm looking coat and attention to detail... Okay, so I had a lot of interest in the man, but that wasn't why I was on the forum.

I was on the forum because of the strange pattern of unsolved crimes I'd seen breaking out in the newspapers ever since I was fired from my lucrative job for my "attitude." I mentioned the pattern in one short post and suddenly I had a lot of little helpers. Some were not so helpful, thinking anything that was unsolved and a little bit confusing would fit, but some people actually brought crimes up that fit perfectly, from strange locales like Estonia or even California.

I was getting a little more creeped out as I saw more and more people finding my claims believable.

"Are you on that forum again?" Ella asked, slouching in the cushion next to me.

I "mhmmm"ed, scrolling down a few new replies. Fcu9213 told me I was crazy. Someone with only vowels in their screen name thought I might be onto something, and another user wondered how I saw any kind of pattern at all.

"Are you telling other people about all those newspaper articles you looked at?" Ella asked, skimming the page over my shoulder.

"Yeah," I replied, squinting at the screen.

"Patterns were always your thing," Ella commented, leaning back in the sofa.

"Although that didn't help me much in maths," I mumbled in reply, scrolling down a bit more. "How was your day? Any fingerpainting kids get frisky with you?"

"Okay, I told you Lane. The girl tripped. Her hands just landed on my shirt, no one was groping me," Ella replied, shooting up in her seat and glaring at me. "And no, there were no mishaps today."

"Good," I replied, trying not to smirk.

"You're terrible," Ella replied, but she was grinning. "Are we still going to that art gallery opening this weekend?"

"Yes ma'am," I replied, logging out and shutting my laptop down. I set it on the floor and crossed my legs, turning to Ella. "Let me guess, you have a date and his name issss not Brian?"

Ella frowned at me. "Just because you didn't like Brian as much as you liked Craig doesn't mean I got rid of him or something," she replied.

"Uuuh, I know, but we both realized he was a creep as soon as he asked Neal if he'd be okay with him banging both of us."

"We were in the bathroom, we didn't know he asked that until after the date," Ella argued, tucking her right leg underneath her left.

"Oh, he didn't text you it? Maybe I wasn't supposed to tell you..." I wondered aloud.

"You probably weren't," Ella replied. "Neal is a big believer of people making decisions on their own."

"I just gave you the all of the information you needed to make a clear decision!"

"You told me he was a scumbag, Lane," Ella said, stifling a smile. "Yes, I am bringing a man who is not Brian. Louise Applebee from school set me up with a mate of hers."

"Okayyy," I replied, rolling my head. "But if he's a dirtbag I'll put a restriction on the boys you bring to our nights out."

"Deal," Ella said, getting up and heading to the kitchen.

Although I was dressed up in my favorite cooler-than-thou dress and new attention catching heels, the only clutch I had was stolen last week. Sometime during the dinner with Neal, Ella and the jerk, it disappeared. Luckily I kept my keys in my bra, but calling and canceling all your credit cards, getting a new ID and phone, and being out twenty three dollars and some change doesn't really make you a very cheerful dinner companion. Not that I was cheerful before the theft, though.

"Ella, will you carry my stuff in your purse?" I asked, gathering a bunch of different things. She nodded, throwing me her purse. One credit card that arrived in the mail that morning, keys and my phone slid into her bag. After another thought, I took out my flat key and slipped it in my bra.

"Thanks, this is one of the many perks of having an over-prepared teacher as a roommate," I told her, handing her back her purse. She nodded, patted her hair and muttered an "mhmm." I stayed out of her way, she must be in panicky first date mode.

A dozen minutes later, we were in the cab bound for the gallery. We seemed to be meeting not-Brian at the gallery. I would know, if Ella weren't still in pre-date freak out mode. If she weren't such a great first dater, I would be worried.

We walked the last few blocks to the art gallery, mainly to snap Ella out of her catatonic state, but partially because we didn't feel like paying to sit and wait in traffic. Apparently the art gallery opening was a little more popular than we figured.

"He'll be by the entrance, texting on his phone," Ella repeated for what had to be the tenth time that night.

"Just like everyone else," I mumbled, the exact same reply I'd given the past nine times.

She looked at me this time, mascara-coated eyes wide. "You're right."

"He'll be looking for his date, unlike a lot of other people, and he'll be looking for two girls who are looking for one man. I'm sure you'll meet up. And he has your number, so if all else fails, you can just wait for his text or call." We turned the corner and walked up to the tall building. A set of narrow white stairs led up to a thin but tall pair of doors, which was very well trafficked. In fact, the entrance to the building was the busiest area.

I left Ella to her date-hunt. Normally I'd help, but the girl was too far gone in her worries to listen to any of my calming and we'd just drive each other mad. She'd probably prefer me to stay, but I'd prefer to look at art... If it makes me a bitch, well, I am.

Half an hour later, I was still milling around the paintings. Ella waved a few minutes ago when she passed on the arm of this goof in an orange dress shirt. I waved back, but was quickly interested in a man whining about everyone just pointing out the bad in a piece of art I personally saw no good in.

"Hey," said a male voice from my right. I was still listening to the skinny man prattle on about the balancing of dark and light in a world of greys, so I just waved my hand. It was supposed to convey, "shoo!" But I guess he took it as, "Kiss my knuckles," because that's what he did.

"Erm, what?" I asked, turning to the man with his slippery lips on my hand. "I'm sorry, I try very hard not to talk to people here," I said, retracting my hand. His deep brown eyes nearly persuaded me to break tradition, but I'd always complained about my own brown eyes being mud-colored and ugly, so I strengthened my resolve.

"Why's that?" he asked, tucking his hands deep into his pockets and slouching his shoulders a little. With his average height, he shouldn't slouch. He could use every inch. He glanced at the painting.

"Telling would involve... You know, talking. What I don't do," I replied, a little perturbed, and unsure why. I turned back to the skinny idiot, but he was gone.

"Come on, you can talk to me. What're the chances you'll like me?"

"Low, which is kind of why I'm trying not to have to deal with you," I replied, shouldering through the crowd to another painting. Hopefully I'd lose or offend the man.

"That's just not nice at all," he piped up from my shoulder. I sighed and rolled my eyes. "If I didn't just ooze self-confidence, I might be deterred. You're good at that," he complimented, staring at the painting with as much interest as I would a dismantled car.

"Why are you even here?" I asked, turning my gaze back to the painting of a woman atop a bridge.

From the corner of my eye, I could see his eyes flick back to me. They narrowed and ran down my body and back up it, before he nodded. "Not sure, really. Bought a new suit, had nowhere to wear it, heard about this place, figured I'd fit in."

I took the cue to inspect his suit. It was far nicer than what anyone else was wearing, at least to my unfashionable eyes. "There's some kind of charity shindig for the police down a few streets," I pointed out, remembering Lizzie telling me all about it that morning. ("Prime manhunting territory," she told me with a wink.)

A smile devoured his face like fire takes to California in the summer. "I'm not really a fan," he said.

"Great," I mumbled to myself, not caring if he heard me. "A stalker and a freak."

I wasn't quite prepared for his laugh. It was a little manic, a little too loud, and a little rewarding. Most people didn't find my initial abrasive attitude entertaining. Although, my attitude wasn't usually this abrasive initially. It was usually a more subtle abrasion.

"Glad to find a girl who is such an astute measure of character," he said after a few seconds.

I realized I was talking to him. "Woman," I replied, falling into the flow of people to the next painting.

"Of course," he whispered into my ear.

That was the first, and last for a while, time I thought maybe he was a little creepy.