Fic: The Cuckoo's Lullaby, 10/17
Jul. 13th, 2014 09:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
swissmargTitle: The Cuckoo's Lullaby
Author:
swissmarg
Beta readers:ruth0007, 
dioscureantwins
Rating: R
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Other characters: Irene Adler, OCs
Word count: ca. 85K when complete
Summary: Sequel to 'Cracks in the In-Between Places'. A Swiss holiday seems to be the perfect way for the Holmeses and the Watsons to recover from their recent troubles and deepen their attachments to each other, but when Tristram's mother and the bogeyman both turn up, loyalties are put to the ultimate test.
See Chapter One for additional notes
Read Chapter Ten on AO3
Tristram and Emily meet John and Irene as they come back inside, each clutching several postcards. The shop assistant is back behind the counter ringing up some other customers' purchases.
"What have you got then?" John asks. Emily and Tristram hold out their finds.
Emily's snow globe passes muster easily. Tristram shows John the cards, and John says he thinks they're a very good idea for Mrs Hudson. Irene tells Tristram the cards are for a special Swiss game called 'yass' - or at least that's what it sounds like - and that she'll show him how to play so that he can teach Mrs Hudson.
"I'd like a knife too," Tristram says, displaying the one he took from the stack, "but do you think we could ask if they have one with a magnifier?"
"Of course," John agrees readily, but still asks, "What do you need a magnifier for?"
Tristram hesitates. He doesn't have a particular use for it in mind. And he doesn't want to tell the story about his father and the door knocker; it seems silly somehow. "It could be useful," he hedges. "For... looking at scratches. In brass fittings." It sounds even worse out loud.
John looks amused, but at least he doesn't dig any deeper. "I suppose it could be at that," he allows generously. "Sure, I'll ask."
But the shop assistant tells them that only the bigger models, which they don't carry, have magnifying glasses. She says they could go to another shop and try to find one of those models, but then she tells them a secret: the company that makes the knives has a special visitor's centre where you can go and put together your own knife, with whichever attachments you want. Well, she doesn't use the word 'attachments'. She says a German word, but John doesn't understand it, so she says, "You know, the pieces you stick on, the knifes and the ... glass what make things bigger," apparently not remembering how to say 'magnifying glass'. Which is kind of a hard word, after all.
Tristram would like very much to go to that knife company. Maybe they have other parts he could put into the knife too. He doesn't say anything, though, and John simply thanks the woman for the information and buys the knife without the magnifier. Tristram isn't disappointed. Really. It's a cool knife all the same.
After everything's wrapped up to go, the shop assistant picks up a small glass bowl from the counter next to the cash register. It's filled with a couple dozen little individually wrapped packets similar to the ones he and Emily found on the bed in Father and John's room at the hotel, although a bit smaller.
"Take one, it's make you feel better." She holds the bowl out to Tristram. He knows better than to take candy from strangers, even if he doesn't think she's part of any case his father might be working on. You never know, though. When he doesn't immediately respond, she shakes the bowl a little to encourage him. "It's Traubenzucker." She looks to John and Irene, but they are unable to help with the word. "It's sweet," she tries, smiling.
She looks so hopeful, and she has been very helpful and nice. Tristram doesn't want to be outright rude or hurt her feelings, so he takes a purple one and says, "Thank you." He has no intention of actually eating it, of course. He'll give it to his father so he can analyse it. Although that will probably have to wait until they get back home. He puts it into his pocket, hoping the woman doesn't expect him to unwrap it and eat it right away.
But she doesn't seem to notice. Instead, she turns to Emily and holds the bowl out for her. "One for sister too," the woman says.
"But I'm not-" Emily starts to say, startled, but John nudges her and she falls silent.
"It's all right, go ahead and take one," he says.
Emily thanks her and takes an orange one. The shop assistant holds the bowl up for John and Irene. John takes an orange one like Emily, but Irene politely declines and the woman doesn't press the issue.
As soon as they're outside, Emily starts giggling. "She thought I was your sister!" she crows, as if it were the greatest joke in the world. "She thought I was his sister!" she repeats to her father.
John smiles indulgently. "It wasn't the most far-fetched conclusion she could have drawn. But it would have been too complicated to try and explain, and it doesn't matter. She would have given you the sweet either way."
Emily kind of is, almost, like a sister, Tristram thinks to himself. He doesn't say anything, though, because it sounds like she thinks the shop assistant was pretty stupid to have made that mistake. But she said herself once that if their fathers got married, they'd be brother and sister. Not that their fathers have any such plans - John said they'd tell Tristram and Emily if they ever did - but if their fathers are boyfriends, what does that make Tristram and Emily? Brother-friend and sister-friend? Sibling-friends? It is kind of funny. Tristram giggles a little too.
Irene seems to have convinced John she knows the perfect thing for Harry and Clara, so they all troop after her down the street. Emily hooks her arm through Tristram's good one and chants, "Left... left... left, right, left..." as they walk to keep their steps in sync.
"Oh, the grand old Duke of York, he had ten thousand men," John chimes in, slightly off-key, pretending it's very serious business.
Irene holds her head up and ignores them all. But she's not really ignoring them, because her steps fall into the same rhythm as theirs. Tristram joins in chanting on the next round. By the time Irene brings them to a halt again, Tristram and Emily are both breathless and laughing.
They've stopped in front of a shop with what looks like a tablecloth hanging in the display window. It doesn't get much more interesting inside. It's actually just more souvenirs, but with less plastic and a lot more room between the shelves. In addition to more tablecloths and napkins and the like, there's some glassware and pottery and wooden carvings. There are still an awful lot of Swiss crosses.
The wood pieces are the only things that draw any of Tristram's interest. While Irene tries to convince John of the quality of the other goods, Tristram and Emily inspect the display of wooden nativity scenes that dominates one entire corner of the shop. Emily is taken with the one where all the figures are dressed up in intricately sewn clothing, from the shepherds in their fleece tunics to the wise men in velvet robes embroidered with what looks like real gold thread. Tristram rather favours one particular set carved of a pale, unadorned wood so smooth it looks like ceramic yet so delicate that he's convinced if he touches it, he'll be able to feel the softness of the hair and clothes. He doesn't touch it, though, because the shopkeeper - a woman somewhere in age between Uncle Mycroft and Mrs Hudson with what must be a permanently downturned mouth, judging by the creases in the corners of it - hasn't stopped glaring at him and Emily since they set foot in the shop. Tristram knows the type. He also knows it's best not to antagonise them.
Eventually, though, she has to look away because John's picked something out and she has to ring it up. As soon as Irene's standing between the woman and Tristram, he reaches out one finger and runs it down the figure depicting Mary. It feels like warm silk. Emily sneaks a feel of the velvet of one of the wise man's robes on the other set. Then they exchange a look of shared mischief, trying very hard not to giggle, and hastily stick their hands in their pockets before the woman can look at them again. Well, Tristram puts his left hand in his pocket. His casted right hand is pretty much above suspicion.
As they leave the shop, Emily insists on peeking into the plastic bag John has acquired, but it's just serviettes or tea towels or something, so Tristram's not really interested. It becomes clear at this point that Irene's taken charge as the de facto leader of their little expedition. She has had a couple more weeks to find where things are in the town, after all.
Tristram hopes their next stop isn't more shopping, and he isn't disappointed. Irene leads them off the main road onto a side lane that slopes steeply upward until they come to a little cottage with some truly spectacular icicles hanging off the eaves. At first, Tristram thinks it's a house where someone lives, but then he sees the sign on the door that says 'Naturmuseum', like someone smushed the words together and obliterated the e. It seems like an awfully small house for an entire Natural History Museum. He doesn't think even half of Dippy would fit inside.
They're the only visitors, which is probably a good thing as it's a very small museum. There are just two rooms, one dedicated to plants and the other to animals. The curator, a dour-looking older man with suspenders and a pot belly, emerges from a back room surrounded by the scent of pipe smoke. He knows just about enough English to get across that the museum showcases the local flora and fauna, before he retreats back to his pipe - and elevenses, if Tristram's not mistaken by the crumbs on his shirt.
The animal room mostly contains taxidermied specimens of small mammals and reptiles. Tristram thinks, the next time he gets offered an animal corpse larger than a mouse from Father's friend at the zoo, he might like to try his hand at taxidermy. Father has a book on embalming that he used for a case once that probably has some useful tips. The museum also has a display case with insects and arthropods stuck on pins that gives Tristram an idea for another project. He's particularly surprised to see that scorpions are amongst the local fauna. He's always associated scorpions with hot, dry places.
Emily discovers an interactive panel where they can listen to birdcalls and then match them with the pictures of different native bird species by pushing buttons under the pictures. The names are, helpfully, written next to each picture in German, French, and English, along with their Linnean classifications in Latin. Tristram has no idea on most of them, but Emily doesn't either, so they take turns shrugging and laughing and making wild guesses, and laughing even harder when they get one right by chance. The only one they both recognise instantly is the cuckoo (, according to the legend). Tristram always thought that the distinctive descending minor third was just something that someone had made up, but it turns out the bird really does sound like that.
When they leave the museum, John reaches up and breaks off two of the big icicles from the roof and hands them to Tristram and Emily. Emily promptly licks hers like a giant ice-lolly. Tristram's first thoughts are of all the experiments he could do. He could cut cross-sections to look at under the microscope, or maybe put it in the freezer and see if it grows. He could cut it into sections of equal weight and see how long it takes each piece to melt in different places: one up in his room, one on the windowsill in the kitchen, one ... and then he remembers that they're in Switzerland and he doesn't have access to a microscope or a freezer or any of the rooms in their flat. He's not that set on doing an experiment anyway. Not when there are toboggans and ice restaurants and marching games with Emily and Father and John.
Emily's decided her icicle isn't as tasty as an ice-lolly and holds it up like a sword. "En garde!" she cries.
Tristram lifts his icicle in answer to the challenge and taps it gingerly against hers. The tip of her icicle breaks off anyway. Tristram feels bad and is about to apologise when Emily laughs and taps her icicle against his, rather more forcefully. Another chunk of hers falls off. Tristram gamely hits her icicle again, as he gathers that's the game, and this time his is the one that ends up being shortened. And then it's a wild back and forth of blows exchanged as their icicles get progressively smaller and smaller. Finally, they're both holding little more than stubs and no matter how much they bash them against each other, neither one cracks.
"Listen!" Emily says suddenly, letting the chunk of ice fall from her grip. She jerks her head to the side, towards a narrow, shadowy lane.
Tristram freezes with a feeling of dread and strains his ears for the sound of whatever threat she's picked up on. He can't see any movement down the lane, but that doesn't mean there's nothing there. John and Irene haven't noticed anything and are already uncomfortably far away, having walked on ahead while Tristram and Emily carried out their duel. Tristram's already preparing to defend himself and Emily from whatever she's heard when her face brightens and she turns to Tristram.
"Blackbird!" she announces. (Amsel, merle, blackbird, Turdus merula, Tristram's memory supplies. He and Emily had giggled over the turds, so that's why it stuck.)
Even with that, it takes him several seconds to struggle his way back out of the effects of his erroneous conclusion. He is not going to have another panic attack. He is not. He is going to pull air into his lungs and laugh and agree with Emily even though he didn't hear the blackbird - can't hear anything other than the rush of blood in his ears - and then he's going to walk after John and Irene at a perfectly normal pace, without any care in the world other than not slipping on the ice. And although his laugh comes out too high and too short, it does come out. And although his 'right' sounds about as convincing as Mrs Hudson telling Father she's not his housekeeper, Emily looks pleased and casually hooks her arm through his and doesn't even say anything about it being to steady him on the downward-sloping lane.
Tristram wonders how he ever ended up with a friend like Emily.
When they catch up with John and Irene, Emily says she wants to sit down somewhere and have something to drink. Tristram almost suspects she's only saying so because she thinks he should sit down and have something to drink. He's half grateful and half resentful. His knees are still a bit wobbly, but he's not a baby. He doesn't need anyone else to decide what's best for him. But when he searches her open, earnest face, he can't see any signs of subterfuge. Maybe licking the icicle really did make her thirsty.
At any rate, John says he thinks it's a good idea too and Irene is already exclaiming about knowing 'just the place', so Tristram doesn't even have a chance to say he doesn't need a rest.
They end up in a tearoom. John insists they take a table as far from the window as possible, which Tristram is more relieved about than he'd like to admit. John orders a tea for himself and hot chocolate for Tristram and Emily. Irene jumps in before the waitress can walk away and asks for something called 'vermicelles' (it sounds like vair-me-cell, but she shows Tristram the word on the menu and tells him it means 'little worms', which sounds extremely promising) over John's objections that it will ruin their lunch. There's a bit of tense staring over the table, but Irene wins in the end.
When the bowls arrive, they contain what looks like a small pile of brown spaghetti topped with whipped cream. Despite being curious what exactly the 'spaghetti' (he can tell it's not really worms) is, he doesn't reach for the spoon right away. Neither, he notes, does Emily.
John watches them for a moment, then leans forward and whispers, as if it were a secret, "It's not really worms."
Tristram knows that. He's not worried about what it might be made of, and he doesn't generally have a problem trying new foods. It's more that he doesn't want to eat it if it will make John unhappy. He reckons Emily feels the same.
John gives them a smile that's probably meant to be reassuring. Tristram isn't fooled.
One year, not too long before Christmas, Father damaged his violin bow somehow. Tristram never found out what exactly happened, but it was odd because Father's always so careful with both his violin and the bow. Anyway, Father was able to fix it enough that he could still use it to play, but he would get all snarly and cross after not very long, and even Tristram could tell it didn't sound quite right.
This went on for a couple of weeks, and Tristram mentioned it to Uncle Mycroft - really just mentioned; he's not even sure why he said anything at all because he knows Father absolutely hates for Tristram to say anything about him to Uncle Mycroft. Tristram didn't think anything further of it, but when he and Father went down to Mrs Hudson's on Christmas afternoon a few days later to exchange their gifts, there was a mysterious package waiting for Father under her tree.
Tristram thinks Uncle Mycroft was clever to leave it at Mrs Hudson's, because Father knew right away who it was from even though there wasn't a tag, and if it had been just the two of them upstairs in their flat, Father probably would have binned the package without even opening it. But Mrs Hudson wasn't about to let them leave without having seen what was inside the prettily wrapped gift box, so Father sighed in his most put-upon way and tore away the paper to let her see it was just a violin bow.
And then they had rum cake with real rum - and whipped cream, come to think of it, just like the vermicelles - and Mrs Hudson made them listen to one of her vinyl records with some man singing Christmas songs in a funny, wobbly voice. Then they were released to go back to their own flat. The box with the bow was deposited on the coffee table and never opened. Father continued to play with his old, wonky bow.
A few days later, Tristram noticed the new bow had migrated to one of the bookshelves. He stopped paying attention to it then, but he knows that at some point it disappeared from the common living area altogether, because it's not on the bookshelf anymore. Father eventually did get a new bow, but it was a different one.
Tristram's pretty sure there wasn't anything wrong with Uncle Mycroft's bow, other than the fact that it came from Uncle Mycroft. Just like John doesn't think there's anything wrong with the food here at the tearoom, other than the fact that it was Irene's idea.
Tristram wonders whether there's always going to be this tension when John and Irene are in the same room. It makes Tristram feel uncomfortable. He's actually kind of starting to like her. Or at least to be interested by her. She watches things the same way Father does: greedily and with an all-encompassing focus, like there's something important there that no one else is able to see. Tristram wonders if she also makes deductions. She's obviously clever - if not even Father's been able to figure out what she's doing here, she must be very good indeed.
It's not only that, though; reading between the lines of the bare bones explanation of Tristram's origins that Uncle Mycroft gave him, Tristram's figured out that Irene and Father knew each other for a while, back before Tristram was born. He's not sure if they were ever really friends the way that John and Father are, but they ... well, they must have slept in the same bed, probably more than once. Tristram can't possibly imagine his father willingly spending that much time - and especially in such an intimate manner - with anyone he didn't at least find interesting, to some degree, outside of a case.
So there must be something about Irene that Father found worth his time - even if he changed his mind later, or figured out everything he wanted to figure out about her and simply lost interest, the way he loses interest in the body parts he brings home, once he's exhausted their experimental potential. Not that Tristram would expect Father to keep those old body parts around forever, but Tristram sometimes finds the odd ear or pancreas, depleted and black, tied up in a plastic bag in the rubbish. Seeing them makes him feel the way he did when he botched the dissection of the iguana. Mrs Hudson took him to bury the iguana remains in Regent's Park, under a rock, which helped a little. The fingers and livers and scalps Father brings home never get buried; they end up in the council incinerator along with orange peels and old shoes. At least Irene got to go to Singapore and New York.
The point being, however, that Irene really can't be all bad. She's certainly not done anything particularly egregious so far, as far as Tristram's seen. Yet John persists in behaving much the same toward her as Father does toward Uncle Mycroft.
The difference is, John isn't going to throw the food away just to spite Irene.
"It's all right," John assures them. "We're on holiday. Looks good." He nods encouragingly at the vermicelles.
Irene sips her espresso and maintains a polite expression, as if she doesn't care one way or another whether Tristram and Emily try the dish. Maybe she really doesn't. Tristram can't read her with any sort of accuracy. Which may be why his eye keeps being drawn back to her.
Tristram picks up his spoon and scoops up a small amount of the brown spaghetti-worms along with some whipped cream. It smells good. It tastes good too, it turns out. Sort of like marzipan, only not as terribly sweet. He goes for a second, larger spoonful and makes the next discovery at the same time as Emily.
"There's biscuit at the bottom!" she exclaims.
Irene smiles like she was just waiting for someone to say it. Her teeth are very white. Although perhaps it just looks that way because her lipstick is so very red. "It's meringue," she says. "I figured you have to eat something with meringue at least once while you're here."
"Why's that?" Emily asks around her mouthful.
"Because meringue was invented here."
John makes a sceptical sound. "Really?"
"Well, it can't be proven, of course, but that's the story. Meringue... Meiringen. It's where the name comes from, at any rate."
"Huh." John looks like he's not sure whether to be interested in the new information or irritated that Irene knows something he doesn't.
"Do you want a taste, Daddy?" Emily holds out a big spoonful for him.
"Yeah, I'll..." He scans the table then cranes his neck to check the rest of the room. Is he looking for something?
"Here, use mine." Irene picks up the little spoon lying on the saucer beside her espresso cup.
"Oh, no, I-" John starts to protest politely, but Irene cuts across him with a little irritated sound.
"I didn't touch it. Besides," she adds more slyly, "our mouths have been in the same place."
John looks at her sharply. "Recently?" It sounds more like a challenge than a question.
"John, you know a lady doesn't tell tales out of school." Irene appears to be thoroughly enjoying herself, even if Tristram is completely lost. Where have their mouths been?
"You're not going to bait me, and this is an inappropriate topic," John bites out. He picks up three plastic-wrapped toothpicks from the small dispenser on the table and removes the wrapping. Then he holds them together to form a little shovel and uses them to scoop up a small amount of Emily's vermicelles. "Mm, you're right, very good," he tells Emily with an attempt at a smile, but it's clear he's just barely holding on to his temper.
Irene leans forward across the table, as if to speak confidentially to Emily. "I really do like your father, you know," she says in a loud whisper. "He's so much fun to tease."
Emily sucks on her vermicelles a bit, eying Irene coolly. "He's not going to kiss you, you know," she finally decides is the appropriate response.
John chokes and grabs a paper serviette from the dispenser to cough into. Irene laughs out loud. Not the smug, knowing chuckle she's been employing, but something that Tristram reckons is born of genuine delight.
"Emily, darling, you are a treasure," Irene says when she's done.
"I'm not your darling," Emily states flatly. She stares right at her and puts another big spoonful of vermicelles and cream into her mouth.
Irene's expression sobers somewhat, although the mirth is still dancing in her eyes. "No, of course not. I'm sorry. Truly." She reaches across the table to touch the tips of her fingers to Emily's hand. "Maybe we can be friends, though?"
Emily's glare becomes clouded by uncertainty and she looks to her father. John appears to have recovered from his coughing fit. He clears his throat and frowns down at his coffee cup, like he's trying to think of what to say but doesn't end up saying anything after all.
Irene gives him a sidelong glance and withdraws her hand. "Well," she says, noticeably more subdued, "I'll consider you one, and I hope you'll consider me one as well." She drinks the last bit of her espresso. Her lipstick leaves a red mark on the rim of the white porcelain cup. Tristram wonders whether he should try to take the cup with him. If Irene's part of a case, it might be helpful to have a sample of her DNA. But then he remembers that Irene kissed Father on the cheek that morning, so if he needed a DNA sample he could have taken it then.
Tristram takes another spoonful of his vermicelles, making sure to get a nice portion of the meringue. It really is good.
&&&&&&
When John enters the bedroom, Sherlock is lying on his back on the bed, fully clothed, his hands pressed palm-to-palm under his chin. The sound of the television wafts in from the other room.
"Sherlock?" John says softly, checking whether he's awake.
Sherlock grunts but doesn't open his eyes.
John pulls the door most of the way shut and drags one of the two chairs in the room closer to the bed.
"Kids are watching telly. Think we can strike lunch for today, Irene stuffed them full of sweets," he grumbles. "Any news?" He sits down, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
"No, just some... no," Sherlock mumbles vaguely. "Thinking," he adds. His eyes are still closed.
"Really 'no', or nothing you're going to tell me 'no'?" John asks, ignoring the hint.
Sherlock's forehead creases ever so slightly, but he doesn't answer.
John waits several more seconds then says in a low, urgent voice, "Sherlock, we've been here five days. My emergency leave is up in two, and then I really may have to go looking for another job. We've had the kids out of school for almost three weeks. I can't-" He presses his lips together and looks down and away before returning his eyes to Sherlock. "I need to know what's going on." His expression is almost pleading, even though Sherlock can't see it.
Sherlock exhales, then opens his eyes and turns his head toward John. They watch each other for a long moment. Then Sherlock sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed.
"There's a case the police back in London would like me to have a look at."
"Oh," John says, as if he hadn't expected that. "Is it connected, do you think?"
Sherlock looks like he finds the notion ridiculous. "No."
"Well then why are you-" John shakes his head as if to clear it. "Look, never mind that then. Have you heard from Mycroft?"
"I'd tell you if there were anything new." He sounds indignant that John might even suggest otherwise.
John appears unimpressed. "Would you? Or just what you think I need to hear?" He catches and holds Sherlock's gaze.
Sherlock's expression remains inscrutable for several seconds before he gives a little sigh. "It doesn't matter anyway, as there isn't anything new."
"Well, maybe it's time for us to be heading back then," John suggests. "Maybe they decided not to pursue it after losing both Moran and Tonga."
It looks like Sherlock is going to reject the idea out of hand, but then changes his mind abruptly. "All right," he says, as if he's surprised to find it's not such a bad suggestion after all. "Maybe we should. Although it's been a ... rather enjoyable holiday." His voice creeps down a register at the end of the statement and a sly smile sneaks across his face.
John smiles too and leans forward to kiss Sherlock, bracing his hand on Sherlock's thigh. "That it has."
&&&&&&
Chapter notes: 'Dippy' is the nickname of the Diplodocus skeleton displayed in the main hall of the Natural History Museum in London.
Although all of the shops and attractions I've mentioned do exist, I didn't stick to the exact layout of Meiringen, so it may not be possible to reach them all on foot in the amount of time suggested here.
If anyone is interested in visiting Meiringen, here are some links:
The hand weaving and crafts shop.
The bakery with the meringue. The story of the word 'meringue's origin is apocryphal, but often repeated.
The local natural history museum. I made up everything about the inside of this museum. I have no idea what it actually has. Also, it's only open during the summer months.
And of course the Sherlock Holmes museum, which they didn't visit in this story for obvious reasons.
There's also a military base in Meiringen with an airport that you can visit to see the military jets. I wanted to include it in the story because I liked the army connection for John, but then it just seemed like too much and I couldn't think of a good story-related reason for them to go there. But if you are ever in the area, it might be worth a visit. They also put on air shows once in a while.
The Swiss card game is 'Jass' (pronounced 'yahss'). It's something like pinochle, apparently (not that I know how to play pinochle) and is considered a national sport in Switzerland. Tournaments are broadcast every Saturday evening on Swiss television. You can read a bit about the game here.
Jass cards:
Author:
swissmargBeta readers:
ruth0007, Rating: R
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Other characters: Irene Adler, OCs
Word count: ca. 85K when complete
Summary: Sequel to 'Cracks in the In-Between Places'. A Swiss holiday seems to be the perfect way for the Holmeses and the Watsons to recover from their recent troubles and deepen their attachments to each other, but when Tristram's mother and the bogeyman both turn up, loyalties are put to the ultimate test.
See Chapter One for additional notes
Read Chapter Ten on AO3
Chapter Ten
Tristram and Emily meet John and Irene as they come back inside, each clutching several postcards. The shop assistant is back behind the counter ringing up some other customers' purchases.
"What have you got then?" John asks. Emily and Tristram hold out their finds.
Emily's snow globe passes muster easily. Tristram shows John the cards, and John says he thinks they're a very good idea for Mrs Hudson. Irene tells Tristram the cards are for a special Swiss game called 'yass' - or at least that's what it sounds like - and that she'll show him how to play so that he can teach Mrs Hudson.
"I'd like a knife too," Tristram says, displaying the one he took from the stack, "but do you think we could ask if they have one with a magnifier?"
"Of course," John agrees readily, but still asks, "What do you need a magnifier for?"
Tristram hesitates. He doesn't have a particular use for it in mind. And he doesn't want to tell the story about his father and the door knocker; it seems silly somehow. "It could be useful," he hedges. "For... looking at scratches. In brass fittings." It sounds even worse out loud.
John looks amused, but at least he doesn't dig any deeper. "I suppose it could be at that," he allows generously. "Sure, I'll ask."
But the shop assistant tells them that only the bigger models, which they don't carry, have magnifying glasses. She says they could go to another shop and try to find one of those models, but then she tells them a secret: the company that makes the knives has a special visitor's centre where you can go and put together your own knife, with whichever attachments you want. Well, she doesn't use the word 'attachments'. She says a German word, but John doesn't understand it, so she says, "You know, the pieces you stick on, the knifes and the ... glass what make things bigger," apparently not remembering how to say 'magnifying glass'. Which is kind of a hard word, after all.
Tristram would like very much to go to that knife company. Maybe they have other parts he could put into the knife too. He doesn't say anything, though, and John simply thanks the woman for the information and buys the knife without the magnifier. Tristram isn't disappointed. Really. It's a cool knife all the same.
After everything's wrapped up to go, the shop assistant picks up a small glass bowl from the counter next to the cash register. It's filled with a couple dozen little individually wrapped packets similar to the ones he and Emily found on the bed in Father and John's room at the hotel, although a bit smaller.
"Take one, it's make you feel better." She holds the bowl out to Tristram. He knows better than to take candy from strangers, even if he doesn't think she's part of any case his father might be working on. You never know, though. When he doesn't immediately respond, she shakes the bowl a little to encourage him. "It's Traubenzucker." She looks to John and Irene, but they are unable to help with the word. "It's sweet," she tries, smiling.
She looks so hopeful, and she has been very helpful and nice. Tristram doesn't want to be outright rude or hurt her feelings, so he takes a purple one and says, "Thank you." He has no intention of actually eating it, of course. He'll give it to his father so he can analyse it. Although that will probably have to wait until they get back home. He puts it into his pocket, hoping the woman doesn't expect him to unwrap it and eat it right away.
But she doesn't seem to notice. Instead, she turns to Emily and holds the bowl out for her. "One for sister too," the woman says.
"But I'm not-" Emily starts to say, startled, but John nudges her and she falls silent.
"It's all right, go ahead and take one," he says.
Emily thanks her and takes an orange one. The shop assistant holds the bowl up for John and Irene. John takes an orange one like Emily, but Irene politely declines and the woman doesn't press the issue.
As soon as they're outside, Emily starts giggling. "She thought I was your sister!" she crows, as if it were the greatest joke in the world. "She thought I was his sister!" she repeats to her father.
John smiles indulgently. "It wasn't the most far-fetched conclusion she could have drawn. But it would have been too complicated to try and explain, and it doesn't matter. She would have given you the sweet either way."
Emily kind of is, almost, like a sister, Tristram thinks to himself. He doesn't say anything, though, because it sounds like she thinks the shop assistant was pretty stupid to have made that mistake. But she said herself once that if their fathers got married, they'd be brother and sister. Not that their fathers have any such plans - John said they'd tell Tristram and Emily if they ever did - but if their fathers are boyfriends, what does that make Tristram and Emily? Brother-friend and sister-friend? Sibling-friends? It is kind of funny. Tristram giggles a little too.
Irene seems to have convinced John she knows the perfect thing for Harry and Clara, so they all troop after her down the street. Emily hooks her arm through Tristram's good one and chants, "Left... left... left, right, left..." as they walk to keep their steps in sync.
"Oh, the grand old Duke of York, he had ten thousand men," John chimes in, slightly off-key, pretending it's very serious business.
Irene holds her head up and ignores them all. But she's not really ignoring them, because her steps fall into the same rhythm as theirs. Tristram joins in chanting on the next round. By the time Irene brings them to a halt again, Tristram and Emily are both breathless and laughing.
They've stopped in front of a shop with what looks like a tablecloth hanging in the display window. It doesn't get much more interesting inside. It's actually just more souvenirs, but with less plastic and a lot more room between the shelves. In addition to more tablecloths and napkins and the like, there's some glassware and pottery and wooden carvings. There are still an awful lot of Swiss crosses.
The wood pieces are the only things that draw any of Tristram's interest. While Irene tries to convince John of the quality of the other goods, Tristram and Emily inspect the display of wooden nativity scenes that dominates one entire corner of the shop. Emily is taken with the one where all the figures are dressed up in intricately sewn clothing, from the shepherds in their fleece tunics to the wise men in velvet robes embroidered with what looks like real gold thread. Tristram rather favours one particular set carved of a pale, unadorned wood so smooth it looks like ceramic yet so delicate that he's convinced if he touches it, he'll be able to feel the softness of the hair and clothes. He doesn't touch it, though, because the shopkeeper - a woman somewhere in age between Uncle Mycroft and Mrs Hudson with what must be a permanently downturned mouth, judging by the creases in the corners of it - hasn't stopped glaring at him and Emily since they set foot in the shop. Tristram knows the type. He also knows it's best not to antagonise them.
Eventually, though, she has to look away because John's picked something out and she has to ring it up. As soon as Irene's standing between the woman and Tristram, he reaches out one finger and runs it down the figure depicting Mary. It feels like warm silk. Emily sneaks a feel of the velvet of one of the wise man's robes on the other set. Then they exchange a look of shared mischief, trying very hard not to giggle, and hastily stick their hands in their pockets before the woman can look at them again. Well, Tristram puts his left hand in his pocket. His casted right hand is pretty much above suspicion.
As they leave the shop, Emily insists on peeking into the plastic bag John has acquired, but it's just serviettes or tea towels or something, so Tristram's not really interested. It becomes clear at this point that Irene's taken charge as the de facto leader of their little expedition. She has had a couple more weeks to find where things are in the town, after all.
Tristram hopes their next stop isn't more shopping, and he isn't disappointed. Irene leads them off the main road onto a side lane that slopes steeply upward until they come to a little cottage with some truly spectacular icicles hanging off the eaves. At first, Tristram thinks it's a house where someone lives, but then he sees the sign on the door that says 'Naturmuseum', like someone smushed the words together and obliterated the e. It seems like an awfully small house for an entire Natural History Museum. He doesn't think even half of Dippy would fit inside.
They're the only visitors, which is probably a good thing as it's a very small museum. There are just two rooms, one dedicated to plants and the other to animals. The curator, a dour-looking older man with suspenders and a pot belly, emerges from a back room surrounded by the scent of pipe smoke. He knows just about enough English to get across that the museum showcases the local flora and fauna, before he retreats back to his pipe - and elevenses, if Tristram's not mistaken by the crumbs on his shirt.
The animal room mostly contains taxidermied specimens of small mammals and reptiles. Tristram thinks, the next time he gets offered an animal corpse larger than a mouse from Father's friend at the zoo, he might like to try his hand at taxidermy. Father has a book on embalming that he used for a case once that probably has some useful tips. The museum also has a display case with insects and arthropods stuck on pins that gives Tristram an idea for another project. He's particularly surprised to see that scorpions are amongst the local fauna. He's always associated scorpions with hot, dry places.
Emily discovers an interactive panel where they can listen to birdcalls and then match them with the pictures of different native bird species by pushing buttons under the pictures. The names are, helpfully, written next to each picture in German, French, and English, along with their Linnean classifications in Latin. Tristram has no idea on most of them, but Emily doesn't either, so they take turns shrugging and laughing and making wild guesses, and laughing even harder when they get one right by chance. The only one they both recognise instantly is the cuckoo (, according to the legend). Tristram always thought that the distinctive descending minor third was just something that someone had made up, but it turns out the bird really does sound like that.
When they leave the museum, John reaches up and breaks off two of the big icicles from the roof and hands them to Tristram and Emily. Emily promptly licks hers like a giant ice-lolly. Tristram's first thoughts are of all the experiments he could do. He could cut cross-sections to look at under the microscope, or maybe put it in the freezer and see if it grows. He could cut it into sections of equal weight and see how long it takes each piece to melt in different places: one up in his room, one on the windowsill in the kitchen, one ... and then he remembers that they're in Switzerland and he doesn't have access to a microscope or a freezer or any of the rooms in their flat. He's not that set on doing an experiment anyway. Not when there are toboggans and ice restaurants and marching games with Emily and Father and John.
Emily's decided her icicle isn't as tasty as an ice-lolly and holds it up like a sword. "En garde!" she cries.
Tristram lifts his icicle in answer to the challenge and taps it gingerly against hers. The tip of her icicle breaks off anyway. Tristram feels bad and is about to apologise when Emily laughs and taps her icicle against his, rather more forcefully. Another chunk of hers falls off. Tristram gamely hits her icicle again, as he gathers that's the game, and this time his is the one that ends up being shortened. And then it's a wild back and forth of blows exchanged as their icicles get progressively smaller and smaller. Finally, they're both holding little more than stubs and no matter how much they bash them against each other, neither one cracks.
"Listen!" Emily says suddenly, letting the chunk of ice fall from her grip. She jerks her head to the side, towards a narrow, shadowy lane.
Tristram freezes with a feeling of dread and strains his ears for the sound of whatever threat she's picked up on. He can't see any movement down the lane, but that doesn't mean there's nothing there. John and Irene haven't noticed anything and are already uncomfortably far away, having walked on ahead while Tristram and Emily carried out their duel. Tristram's already preparing to defend himself and Emily from whatever she's heard when her face brightens and she turns to Tristram.
"Blackbird!" she announces. (Amsel, merle, blackbird, Turdus merula, Tristram's memory supplies. He and Emily had giggled over the turds, so that's why it stuck.)
Even with that, it takes him several seconds to struggle his way back out of the effects of his erroneous conclusion. He is not going to have another panic attack. He is not. He is going to pull air into his lungs and laugh and agree with Emily even though he didn't hear the blackbird - can't hear anything other than the rush of blood in his ears - and then he's going to walk after John and Irene at a perfectly normal pace, without any care in the world other than not slipping on the ice. And although his laugh comes out too high and too short, it does come out. And although his 'right' sounds about as convincing as Mrs Hudson telling Father she's not his housekeeper, Emily looks pleased and casually hooks her arm through his and doesn't even say anything about it being to steady him on the downward-sloping lane.
Tristram wonders how he ever ended up with a friend like Emily.
When they catch up with John and Irene, Emily says she wants to sit down somewhere and have something to drink. Tristram almost suspects she's only saying so because she thinks he should sit down and have something to drink. He's half grateful and half resentful. His knees are still a bit wobbly, but he's not a baby. He doesn't need anyone else to decide what's best for him. But when he searches her open, earnest face, he can't see any signs of subterfuge. Maybe licking the icicle really did make her thirsty.
At any rate, John says he thinks it's a good idea too and Irene is already exclaiming about knowing 'just the place', so Tristram doesn't even have a chance to say he doesn't need a rest.
They end up in a tearoom. John insists they take a table as far from the window as possible, which Tristram is more relieved about than he'd like to admit. John orders a tea for himself and hot chocolate for Tristram and Emily. Irene jumps in before the waitress can walk away and asks for something called 'vermicelles' (it sounds like vair-me-cell, but she shows Tristram the word on the menu and tells him it means 'little worms', which sounds extremely promising) over John's objections that it will ruin their lunch. There's a bit of tense staring over the table, but Irene wins in the end.
When the bowls arrive, they contain what looks like a small pile of brown spaghetti topped with whipped cream. Despite being curious what exactly the 'spaghetti' (he can tell it's not really worms) is, he doesn't reach for the spoon right away. Neither, he notes, does Emily.
John watches them for a moment, then leans forward and whispers, as if it were a secret, "It's not really worms."
Tristram knows that. He's not worried about what it might be made of, and he doesn't generally have a problem trying new foods. It's more that he doesn't want to eat it if it will make John unhappy. He reckons Emily feels the same.
John gives them a smile that's probably meant to be reassuring. Tristram isn't fooled.
One year, not too long before Christmas, Father damaged his violin bow somehow. Tristram never found out what exactly happened, but it was odd because Father's always so careful with both his violin and the bow. Anyway, Father was able to fix it enough that he could still use it to play, but he would get all snarly and cross after not very long, and even Tristram could tell it didn't sound quite right.
This went on for a couple of weeks, and Tristram mentioned it to Uncle Mycroft - really just mentioned; he's not even sure why he said anything at all because he knows Father absolutely hates for Tristram to say anything about him to Uncle Mycroft. Tristram didn't think anything further of it, but when he and Father went down to Mrs Hudson's on Christmas afternoon a few days later to exchange their gifts, there was a mysterious package waiting for Father under her tree.
Tristram thinks Uncle Mycroft was clever to leave it at Mrs Hudson's, because Father knew right away who it was from even though there wasn't a tag, and if it had been just the two of them upstairs in their flat, Father probably would have binned the package without even opening it. But Mrs Hudson wasn't about to let them leave without having seen what was inside the prettily wrapped gift box, so Father sighed in his most put-upon way and tore away the paper to let her see it was just a violin bow.
And then they had rum cake with real rum - and whipped cream, come to think of it, just like the vermicelles - and Mrs Hudson made them listen to one of her vinyl records with some man singing Christmas songs in a funny, wobbly voice. Then they were released to go back to their own flat. The box with the bow was deposited on the coffee table and never opened. Father continued to play with his old, wonky bow.
A few days later, Tristram noticed the new bow had migrated to one of the bookshelves. He stopped paying attention to it then, but he knows that at some point it disappeared from the common living area altogether, because it's not on the bookshelf anymore. Father eventually did get a new bow, but it was a different one.
Tristram's pretty sure there wasn't anything wrong with Uncle Mycroft's bow, other than the fact that it came from Uncle Mycroft. Just like John doesn't think there's anything wrong with the food here at the tearoom, other than the fact that it was Irene's idea.
Tristram wonders whether there's always going to be this tension when John and Irene are in the same room. It makes Tristram feel uncomfortable. He's actually kind of starting to like her. Or at least to be interested by her. She watches things the same way Father does: greedily and with an all-encompassing focus, like there's something important there that no one else is able to see. Tristram wonders if she also makes deductions. She's obviously clever - if not even Father's been able to figure out what she's doing here, she must be very good indeed.
It's not only that, though; reading between the lines of the bare bones explanation of Tristram's origins that Uncle Mycroft gave him, Tristram's figured out that Irene and Father knew each other for a while, back before Tristram was born. He's not sure if they were ever really friends the way that John and Father are, but they ... well, they must have slept in the same bed, probably more than once. Tristram can't possibly imagine his father willingly spending that much time - and especially in such an intimate manner - with anyone he didn't at least find interesting, to some degree, outside of a case.
So there must be something about Irene that Father found worth his time - even if he changed his mind later, or figured out everything he wanted to figure out about her and simply lost interest, the way he loses interest in the body parts he brings home, once he's exhausted their experimental potential. Not that Tristram would expect Father to keep those old body parts around forever, but Tristram sometimes finds the odd ear or pancreas, depleted and black, tied up in a plastic bag in the rubbish. Seeing them makes him feel the way he did when he botched the dissection of the iguana. Mrs Hudson took him to bury the iguana remains in Regent's Park, under a rock, which helped a little. The fingers and livers and scalps Father brings home never get buried; they end up in the council incinerator along with orange peels and old shoes. At least Irene got to go to Singapore and New York.
The point being, however, that Irene really can't be all bad. She's certainly not done anything particularly egregious so far, as far as Tristram's seen. Yet John persists in behaving much the same toward her as Father does toward Uncle Mycroft.
The difference is, John isn't going to throw the food away just to spite Irene.
"It's all right," John assures them. "We're on holiday. Looks good." He nods encouragingly at the vermicelles.
Irene sips her espresso and maintains a polite expression, as if she doesn't care one way or another whether Tristram and Emily try the dish. Maybe she really doesn't. Tristram can't read her with any sort of accuracy. Which may be why his eye keeps being drawn back to her.
Tristram picks up his spoon and scoops up a small amount of the brown spaghetti-worms along with some whipped cream. It smells good. It tastes good too, it turns out. Sort of like marzipan, only not as terribly sweet. He goes for a second, larger spoonful and makes the next discovery at the same time as Emily.
"There's biscuit at the bottom!" she exclaims.
Irene smiles like she was just waiting for someone to say it. Her teeth are very white. Although perhaps it just looks that way because her lipstick is so very red. "It's meringue," she says. "I figured you have to eat something with meringue at least once while you're here."
"Why's that?" Emily asks around her mouthful.
"Because meringue was invented here."
John makes a sceptical sound. "Really?"
"Well, it can't be proven, of course, but that's the story. Meringue... Meiringen. It's where the name comes from, at any rate."
"Huh." John looks like he's not sure whether to be interested in the new information or irritated that Irene knows something he doesn't.
"Do you want a taste, Daddy?" Emily holds out a big spoonful for him.
"Yeah, I'll..." He scans the table then cranes his neck to check the rest of the room. Is he looking for something?
"Here, use mine." Irene picks up the little spoon lying on the saucer beside her espresso cup.
"Oh, no, I-" John starts to protest politely, but Irene cuts across him with a little irritated sound.
"I didn't touch it. Besides," she adds more slyly, "our mouths have been in the same place."
John looks at her sharply. "Recently?" It sounds more like a challenge than a question.
"John, you know a lady doesn't tell tales out of school." Irene appears to be thoroughly enjoying herself, even if Tristram is completely lost. Where have their mouths been?
"You're not going to bait me, and this is an inappropriate topic," John bites out. He picks up three plastic-wrapped toothpicks from the small dispenser on the table and removes the wrapping. Then he holds them together to form a little shovel and uses them to scoop up a small amount of Emily's vermicelles. "Mm, you're right, very good," he tells Emily with an attempt at a smile, but it's clear he's just barely holding on to his temper.
Irene leans forward across the table, as if to speak confidentially to Emily. "I really do like your father, you know," she says in a loud whisper. "He's so much fun to tease."
Emily sucks on her vermicelles a bit, eying Irene coolly. "He's not going to kiss you, you know," she finally decides is the appropriate response.
John chokes and grabs a paper serviette from the dispenser to cough into. Irene laughs out loud. Not the smug, knowing chuckle she's been employing, but something that Tristram reckons is born of genuine delight.
"Emily, darling, you are a treasure," Irene says when she's done.
"I'm not your darling," Emily states flatly. She stares right at her and puts another big spoonful of vermicelles and cream into her mouth.
Irene's expression sobers somewhat, although the mirth is still dancing in her eyes. "No, of course not. I'm sorry. Truly." She reaches across the table to touch the tips of her fingers to Emily's hand. "Maybe we can be friends, though?"
Emily's glare becomes clouded by uncertainty and she looks to her father. John appears to have recovered from his coughing fit. He clears his throat and frowns down at his coffee cup, like he's trying to think of what to say but doesn't end up saying anything after all.
Irene gives him a sidelong glance and withdraws her hand. "Well," she says, noticeably more subdued, "I'll consider you one, and I hope you'll consider me one as well." She drinks the last bit of her espresso. Her lipstick leaves a red mark on the rim of the white porcelain cup. Tristram wonders whether he should try to take the cup with him. If Irene's part of a case, it might be helpful to have a sample of her DNA. But then he remembers that Irene kissed Father on the cheek that morning, so if he needed a DNA sample he could have taken it then.
Tristram takes another spoonful of his vermicelles, making sure to get a nice portion of the meringue. It really is good.
&&&&&&
When John enters the bedroom, Sherlock is lying on his back on the bed, fully clothed, his hands pressed palm-to-palm under his chin. The sound of the television wafts in from the other room.
"Sherlock?" John says softly, checking whether he's awake.
Sherlock grunts but doesn't open his eyes.
John pulls the door most of the way shut and drags one of the two chairs in the room closer to the bed.
"Kids are watching telly. Think we can strike lunch for today, Irene stuffed them full of sweets," he grumbles. "Any news?" He sits down, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
"No, just some... no," Sherlock mumbles vaguely. "Thinking," he adds. His eyes are still closed.
"Really 'no', or nothing you're going to tell me 'no'?" John asks, ignoring the hint.
Sherlock's forehead creases ever so slightly, but he doesn't answer.
John waits several more seconds then says in a low, urgent voice, "Sherlock, we've been here five days. My emergency leave is up in two, and then I really may have to go looking for another job. We've had the kids out of school for almost three weeks. I can't-" He presses his lips together and looks down and away before returning his eyes to Sherlock. "I need to know what's going on." His expression is almost pleading, even though Sherlock can't see it.
Sherlock exhales, then opens his eyes and turns his head toward John. They watch each other for a long moment. Then Sherlock sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed.
"There's a case the police back in London would like me to have a look at."
"Oh," John says, as if he hadn't expected that. "Is it connected, do you think?"
Sherlock looks like he finds the notion ridiculous. "No."
"Well then why are you-" John shakes his head as if to clear it. "Look, never mind that then. Have you heard from Mycroft?"
"I'd tell you if there were anything new." He sounds indignant that John might even suggest otherwise.
John appears unimpressed. "Would you? Or just what you think I need to hear?" He catches and holds Sherlock's gaze.
Sherlock's expression remains inscrutable for several seconds before he gives a little sigh. "It doesn't matter anyway, as there isn't anything new."
"Well, maybe it's time for us to be heading back then," John suggests. "Maybe they decided not to pursue it after losing both Moran and Tonga."
It looks like Sherlock is going to reject the idea out of hand, but then changes his mind abruptly. "All right," he says, as if he's surprised to find it's not such a bad suggestion after all. "Maybe we should. Although it's been a ... rather enjoyable holiday." His voice creeps down a register at the end of the statement and a sly smile sneaks across his face.
John smiles too and leans forward to kiss Sherlock, bracing his hand on Sherlock's thigh. "That it has."
&&&&&&
Chapter notes: 'Dippy' is the nickname of the Diplodocus skeleton displayed in the main hall of the Natural History Museum in London.
Although all of the shops and attractions I've mentioned do exist, I didn't stick to the exact layout of Meiringen, so it may not be possible to reach them all on foot in the amount of time suggested here.
If anyone is interested in visiting Meiringen, here are some links:
The hand weaving and crafts shop.
The bakery with the meringue. The story of the word 'meringue's origin is apocryphal, but often repeated.
The local natural history museum. I made up everything about the inside of this museum. I have no idea what it actually has. Also, it's only open during the summer months.
And of course the Sherlock Holmes museum, which they didn't visit in this story for obvious reasons.
There's also a military base in Meiringen with an airport that you can visit to see the military jets. I wanted to include it in the story because I liked the army connection for John, but then it just seemed like too much and I couldn't think of a good story-related reason for them to go there. But if you are ever in the area, it might be worth a visit. They also put on air shows once in a while.
The Swiss card game is 'Jass' (pronounced 'yahss'). It's something like pinochle, apparently (not that I know how to play pinochle) and is considered a national sport in Switzerland. Tournaments are broadcast every Saturday evening on Swiss television. You can read a bit about the game here.
Jass cards:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-08-03 08:02 pm (UTC)Lovely. And long may their friendship last – Emily seems to understand Tris so well.
”"Blackbird!" she announces. (Amsel, merle, blackbird, Turdus merula, Tristram's memory supplies. He and Emily had giggled over the turds, so that's why it stuck.)”
Yes, they’re quite typical children in that way!!
Thanks for all the links – the Sherlock Holmes Museum looks fascinating.
And looking through the meringue-bakery, did you notice this:
http://frutal.ch/de/Angebot/Spezialitaten/Sherlock-Holmes_Schoggi
Excellent!
The Jass looks fascinating - at first I thought it was the card game we call "Knock-Out Whist", but I see it's on a much grander scale than that - this story is as educational as it's enjoyable!
no subject
Date: 2014-08-03 08:31 pm (UTC)I like a reminder once in a while that Tristram and Emily are really still just kids, even though I often ascribe rather adult thoughts and behaviors to them. :)
Jass might well be similar to whist. Jass has never really interested me tbh so I'm not that well versed in the rules.
We're pretty much at the end of the sight seeing tour now. Events are going to start happening soon!