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j-eryewrites · 2 years ago

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The Dancing Men (I)

Part 15 of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221B Baker Street

Word Count: 6.5k (back to normal-sized chapters)

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Warnings: Sherlock is Sherlock, descriptions of violence and gore, Sherlock is absolutely in love with the reader, slow burn finally working its magic.

Author’s Notes: You know how Benoit Blanc is horrific at Among Us even though he’s a detective, I say the same logic applies to Sherlock. At least that’s my headcanon. I also mixed a request into this chapter XD

John was quite enjoying how the evening was turning out. He sat smugly in his chair across from Sherlock whose face was stuck in a perpetual frown. It wasn’t every day John could say he had the upper hand on Sherlock.

What started out as a simple game of Cluedo, or “Clue” as Y/N had put it, now became an obsession for Sherlock. John chuckled at the sight of his friend. He would have never expected the great Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective to be reduced to nothing over a simple mystery game.

“Professor Plum. The revolver. In the study,” Sherlock muttered.

“Is that your final answer?” John asked. He raised a brow quizzically. Of course, he knew the answer. He had guessed it after the third round but had been so kind as to not tell Sherlock.

Sherlock glared at John. “Positive.” Each letter was enunciated perfectly as it fell from Sherlock’s voice. He was getting on edge, John noted as he motioned to the envelope in the middle of the board game.

Sherlock lunged at the cards and as he flipped them over, a cry of outrage left his mouth. “That’s not possible. Professor Plum. The revolver. In the study. Not Ms. Peacock with the rope in the kitchen!” He yelled.

“Sherlock, it’s only a game!” John laughed earning another glare from Sherlock.

“No, John. It’s not just a game.” Sherlock’s voice was oozing with frustration. He ran his hands through his curly hair and gripped it tightly. He sucked in, an attempt at a deep breath. “Onemoreround.”

“What?” John asked. He leaned forward in concern. Sherlock really was getting worked up over a game.

“One. More. Game. John. But this time–” Sherlock said. “We do it my way.”

“Sherlock that’s not how–”

That’s how John ended up on the floor of his flat. His face got quite comfortable with the ground as Sherlock paced around the room. Watching Sherlock navigate the flat was like watching a child attempt to dance. His steps were jerky and stiff as he ducked, jumped, and twirled around the room. His hand pointed out following along the clues the game has so far revealed. Suddenly, Sherlock dipped out of John’s narrow viewing field. However, he was eager to continue watching his friend obsess over Cluedo.

“Don’t move.” Sherlock snapped.

“Sherloc–”

“Don’t. Move.”

John sighed in defeat. This was going to be a long night. John’s only thought of consolidation was that at least Y/N would be enjoying it. He heard the music she played through the floorboards as she got ready for her date with Jim that night. It was a nice tune, not something John would listen to willingly, but something to keep him distracted as he played the murder victim. He even found himself humming along before Sherlock declared dead bodies don’t hum and threatened to silence his friend with duct tape.

It wasn’t long before the boredom reached John. While seeing Sherlock fret over a silly game was hilarious, being glued to the floor was not. The wooden floor was uneven in some areas and John could swear something sticking into his side. He tried to re-adjust only to earn another harsh threat from Sherlock.

Soon John found himself dozing off; a result of the faint music from below and Sherlock’s muffled footsteps. John would have fallen into a deep sleep if it were not for Sherlock’s sudden outburst.

“I’ve got it!” Sherlock shouted.

John peered up at Sherlock and snickered at the sight. Sherlock looked like a crazed man. His hair stuck out in all sorts of ways, and his shirt was wrinkled and untucked. There were even a few buttons left open. His robe swayed at his sides and he ducked under the numerous amounts of red thread tied around the room. Oh, did John forget to mention the redecorating the flat had gone through?

Not only had Sherlock forced John to play dead, but had also conjured the different murder weapons as stated by the game, took the character cards, and some red thread, and placed them in their respective rooms. Those rooms of course were adapted to be the very rooms of their flat. Connecting each weapon, character, room, and, well, John, were red threads. Where Sherlock had found the insane amount of red thread he did not know, however, what John did know was that Y/N was going to have a fit seeing the state of the flat.

“Hit me,” John said. Sherlock raised his brow in an interesting manner. One that scared John. “No, don’t actually hit me. Just–” John could swear he saw Sherlock’s demeanour fall. “What’s the verdict?”

“John Watson, my dear friend, was found dead in the study at 6.49 in the evening. The suspects are as follows–”

“Can I get up?”

“No.” Sherlock cleared his throat. “Suspects are as follows: Ms. Peacock, Ms. Scarlet, Dr. Orchid, Rev. Greene, Professor Plum, and Colonel Mustard. When each suspect was interrogated, I came to find–”

John groaned. Sherlock was conducting a case. A case for a game. “Get to it!” John yelled.

“Dead bodies don’t speak, John,” hissed Sherlock.

“Sherlock…” John said warningly.

“Fine.” Sherlock walked into his room and emerged with a wrench in hand. It was large and very clearly a real wrench. John grumbled to himself. This was entirely his fault. He had indulged Sherlock too much and now he was going to be murdered over a game of Cluedo. Though, thought John, Y/N would have his back and make sure that Sherlock would pay tenfold. Now that, John was okay with it. “What you didn’t realize, John, is that your old lover Dr. Orchid would be in attendance tonight. She was jealous of you and your success in your career. When she had the chance she cornered you in the ballroom for one final dance with death. A dance that you did not walk away from.” Sherlock raised the wrench above John’s body. “With a wrench, she had found underneath the kitchen sink, she beat you to death.” Sherlock made a few gruesome sounds to what he thought a dying man would make.

“Alright, I get it. I died–”

“Your body was beaten to a pulp. Blood, brains, and bone fragments mixed together like a–”

“Sherlock, I get it!” John yelled. He would have given Sherlock more of an earful if it weren’t for the clearing of a throat. John looked quizzically at Sherlock. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John. Neither of them had made the sound.

There it was again. It came from a man noted Sherlock. He could tell from the pitch. It was too low for a woman to produce. Sherlock also noted that it came from the doorway. Slowly the detective and his friend peered over to the entryway. In the doorway stood a man in his late twenties. He wore a dark-coloured polo shirt and a nice pair of trousers. There was no wrinkle in sight. His hair was slicked back with gel in a stylish manner and he flashed a nervous grin.

The man, whoever he was, was unsure of the scene before him. In fact, he was almost sure that he was about to witness a murder if it were for the ramblings of John; who had to explain the scenario. Finding out that they were playing a game of Cluedo didn’t help ease the man’s suspicion.

“Who are you?” Sherlock asked. His face bore no sign of emotion as he eyed the man in front of him. From just his watch, Sherlock could tell he came from wealth. The golden ring on his finger meant he was married and the fact that it was polished let Sherlock know it was well-loved: a happy marriage. Sherlock noted next was the man’s choice of outerwear. The jacket he so carefully held in his hand was much too thin for the weather London had been receiving the past few days. This led Sherlock to his final conclusion, the man was from out of town, even more so, from out of the country.

A deduction that was proven accurate the moment the man answered Sherlock’s question.

“The name’s Hilton Cubitt.” He introduced himself with an Irish accent and was quick to follow with a hand ready for Sherlock to shake, who quite literally left him hanging. “I assume that your Mr. Holmes?”

“Speaking.”

“Grand.” Hilton smiled in relief. “The whole fake murder thing makes sense now,” he joked.

John let out an uneasy chuckle. “Yeah…what are you here for Hilton?” He cleared his throat and once again realized his position on the floor. It took a moment and some tripping over the scatter thread for John to stand up. He could have sworn Sherlock was displeased to have his “dead body” removed.

“It’d be just easier to show than to…tell,” Hilton clarified. Then he reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a small slip of paper. Now this intrigued Sherlock, so he quickly snatched it out of Hilton's hands.

Sherlock’s head tilted to the side with curiosity. A smile grew on his face. John took the peer over Sherlock’s shoulder at the sheet of paper.

“That’s a child’s drawing,” John muttered and he was confident in his deduction. Upon the sheet of paper were small stick figures. Each figure is in a different position, almost like steps to a dance.

“That your idea?” Sherlock. “Honestly, John after all this time I would have thought you’d have a more intelligent answer.”

John elbowed Sherlock in his side. “You’re just still upset after I beat you in six rounds of Cluedo.”

Sherlock clenched his jaw and turned away from his friend. “Then I suggest we get the opinion of another. Someone who is unbiased.”

Immediately, John shook his head. “No, Sherlock. She’s getting ready for a date. You can’t–”

But it was too late. Sherlock had already vacated the flat with the code in hand. John’s mouth hung agape before he asked Hilton for a moment and darted down the stairs after Sherlock.

_______

Y/N quietly hummed along to the song playing on the stereo. She loved to hum or sing. It was one of the things that made her human and to know that she was alive. The feeling of her throat tickled as she mimicked the melody as best she could. One of her favourite feelings besides that of rain dancing across her skin or hugs from those she loved. The way they’d hold each other close in an embrace. It didn’t matter who the hug was from; her parents, Mrs. Hudson, John, Jim, and even Sherlock. There was even some part of her that preferred Sherlock’s stiff but calming embrace to anyone else’s.

Now that she came to think of it, Y/N had been thinking more and more about Sherlock. She attributed the thoughts and feelings to all the events that had transpired in the past few months. Case after case. Danger after danger. It would only make sense she’d need to find comfort in someone who understood. She only really could find comfort in someone who was there. Of course, she had considered talking to Jim, but he’d just worry. He was great like that. He’d worry as a good boyfriend should, but then would just tell her to leave. Just like he did when she told him about the reason she refused to take cabs.

“If it’s dangerous, then leave. Darling, just leave. Come work for me. Somewhere safe.” Those words, Jim’s words echoed in her head. She didn’t want to leave. She loved working with John and Sherlock. She loved helping others. She loved feeling like she was making a difference in the world. Something she doubted she could do working for Jim and his consulting company. Additionally, working for your boyfriend was weird. It felt like a commitment that would soon turn into an obligation. An obligation that would force her to stay, but Jim wouldn’t do that. He was the perfect gentleman. He probably just wanted to keep Y/N safe. Anyone would do that.

Suddenly the door flung open. Only one person would ever just barge into her flat like that. Y/N sighed. She’d have to get the door hinges replaced with the force Sherlock used to swing the door open.

“To what do I owe the pleasure,” She sarcastically questioned. Her tone was an attempt to hide that she was really happy he barged in. A tone that hid she’d be willing to replace her door hinges so long as he kept coming, but it came out harsher than she expected. Something she realized when she saw Sherlock’s dazed state.

“I’m sor—just…” She cleared her throat. “You alright? Clue going well?”

As she said it, she realized Sherlock was more dishevelled than she had ever seen. Was his hair always this curly and out of place? Then Y/N thought of how much she would like to run her finger through his hair. It looked soft, so she imagined it like that. As soft as clouds, or those unbelievably fuzzy blankets you couldn’t help but just run a hand over at the markets.

“You look–,” Stunning. Breathtaking. Like she’d rival Aphrodite’s beauty. Sherlock cleared his throat. “Sorry, what did you ask me?”

“Uh…just…clue? How’s it going?” She repeated.

Sherlock gulped. “...Great. And you?”

“I’m doing okay,” She said softly. Why had her voice gotten so quiet?

Sherlock nodded and looked around the room. His eyes darted frantically over the photos on the wall, then to the array of cat toys around her flat. Right, she had a cat. He could ask about that.

“Your cat?” Sherlock muttered.

“Bjørn? Erm… he’s with Mrs. Hudson right now. She spoils him rotten,” She chuckled. Then Y/N began to fiddle with her hands.

Something Sherlock knew to be a nervous habit. “You alright?” He asked again.

Y/N laughed again. “Are you sure you’re fine Sherlock? That’s the second time you’ve asked me that question.”

“Right, I mean-” His voice faltered as she stepped up to him. Her hand now rested on his forehead. She peered up at him. She was so close that Sherlock could see his face reflected in her eyes. They were gorgeous. He never knew so many colours could appear in a singular shade.

“You’re burning up, and your face it’s all red,” She muttered, finally lowering her hand. “You’ve got to tell Joh–”

“Sherlock, I told you to leave her al–” John began to reprimand his friend before shutting his mouth abruptly. He had thought Sherlock frazzled at a simple children’s game was something, but the sight before him was even better.

Sherlock stood in front of Y/N. Nothing too out of the ordinary. However, what John seemed to notice was the state of shock Sherlock seemed to be in. His mouth hung slightly open and his lips frozen in thought trying to find words to say. His cheeks have flushed a shade of red that John had only seen in cartoons. On top of it all, John could swear there were even hearts forming in Sherlock’s eyes as he gazed at Y/N.

John chuckled slightly and wished he had taken a picture. His laugh and presence seemed to have shaken Sherlock from his trance.

“You look nice,” John complimented Y/N.

She smiled softly and looked down at her dress. It was a brilliant shade of blue. She ran her hands over the material straightening it out. “Thanks,” Y/N muttered.

“John, I think Sherlock’s getting sick. His face is flushed and I think he has a fev–”

“I’m perfectly fine, Y/N,” Sherlock blurted.

John snickered. “Now that you say it, Y/N, Sherlock does look a little feverish.”

“I’m not sick,” Sherlock stated.

“Lovesick,” John coughed. Sherlock sent John a death glare upon hearing the words, but it seemed as if Y/N hadn’t noticed. It took John a moment to notice the confusion on Y/N's face. He quickly looked to Sherlock to see if the man who came charging into her flat was going to do any explaining, but he seemed to be occupied with gazing at Y/N.

“We need your opinion on something,” John said. He strolled up next to Sherlock and nudged his shoulder. This seemed to get Sherlock back in working condition.

“Right. Look at this,” Sherlock instructed. He handed Y/N the paper Hilton had given them moments prior.

The expression of confusion grew on her face. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“That’s for you to decide,” Sherlock explained.

She looked up from the paper and eyed Sherlock carefully. “Right. You know, I really do have to go can’t I just–”

“No!” Sherlock cleared his throat. “No, just…quickly what do you think it is?”

Y/N glanced down at the paper once more. The hesitance was clear in her voice as she said “A child’s picture? Like one a kid draws.”

John cheered in triumph. “Told you.”

Sherlock sneered at John. “Clearly both you and Y/N are lacking in some–”

But Sherlock did not get to finish for Y/N’s phone began to ring. “That’ll be Jim. Go to go.” She took a few steps outside the door before quickly turning on her heel. “Can you close the door behind you?” Her voice was directed more towards John than Sherlock.

John nodded and wished her a good time. Even Sherlock flashed a smile to her as she left, but it was soon replaced with a scowl.

John giggled at the sight. “When are you going to admit that you like her?”

“We have a client waiting, John,” Sherlock said.

“Change the subject all you’d like, but still does not change the fact that you fancy her,” John replied.

Sherlock didn’t even bother to reply to John as he left Y/N’s flat and embarked back up the stairs.

______

“What do think?” Hilton asked John and Sherlock.

The three of them now sat down in the flat: John in his chair, Sherlock on his ‘throne’, and Hilton Cubitt on the sofa next to the empty Cluedo game box. The way they were situated made Hilton feel like he was being interviewed.

“Of what?” Sherlock asked. His eyes came to focus on Hilton.

“The code,” Hilton uttered. “I read on your blog,” his voice grew sheepish, “of a case you recently solved involving a code. I thought you might be able to help me.”

John furrowed his brows. What case could– ”The Blind Banker?”

Hilton nodded. “Excellent storytelling might I add.”

John smiled and thanked Hilton. Sherlock looked between Hilton and John before clearing his throat just loud enough to end the conversation. John and Hilton’s gaze whipped to Sherlock. John’s expression was annoyed while Hilton’s was embarrassed.

“It’s rather curious. At first glance it’s a childish prank, so why do you say that it’s a code?” Sherlock questioned. He sent John a ‘don’t-give-me-that-look-he’s-here-for-a-case-and-not-to-fan-girl-you’ look.

“My wife,” Hilton said.

Suddenly a quizzical expression appeared on Sherlock’s face. “How does your wife let you know that it’s a code? Did she tell you?”

“In a way she did,” Hilton replied. “One evening she saw the drawing and was frightened to death. When I asked her about it, she said that it was nothing, but I could see the terror in her eyes. Not just some childish prank would scare my wife like that. That’s why I came to you hoping you might help me.

Sherlock looked at the paper once more. His pointer finger ran over the images. This was all very strange. Strange was exactly what Sherlock was looking for. One might even say that Sherlock’s middle name was strange. “Alright. Now, I need to know everything in detail.”

Hilton nodded. He was quick to adjust his sitting position into something more comfortable. “Now, I’m not much of a storyteller…Just ask me anything that I don’t make clear.” He cleared his throat and fumbled with the fabric of his trousers. “I’ll start at my marriage four years ago. Now, I’m not rich in any way, but my family, well, there’s no better-known family in Norfolk than the Cubitts. Anyways, I went to America about four years ago.”

“Where?” Sherlock asked. “Details.”

“New York. It was there I met Elsie Patrick. I fell in love and quickly married her. Came back home to Norfolk after that. Many people’d say that it was too fast for such a thing, but you don’t know Elsie. She was upfront about everything. Kept giving me the chance to get out of it if I wanted to. I remember she said, when I proposed to her, that she had relations with the not-so-agreeable sort. A past that she wanted to forget. She asked that I never asked her about her painful past. I agreed. Of course I did! It didn’t matter to me who she was before I met her. All that mattered was if she’d be with me the rest of my life.”

Sherlock sat in his chair, hands under his chin, eyes out of focus, his ears taking in all the information Hilton was providing, and his mind in deep thought. Something John knew not to disrupt.

“What about the code?” John asked.

“Well,” Hilton glanced down the floor. His voice changed from one of light and love to one of seriousness. “About a month ago, Elsie received a letter from America.”

“How did you know that it was from America?” Sherlock questioned.

“I saw the postage. Stamp and all. But when she saw it, her face turned white. Like she saw a ghost. Moments later, she read the letter and then tossed it into the fire. I didn’t ask her about it, but she was scared of Mr. Holmes. I knew she’d come and talk to me when she was ready.” Hilton turned to John, “But about the code. About a week later from the letter, must have been Tuesday last week–I found the figures drawn on a window sill. I thought it must have been our daughter.”

“Daughter?” John wondered.

The seriousness faded from Hilton’s face at the mention of his daughter. “Yes, she’s three and a half. Loves to draw!” Then he reached into his pockets and pulled out his wallet. Inside was an image of a young girl and woman, who John assumed was his wife. Hilton made quick work of displaying the photo for John and Sherlock to see. “One of the greatest things that happened to me, my girl. But if you give her a crayon, she’d decorate the whole house!”

Once again, Sherlock cleared his throat. Hilton immediately put away the photo he cherished. “Right,” Hilton continued, “well I washed the drawings away. Later that night, I mentioned them to Elsie who had the same look on her face when she opened the letter. She asked me to show her the drawings if I found any more before washing them away. And I didn’t find another until a few days ago. She saw the drawings and collapsed with fear. I knew something was wrong so I came to you. The police wouldn’t believe me. Mr. Holmes. I’m not rich, but I would do anything to protect my wife and daughter.”

“Don’t you think you should ask your wife to tell you?” John asked. It was a reasonable question and John got the sense that all would be well if Hilton only had the courage to ask.

Hilton shakes his head. “A promise is a promise. I won’t force her to tell me anything she doesn’t want me to.” He glanced down at the golden band on his ring finger and softly smiled.

“I’ll help you,” Sherlock announced.

A wave of relief washed over Hilton. “Thank you, Mr. Hol–”

“Have you heard of any strangers being seen in your neighbourhood?” Sherlock asked.

“No,” Hilton replied.

“Norfolk. A quiet place right? A new face would be news,” Sherlock questioned.

John peered at his friend. How would Sherlock know about the environment place in Ireland, but not be able to win a single round of Cluedo?

“In my neighbourhood, yes, but we have several farmers who take in lodgers. Along with the occasional tourist.”

Sherlock nodded his head slowly, his mind taking note of the information Hilton had provided him. “These drawings obviously have meaning, something I may be able to solve, so long as they aren’t just arbitrary drawings. However, this image is not enough. Do you have any more images of the code?”

“No, but I’ll be returning home soon. Tomorrow’s my flight back,” Hilton explained.

John’s eyes widened at the statement. Hilton really would do anything for his family if he’d just fly to London just to see Sherlock.

“I suggest you keep an eye out for such drawings and document them,” Sherlock suggested. “If and when you do find them send them to me as soon as possible. That is all I can do until I have more of the code to study.”

“Right,” Hilton said. His face flashed with an expression of disappointment. “Well, here’s my business card. It’s got my email and number if you need to contact me.”

John looked at the white business card Hilton had stuck out for either Sherlock or him to take. A business card was a smart idea. He made a mental note to possibly ask Y/N to make some for Sherlock. It would really make these cases much more efficient.

After noting that neither man in front of him was going to take the card from his hands, Hilton placed it on the coffee table in front of him. “Well, there…um,” He looked to John.

“Right! You’ll be needing our number and email as well…?” John replied.

Hilton nodded. “That would be great. It’s not the easiest to fly to London on a whim.”

“You flew on a whim?” Sherlock asked.

“Of course not, had a purpose…thank you again. I’ll be sure to send you any more of that code I find,” Hilton explained. Then he politely excused himself from 221B heading back to his hotel to prepare for his journey home.

The moment Hilton Cubitt had left the flat, Sherlock did not waste a moment in asking John for his phone.

“Why can’t you use your phone?”

“I need to call someone about the case,” Sherlock replied as if that was an adequate answer.

“I’m aware Sherlock but can’t you use your phone?”

“No, they won’t answer if it’s me,” Sherlock muttered. He stuck out his hand for John to place his phone into.

John peered at his friend. “Who wouldn’t answer if it was you?” John asked.

“None of your concern,” Sherlock clarified. “Phone.”

“Cause the only people I can think of are Mycroft, Greg, and…No, Sherlock,” John stated.

“It’s important. Hilton mentioned his wife is from America, who better to ask about the case than her,” Sherlock argued.

“Just because she is American does not mean she’s going to know everyone who’s ever set foot in the country let alone known about the case,” John refuted.

Sherlock huffed. “John. Phone.”

“No. She is on a date, Sherlock! She followed your rules. You gave her the night off. You must respect that,” John scolded Sherlock. “Just like Cluedo, you can’t change the rules of the game just because you aren’t winning. Which by the way,” John stomped over the tiny envelope that held the answer to the game. “You lost once again. It was Miss Scarlet with the dagger in the Billard room.”

In a fury, he tossed the cards at Sherlock’s face and stormed off to his room. The loud slamming of John’s door echoed throughout 221B. Sherlock picked up the cards from the floor and clutched them in his hand. He clenched his teeth together and crinkled the cards within his hand.

It was a stupid game. A stupid game Y/N had thought he might have fun playing. A stupid game that followed no logic. A stupid game that Sherlock lost over and over again. What was he doing wrong? Wasn’t wanting the prize–wasn’t wanting to win enough? Nothing was making sense anymore. Clues weren’t leading to anything. Y/N couldn’t see she was making it all worse. She plagued his thoughts. Thoughts that were never meant for anything other than logic. Y/N wasn’t logical. John had pointed that out to him long ago. Nothing about the way she smiled or how she laughed at a comment he uttered to Anderson made sense. So why did her gentle hand on his forehead or how she asked if he was well, feel so right? The thought of her in that dress singing to herself was all he ever needed. It wasn’t logical how Sherlock would throw away any thought of sanity just to be hers. This wasn’t Sherlock. Sherlock was logical and followed the rules of intelligence. Sherlock wasn’t swayed by emotion. Sherlock didn’t lose.

He retrieved the paper depicting the code. This here was logical. A code. A worried husband. A case. The cases were logical. Sherlock followed logic. What hadn’t occurred to him was how late he sat in his chair staring at the drawings. His eyes were strained from observing the stick figures for the hundredth time. He was committing them to memory: The width of the circles that were used as heads, the direction each figure was facing, the poses of each stick figure, and the material they were drawn with. The sun had long since set below the horizon and Baker Street had gone quiet. Sherlock ignored how heavy his body felt. His eyelids were begging to close. But when they did, he thought of her and she wasn’t logical. Instead, he kept them open and looked at the drawings once more.

_________

Y/N’s feet were aching when she finally reached the comforting black door of 221B Baker Street. She lovingly brought a hand to the raised number 221B and remember when she saw them for the first time. It was the first time she walked into her home. Y/N wasn’t afraid to admit that her home was Baker Street and that she shared her home with those she loved most. John and his sweet demeanour, Mrs. Hudson and her soap operas, Sherlock and his gross experiments, and Bjørn and his demon-like screech. This was home.

She made quick work of finding her keys, opening the door, and stepping into the warmth and comfort of 221B Baker Street. The entryway was dimly lit and the light, Y/N observed, came from Sherlock’s flat. His door was wide open allowing the light from the room to seep out into the hallway. That only meant one thing. Sherlock was awake.

Y/N took in a tired breath and dismayed her want to crawl into her bed with Bjørn tucked under her arm and fall asleep. She trudged up the stairs as quietly as she could before appearing in Sherlock’s doorway.

He sat peacefully. His sapphire blue eyes glowed in the dark as he stared out the window. His legs were crossed comfortably in his seat and in his hand he clutched a paper tightly.

“What are you doing up so late?” Y/N asked.

She watched as Sherlock froze the moment he heard her words. He turned away from the window and gazed at her.

“Could ask you the same thing. How was your date?” He replied.

“You won’t get off that easy,” Y/N chuckled. “You need to sleep, Sherlock.”

“I will…how was the date?” He asked again.

Y/N sighed softly before hanging up her coat and removing her heels. She forgot why she even wore them in the first place. They always made her feet hurt for days afterwards. She was soon to find a seat on the sofa.

“It was nice. It was some charity event. Had a nice dinner and danced a little bit. Nothing too crazy.” She began to fiddle with the hem of her dress. It was satin. The soft material was smooth against her fingers. Then she laid back on the sofa, her head bumped into the box for Cluedo. She muttered a subtle “ow,” before taking notice of the room.

“You’ve redecorated.” She noted. Her eyes caught sight of the red thread, the rope on the coffee table, and the game cards taped to the walls. “Must have been a fun game by the looks of it.”

“You’d have to ask John. I lost every round.” Sherlock confessed.

Y/N gasped. “Sherlock Holmes lost every round of Cluedo? Is it solving mysteries and murders your forte?” She said it with such humour, Sherlock let it slide.

Sherlock playfully rolled his eyes, “The game doesn’t follow logic, so of course John won.”

Then she giggled. Just the sound of her laugh alone drew Sherlock out of his sorrow. He couldn’t help the chuckle that left his mouth. He had always heard of laughing being contagious but only really believed it when he met her.

It took only a moment for them to settle down. The fuel to their laughter was long gone. Y/N tucked her feet in close to her body as goosebumps appeared on her arms. The tiny bumps were the body's way of keeping heat, at least that’s what Sherlock told her as he offered her a blanket. One she gladly took.

“He asked me to move in with him,” Y/N whispered. She wasn’t sure why she was telling Sherlock this. Maybe it was because Sherlock felt most like home. She didn’t want to leave her home.

Sherlock tensed at her words. “...What did you say?”

Y/N rubbed the back of her neck. “Jim, he asked me to move in with him. Said I’d think about it, but I’m leaning towards no. After all, what would you and John do without me?”

“You don’t–” Sherlock sighed. “You can move in with him if you want.” Immediately he wanted to hurl. What was he saying? Seeing her leave? He shook his head. No, this was logical. Her moving is logical. Who was kidding, it was the worst thing possible. Who would he have to bother when he was bored? Who would care about him when he no longer cared? He’d have John, but he wasn’t Y/N.

Y/N shook her head. “Not just…I don’t want to move just because of you and John. Baker Street is my home. I–I could never leave,” Y/N confessed. “Plus, I think Jim asked me because he was worried. He found John’s blog and read about the Blind Banker incident. Doesn’t want me to get hurt chasing after you, but it’s my job and I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.”

She wasn’t going to leave. This eased Sherlock’s mind and beating heart, but then he felt guilty. Her boyfriend was right, she was hurt because of the case. “He’s right, you know. It’s dangerous.”

“I know what I signed up for Sherlock,” Y/N hissed. “Sorry, just…it’s too perfect.”

Sherlock frowned. “What’s too perfect?”

Y/N realized her mistake. Her face flushed and her voice grew quiet. “Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing if it’s bothering you,” Sherlock stated. He leaned forward in his chair and placed a hand over hers.

Y/N smiled softly at the gesture. “He’s too perfect. Our relationship. Everything,” Y/N groaned. She didn’t notice how Sherlock winced.

“Jim, he’s smart, kind, handsome, and ever the gentleman. He knows exactly what I want. Never fails to take me on an amazing date, likes my favourite foods, and has read the same books I have. He’s perfect. Exactly what I want. Which sounds crazy, but he–it doesn’t feel real. By now I’d think I’d actually know him. He hasn’t really told me what does for work…”

“What does he do?” Sherlock asked.

“He consults business, but that’s all he’s told me. I don’t know his favourite colour, where he’s from, or anything. It’s all about me, but he’s…he’s perfect,” Y/N sighed. “It doesn’t make sense. Nobody’s perfect…I don’t know what to do, Sherlock,” She confessed. “You don’t just break up with somebody because they’re perfect. It doesn’t help that he wants to take me away. On a trip or something…I don’t know. Just…nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing is what it seems. I fear you’ve corrupted me, Sherlock.”

He chuckled. “I’ve corrupted you?”

“Yeah. You’ve made me think. To observe, to not trust anything at first glance. Now nothing is ever what it seems,” Y/N admitted with a smile on her face.

Sherlock smiled back. “And that’s good?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah. You’re great–It’s great.”

“I’m glad,” said Sherlock.

“So am I. It just makes everything that much more complicated.”

“Exactly,” Sherlock replied.

Y/N hummed in response. She took Sherlock’s hands within her own and Sherlock could swear his heart did a backflip off a cliff. She peered at his hands carefully. Her thumbs lovingly ran over his knuckles. Sherlock felt as if his skin was on fire. It burned to have her hold his hands. The hands were delicate things used for almost everything Sherlock did. To burn them was to render him useless and that’s what she did. Sherlock was rendered useless in the best way possible.

“You should really get some sleep, Sherlock.”

“Ah, but I have a case that needs working on. A code to solve.”

“Sherlock,” Y/N warned.

“I’ll tell you all about it. A client, Hilton Cubitt walked in while John and I were playing Cluedo and —”

“Sherlock,” Y/N interrupted. “You can tell me all about it tomorrow.”

“It is tomorrow,” Sherlock stated. He tilted his head towards the clock behind him.

“You know what I mean. We both need sleep. You more than anyone,” Y/N said. Sherlock opened his mouth to refute her statement when she cut him off. “Even the great Sherlock Holmes needs to sleep. If not for yourself, then for me.”

Sherlock couldn’t find it in him to refuse her. He wouldn’t be able to refuse her anything. He nodded and watched as she removed her hands from his.

In her tiredness, Y/N drew away from Sherlock. She stood up from her seat, picked up her shoes and coat, and went downstairs to her flat where she crawled downstairs into her bed and fell asleep. At least that’s what she told herself she would do all. Just then she leaned in close. She blamed it on the fog her mind was in. Nothing was ever what it seemed to be anymore. Her lips brushed against Sherlock’s forehead, her hands resting in his hair as she brushed it away from his face.

“Goodnight, Sherlock,” she whispered against his skin. Just like she said she would, she left Sherlock in his chair. Her coat in shoes was in her arms as she descended the stairs.

Now, if things were logical, Sherlock wouldn’t have let her pull away. He would grasp her wrists and hold her close. He would have whispered to her that she missed. Then he would have placed his lips on hers. He would have kissed her if things were logical. But nothing was anymore. Not when Y/N was with him.

_________

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starryevermore · 2 years ago

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sweet memories ✧ benoit blanc

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

request: Either 3 separate ideas or all together into one: (for Knives out/Glass onion. Any character but probs best for detective Blanc)

● Getting drunk/tipsy and reminiscing their time in their training

● Blanc (?) and reader on a case and one of them gets severely hurt and it’s a choice of whether they continue to chase suspect or help the other

● one of them trying to re-enact what theoretically could have happened on a case, person b paying no attention to this, and suddenly person A is in front of them trying different death methods. Someone walking in and being horrified. Person B saying sorry, person A saying it’s normal. - anon

pairing: benoit blanc x male!reader

summary: you and benoit reminisce on your relationship.

word count: 1,613

warnings?: minor spoilers for glass onion, maybe slightly out of character benoit, established relationship, fluff, gunshot wound, mention of murder, not proofread

Benoit Blanc had not changed much since you had last seen him, you mused. Still had his beautiful, piercing blue eyes. Still had a brain that run a million miles a minute. Still managed to impress you with every single thing he does. It was almost unfair, how perfect the man sitting across from you was. At least he had one fault that you knew of. At least you could still pull out the fact that you’ve beat him at every single game of Clue you played against him. He always hated when you did that, arguing that he wasn’t good at dumb games so it wasn’t fair to keep holding that over his head. But with that sparkling twinkle in his eyes, you knew he didn’t really mean it. Benoit was a teasing man—around you, at least. To the rest of the world, he was the world’s greatest detective. But to you, he was ole Benny, an awkward fella who was a far shout from the greatest at anything.

“Ain’t seen you in a while,” he said, looking at you over the rim of his glass as he took a long sip of his drink. He set the glass down, smacking his lips. “You solve any good mysteries lately?”

“Nothing as great as you,” you said. “I mean, showing the world that Miles Brown is a complete nitwit? You’re really taking that whole eat-the-rich thing to heart.”

Benoit waved you off, shaking his head. “It was dumber than a game of Clue. Man didn’t even have the ability to come up with an original murder. Stole all his ideas from everyone.”

“Well, look on the bright side. At least you finally won a game of Clue,” you teased, leaning forward, resting your elbows on the table. “Never thought I’d see the day. Someone should put that in the history books, you know. Benoit Blanc: World’s Greatest Detective, Bested by Clue Except for that One Time.”

“That’s a terrible title for a book. Nobody’d pick it up.”

“I would.”

“Probably ‘cause you’d be the one writin’ it.”

You hummed, taking a sip of your drink. “Someone’s gotta expose you as the dork you truly are. Everyone acts like you’re some James Bond type o’ figure. They deserve to know you’re more of…I don’t know. Who’s the silliest character you can think of?”

Benoit hummed. “Clark Kent?”

“I said silliest character, not the character you’ve got the hots for!” you laughed.

“Oh, come on! The whole glasses disguise? Seriously? No one ever thought, hey this guy looks kinda sorta similar to Superman? I refuse to believe that!”

“Not everyone is as brilliant as you, Benny boy,” you said. You took another sip of your drink. “God, I hate Superman. Remember that one time, when we were working a case together? The jewelry heist case?”

Benoit’s face turned red. He probably didn’t like thinking of that case very much. You couldn’t blame him, if you were being honest. You didn’t like to think of it, either. “You know I could never forget that case.”

“All I really remember of it is bein’ in the hospital. They had stupid Superman movie playing all the time. Man of Steel, or somethin’? I used to like it before, but god, a guy can only watch that shit so many times before it gets annoyin’. I swear, if I see Henry Cavill put on that super suit again, it’d be too soon.”

“I’d prefer to remember it as the day I realized I love you,” Benoit said.

You let out a laugh. “What, it took me being on my death bed to realize you loved me?”

It had been a complete and utter disaster. It wasn’t often that you and Benoit worked together on a case. But this was a tough nut to crack, so Benoit invited you along, telling the client that if she wanted the case to be solved, it was imperative you be there, too. The client hadn’t really been willing, but recognized she had no real choice in the matter so she bit her tongue. After all, she wanted to make sure she was not the victim in the jewelry heist.

Things had gone well enough, if you were being honest. After a few false starts and some misleading clues, you and Benoit were close to triumphant. But neither of you could have expected the suspect to have a gun, much less use it.

He’d been aiming at Benoit. You panicked, your blood running cold. Before you could even think about what you were doing, you jumped and positioned yourself between Benoit and the bullet. It struck you, lodging itself in your side. You screamed as you fell, hitting the floor, hard.

Pain practically blinded you as you reached up, touching your wound. When you pulled your hand away, it was sticky with blood. You lifted your head, seeing Benoit falling to his knees, his hand covering your wound, applying pressure. You twisted your head the best you could, watching as the suspect ran.

“Go,” you whispered. You couldn’t manage to make your voice any louder. Took too much energy. “You’re gonna lose him. We won’t get another chance like this.”

“I can’t lose you,” Benoit said.

“I’ll be fine, go get him.”

“Don’t make me leave you,” Benoit whispered, leaning over you, his lips ghosting over your forehead. “I love you. I can’t lose you. I love you.”

“It was an emotional moment!” Benoit argued. “It ain’t strange for things to be revealed in times of high stress, you know.”

“I know,” you said. You reached over, grabbing his hand, giving it a squeeze. “I just hate that it took you so long. To think we might have gotten together a lot sooner if I told you I loved you when I realized.”

Benoit let out a laugh so loud it practically shook the walls of the kitchen. “Oh, come on. At least when I realized, it had a sort of morbid romantic edge. Yours was just me being an idiot!”

“Well, I love when you’re an idiot.”

It was the early days in your friendship. You and Benoit had often worked together back then, honing your detective skills, bouncing ideas off each other. It felt less like a job that way. It felt more like playing a game of Clue (despite Benny’s aversion to the game). In any case, it was more fun that way. Plus, it gave you and Benoit a chance to develop some more unconventional methods of solving cases. Which is exactly what you were doing.

You and Benoit were working out how the victim may have died. You had narrowed down to a few different murder weapons that might have been it, but you and Benoit couldn’t quite figure out how it had happened. So, it was only natural that the two of you ran through some different scenarios in an effort to narrow some the possibilities.

That was how you ended up straddling Benoit, who laid on his back on the floor, his hands above his head as if he were surrendering. Your breath caught in your throat at the position. You liked it—you like it a lot. But you forced yourself to ignore the thought about what it may be like if you were in this same position with a little less clothes. You had to remain professional. You had to.

You raised your hand holding the prop knife, acting like you were going to drive it through Benoit’s chest. As you brought it down, the fake blade pushing itself into the handle, you frowned. This didn’t make sense. The victim had been fighting back, and this position didn’t give much opportunity to do it. “No, I don’t think it was like this. Here, trade places with me.”

You lifted yourself off of Benoit and laid on the floor. Benoit straddled you now. Your breath hitched as he reached down, his hands closing around your throat.

“The victim had injuries on her hands, like someone’d been tryin’ to pry her hands off of ‘em,” Benoit said.

“When the killer couldn’t do that, they kneed her in the stomach,” you continued, bring your leg up, pressing your knee into Benoit’s stomach.

“And then—”

The door opened. There was a shout. Benoit lifted his head, his face tinted red as he looked at the person who walked inside.

“Oh, god!” the person said. It was your client. Fuck. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean t-to see anything!”

“Oh, it’s not like that!” Benoit said. “We’re just tryin’ to act out the murder!”

You cleared your throat, trying to twist your head to look at her. “Totally normal. All the professionals do it.”

“I-I’ll leave you it then…”

She left as quick as she came, shutting the door behind you. As you and Benoit looked at each other again, you felt like your face was burning.

“Um, so that seems like it was the way it happened…” you mumbled.

“Right, right,” Benoit said, getting off of you. “Uh, with that done, we should start narrowing down the suspects, then.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just give me a moment and I’ll be ready.”

Because, holy fuck, how could you be in a position like this and just expect to continue on as normal?

“If you love your idiot so much then, how ‘bout you join me in the bath, then?” Benoit asked. “Gets a bit lonely in there, you know.”

Your snorted. “Fine. But we’re not staying there for a week, alright?”

“I’m sure I could convince you otherwise.”

“We’ll see.”

Oh, how you loved your silly little detective.

#benoit blanc imagine #benoit blanc x reader #benoit blanc x male!reader #benoit blanc x you #benoit blanc x y/n #benoit blanc fic #benoit blanc fanfiction #benoit blanc fan fiction #benoit blanc fanfic #benoit blanc fan fic #starrywrites #starryevermore

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manyfanfiction · 10 months ago

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The Child of the Great Detective

Claire Blanc is the 15 year old daughter of the great Benoit Blanc.

He was recently hired to solve the murder of Harlan Thrombey, a brilliant writer of murder mysteries. His family had learned of his death the morning after his birthday.

" Dad?" Claire asked her father.

" Yes my darling?" Benoit answered his daughter.

" What do you think happened?" Claire asked.

" I don't no my darlin," He answered.

They eventually got to the Thrombey house. It towered over the trees. The house, smaller than the Winchester Manor, had large rooms. There were two German Shepherds running outside, who came running to her.

" Hi guys," Claire said bending down to pet them.

Trooper Wagner and Detective Lieutenant Elliot were waiting outside for the funeral to end.

" You must be Benoit Blanc?" Trooper Wagner asked.

" I'm am," Benoit said.

The men shook hands and they saw Claire still petting the German Shepherds.

" Who's she?" Detective Lieutenant Elliot asked.

" My daughter Claire."

They both nodded. Meanwhile Claire was on the ground while the dogs were licking her face, she was giggling.

An hour later the family started to arrive.

Benoit had walked into the house with Claire behind him.

" Now darlin. I want to stay by my side, don't talk to anyone."

" Yes father."

The four of them where in the library. Detective Lieutenant Elliot and Trooper Wagner were interviewing the family members one by one.

______________________________________________________________

Two hours later Harlan Thrombey's nurse, Marta Cabrera arrived to the house.

Claire was in the hallway piecing the timeline together in her head.

" Hi, who are you?" Marta asked the young girl.

" Oh, Claire Blanc. You must be Marta Cabrera?" Claire asked.

" I am," She said.

" My father and the detectives are outside going over the timeline," Claire said.

Marta went over to the window and sat down, listening to what they had to say.

Her father peaked inside the window and saw Marta.

" Please come outside," Benoit said, opening the door for her.

She nodded and Claire followed behind her.

" Now Marta, we were discussing possible motives in the family. I suspect that Harlan has told you much unfiltered truth about each of them and a little bird has told me-how should I put this delicately, you have a regurgitan reaction to miss Troodon."

" Who told you that?"

" Is it true?"

" Yes. It's something I've had since I was a kid, it's a physical thing that I just the thought of lying, yeah, it makes me puke."

" Really? Is Richard having an affair?"

( Flashback )

" While your men instinctively full of loose threads on their parachutes?" Harlan Thrombey asked.

" What?" Marta asked.

Harlan showed her a picture of Richard with a woman, kissing each other.

( End of Flashback )

" Richard?" Marta asked.

Benoit nodded his head.

" An affair?"

" Yeah, a yes or no will do."

" No," Marta says.

Immediately Marta's stomach grumbles

" Oh no," Detective Lieutenant Elliot says as Marta throws up in a pot on the table.

" Whoa here girl I'm sorry I feel you was speaking figuratively."

Detective Lieutenant Elliot hands her a glass of water while Benoit hands her his breast pocket napkin. Marta took them both.

Benoit starts to talk to both of the men why Marta walks to the door.

" Now hang on Miss Cabrera," Benoit began to say.

" I'm just going to get some scope,' Marta say.

Benoit had asked hr another question and Marta gagged again.

" You don't have to answer that."

A couple of seconds later she went back inside and Claire stood next to her dad.

( P.S- I dont own Knives Out, I just own Claire Blanc.)

#daniel craig #knives out #benoit blanc #x daughter!reader #murder mystery

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an-aura-about-you · 3 months ago

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you know what I should do? I should get into MORE mystery series so that I can do a ranking of my favorite detectives. but lbr, the top spot is probably gonna be a three way tie between Benoit Blanc, Father Brown, and Columbo. and now that I think about it, I think it's because they have so much care. I haven't seen as much of Columbo, though I've still seen more of him than I've seen of Benoit Blanc just by the nature of the Knives Out movies only having two out in the series so far, but I've seen the way he treats people. Benoit Blanc won me over the moment he told Marta, "I trust your kind heart." And Father Brown regularly treats everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, with a great deal of respect and love. I know I just said in the tags of that other post I'm now officially a Hercule Poirot girlie, and I've seen some of the same traits I see in these other detectives I like so much, but he's still new-to-me in this roster.

#also like I've seen people call Poirot annoying but I'm already gathering that he's pesky the same way Father Brown is pesky #which means I'm probably gonna like him a whole lot #(also should probably clarify the version of Father Brown I'm talking about is the BBC tv series version idk if I'll read the books)

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babydin · 1 year ago

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Night Crawling

- The CRACKSHIP you didn't know you needed - Benoit Blanc of the Knives Out mysteries and Tim Rockford of the Merge Manson franchise. - 18+, minors DNI! - Old queers solve murder as foreplay. Mentions of murder, descriptions of violence, MLM, swearing, Lovers to enemies to lovers - 1238 words - Comments/likes appreciated. Requests are open! A/N: Do I need to apologize for this? I won't. I can't promise I won't forget about the plot and just make this all about old queers This is part 1 of until I say it's over.

A sleepwalking man thinks he is in love with his best friend’s wife. One day he phones the police on himself because he wakes up covered in blood and his best friend’s wife is missing. He also hires a private detective to prove his innocence. What he doesn't know is the Gentleman Sleuth he called and the detective assigned to his case were lovers once, and tensions are high.

ONE: STRANGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED AT SEA

“Explain this to me one more time.” Detective Tim Rockford rubbed his index finger over his lips as he pulled the car up to the crime scene. He had seen his fair share of strange cases in his career, but this one had to have taken the lead for the weirdest one yet, so far at least. “The suspect sleepwalks,” his partner explained, tying her hair up into a tight pony, “he believes he’s in love with his best friend’s girl… now she’s missing and he just woke up covered in blood.” “And he called 911 himself?” Tim started to get out of the car after popping a tab of nicotine gum for a habit he told himself he was going to quit but never quite could. “Uh, yeah, he did – Tim, there’s something else…” Tim didn’t listen, he was already on the path up to the house. One thing about Detective Rockford, in the years Katie had known him, is that he marched to the beat of his own drum. Often because he was right. He was a good detective, a great detective in fact, but sometimes people weren’t his forte. She often wondered if that was why she had been partnered up with him, she was incredibly empathic, she was gentle, and Tim was rough around the edges, he thought in facts and logic. He still called her Rookie despite her coming up to a decade on the force, sometimes she thought it was his way of expressing affection.

�� “What the fuck is he doing here?” Tim’s interjection when he saw someone on the scene who didn’t belong had the room filling with silence. Forensics staff paused briefly before continuing on, the suspect who was trembling in the corner looked between Tim and the other male. Benoit Blanc was not dressed for a crime scene, he very rarely was, he looked like he had just stepped off of a boat in Miami, with his linen pants and pastel pink shirt that was slightly open to make room for a neckerchief. He looked at Tim with eyes that were greeting an old friend who had just returned home from the war. “What is that Kentucky-fried chicken shit doing at my crime scene?” “I tried to tell you.” Katie whispered under her breath, at the same time Benoit pushed his round, tortoise-shell spectacles up his nose and said “Well, come on now Detective Rockford, I was invited.” Tim’s eyes flew to the suspect, his eyes burned into him like lasers and he silently demanded answers, but he did not give the man time to answer before he barked at his colleagues, “Why is he not in handcuffs? Get him out of here. Blanc, a word?”

Benoit knew Tim well enough to know when he was demanding and when he was asking, and that was a demand, he watched him slip away into a room with nobody in it and politely nodded at Tim’s partner before following behind him. The door closed. They were alone.

It wasn’t just that the private detective and the NYPD detective had worked together and didn’t get along, this wasn’t a clash of personalities or Tim thinking he was doing real detective work and Benoit was just a hobbyist. They were lovers once. They had met on a case almost 15 years ago, and their passion for solving a puzzle was almost like foreplay; they’d stay up until the smallest hours of the night, eating Chinese take out and trying to look for clues, the way Benoit would slip out of his suspenders and let them hang down by his thighs would drive Tim insane, then he’d bite into a spring roll and curse a stray splash of soy sauce and he’d suddenly see something they’d both missed and there’d be a sudden clash of teeth and egg fried rice spilled on the floor and race to see who could get the other’s pants off the quickest. Benoit always got a kick out of how gruff Tim was, how rough he was, but he was surprisingly gentle in the afterglow. But Tim’s edges got a little too rough, the long nights got too long, and Tim started to prefer solving cases alone, and when Benoit asked him why he couldn’t give him a reason, he just shrugged coldly and told him he had to go. Benoit told him he wouldn’t be there when he got back, the implication that he meant in their house that they had laughed in and loved in, that Benoit had filled with antiques and Tim had filled with books. And it wouldn’t just be for one night. He was telling him, without saying it, that their relationship was over. And Tim just looked over his shoulder without looking him in the eye and said “Fine.”

7 years later they were together again, and the tension was thicker than gravy.

“What in the fuck are you doing here?” Tim barked, placing his hands on his hips, his fingers lucid as if that might make him appear more intimidating. Benoit leaned his rear against a nearby table and stretched out his legs to cross them, his arms folding across his chest, both men trying to appear as unapproachable as possible to hide the fact they wanted nothing more than to embrace, “A man sleepwalks, every night for 25 years, not only that, he also seems to have himself convinced he’s in love with his best friend’s wife–” “Blanc–” “--Now our suspect wakes up from his nighttime stroll, spattered with blood–” “Blanc–” “--best friend brayin’ on his door hollin’ about his wife not bein’ in bed when he woke up this mornin’--” “Benny!”

The nickname stopped him in his tracks. His face softened and he looked at Tim as if he was sorry for something; he had missed hearing him call him that, he didn’t know until that moment. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Despite the harshness of the words, the question was a lot softer this time,and somewhere Benoit knew that in his own Rockford way it was him asking where he had been, how he had been, how he managed to land this case. “I was invited.” Benoit echoed his previous words firmly, in that accent that just melted the ice around Tim’s heart. “I’m not stalkin’ you, I’m not here to dig up old ghost, or rekindle any flames. I’m here ‘cause I was asked. That delightful man you just put in handcuffs called me. I haven’t quite figured out why you and I must always end in handcuffs–” Tim was already frowning, although Benoit had learned not to take it personally. Tim’s brow creased a lot, he had a permanently concerned expression on his face, his forehead always so heavy, he often wondered if it was a con of the job. “The suspect called you?” Benoit nodded, “I have heralded quite the reputation for my detective work, don’t sound so surprised Timothy.” “He called 911 himself.. Too.. Is that not odd?” The Southerner’s lips twitched into a smile, and he shrugged his shoulders in a ‘kind of’ manner, “Stranger things have happened at sea. Admit it.” “What? I’ve never been to sea.” “No… You missed this. Didn't you?” Tim was stubborn as a mule but Benoit knew all his tells and the way the left side of his upper lip twitched upwards just a little, was a reluctant yes.

#( tim rockford: babydin )#tim rockford fanfic #tim rockford fanfiction #tim rockford crackship #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #benoit blanc fanfiction #tim rockford x benoit blanc #( rockblanc ; babydin ship )

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ileftherbackhome · 2 years ago

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Like, here is the thing that I haven't seen anyone really pick up on with the glass onion.

Benoit Blanc is the world's greatest detective but he is shown to be suffering from the same belief that everyone else is around him: that Bron is not an idiot.

That's why it takes him so long to figure out the mystery, because he is the one who dismissed Bron as Andi's murderer from the beginning. The fact that a black woman suggested this to a gay but white man demonstrates a beautiful metaphor for how black women are the leaders of the damn revolution, and they always have been, BUT the systems at play have caused EVERYONE, including the black woman herself, to deter to other people's perceptions of reality over their own intuition.

Blanc is a great WHITE character but he's still white at the end of the day, and he is given this status and power in his world partly because he is a white man. Helen figured out the fucking mystery from jump, she said Bron killed her sister and Blanc is the one that refutes that.

That was 100% done on purpose and nobody can convince me otherwise because it's so poignant to how black women are belittled and demeaned, even when they are objectively right about stuff, because it's inherent in ALL OF US!!!!!! these systems are inherent in all of us, in blanc himself, because most of us dismissed Helen's idea as ridiculous along with Blanc.

The depth this movie has is fucking incredible, the writing is so good and realistic and poignant!!!!

#janelle monae deserves all the fucking awards for this film #she was brilliant #helen brand is my favorite human ever #i would die for her #glass onion #movie analysis #personal

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pretzelpizzapuppy · 2 years ago

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Silly doodle of the peepaw for @sonic-oc-showdown ! plus the oc questions thing under the read more :3

Name: Ignatius

Species: Domestic Cat

Home: He travels wherever the wind takes him!

✨ How did you come up with the OC’s name?

I think I just looked up like, old people names LOL I don’t remember for sure tho.

🧑‍🦳 How old are they?

He’s in his 60s!

💞 Do they have any love interests?

Ehh not anyone specifically! Might make him a husband eventually.

🥞 What is their favorite food?

Hmmm... Probably belgian waffles with far too many toppings.

💼 What do they do for a living?

He’s a freelance detective! Sort of. He’s supposed to be retired but it’s hard to keep him in place.

🏐 Do they have any hobbies?

He loves anything to do with puzzles! Puzzle games, actual puzzles, escape rooms, murder mystery media... He also enjoys beach sports like volleyball but it’s a bit hard on his body now. He also likes to bake and mix drinks. He’s a jack of all trades honestly, he’s quite restless.

🎯 What do they do best?

Solving mysteries of course! He’s also a pretty darn good cook, if you’ll allow him to toot his own horn.

🥊 What do they love? What do they hate?

His one true love is puzzles, if it’s not clear enough yet! He also loves the beach and relaxing in the sun! He dislikes dreary weather, feels it makes him far too serious and stern! He’s also not one for stuffy museums, he’d much rather be learning from communities themselves! He’s a very knowledge focused guy but enjoys the experience of learning from enthusiastic people rather than textbooks. He really enjoys watching older shows too! MASH and ST:TOS being among his favorites. Imagine those in the Sonic universe however you please LOL

📸 What is one of your OC’s best memories?

Hmm... really, he savors the feeling of helping people! Each and every person he’s helped is slotted into his brain like a polaroid!

✂️ What is one of your OC’s worst memories?

Yeesh, he’s too old to dwell on these things! If he kept track of every failed case and the homophobia and ableism he’s had tossed his way in life he’d have no time for the things he enjoys!

🏚️ Is their current design their first one?

Sure is! I tend to stick with designs once I make them. Little changes may happen here and there to make them easier for me to draw but typically, my designs stay the same! His fur pattern might be choppy or smooth depending on the amount of time I want to put into drawing it though LOL

🧠 What originally inspired this OC?

Sara was drawing Sonic OCs and I hadn’t ever really put the time into making one. So I sat down, grabbed a pelt pattern I liked, and took a LOT from Benoit Blanc from Knives Out. Someone in the tags of his poll said he’s got Columbo energy but I haven’t actually watched it so I can’t say for sure whether he carries those traits or not. My favorite color is purple so it tends to sneak into my designs. I made him about a month before the Sonic Murder Mystery game hilariously enough.

🎬 What genre do they belong in?

Mystery of course! Maybe comedy/mystery?

🏳️‍🌈 What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality?

Gay for sure, trans maybe? I haven’t decided for sure and I don’t think he’s the type to really care too much for labels for himself. He uses He/Him mostly but won’t go out of his way to correct people.

👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 How many siblings does your OC have?

I haven’t really thought about it honestly. I’ll probably give him a sister. Feels right.

🧑‍🍼 What is the OC’s relations w/their parents like?

Not great. He was outed in his late teens and they. Did not react well. He already had a rough time from his undiagnosed autism and it never really got better. He’d liked to have improved things with them but he just... never really got around to it.

💜 What do you like most about the OC?

I just think he’s a silly guy :) I am pretty happy with his design too! I’m quite proud of how my skills have improved in that aspect.

🖍️ How often do you draw/write about the OC?

This is honestly the most I’ve done since making him LOL I work a full time job and my brain is more focused on Warriors atm tbh

🔪 Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?

Oh absolutely not. I’m the type of guy who makes ocs for fun and to push them together like dolls! Maybe if I made him as a teen things would be different.

💀 Does your OC have any phobias?

Sort of? He’s got a lot of mental things going on about germs. Washes his hands a LOT and is very aware of just how much others don’t. Maybe snakes too since he’s a cat.

❤️‍🔥 Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival?

His own mind if truly his greatest enemy tbh. Turns out that constantly being on alert for clues can make you a little paranoid.

⏱️ How long have you had the OC?

According to discord, since January 17th, 2023!

#sonic oc

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trollprincess · 2 years ago

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Okay, NO. I cannot be expected to wait another four weeks to talk about Glass Onion. I CANNOT.

I’m angry about only one thing and that’s that it’s not still in the theater because my immediate goal after walking out was to walk right back in again and see it once again to catch all the stuff that went on that I missed. (Like Helen. Helen! I spent so much time at the end of the movie going, “Wow, she does such a great acting job being her sister!” Except it was *her* all along and … Jesus, seriously give that woman an Oscar nomination.)

I also thought SO MUCH about the whole “you see what he wanted you to see” part of the plot, because yes. YES. I wish more movies did this gaslighting outside of an abusive domestic situation, *and* acknowledged it as such.

I also hope that when Benoit said, “I’ve got a guy,” he meant Philip, and ten minutes later Philip was clearing stacks of books out of their bathroom grumbling about why they can’t go do this in his salon, *Blanc*, you always do this, I don’t know how we didn’t break up ages ago, now go check on dinner while I rummage through what supplies I’ve got on hand.

Okay, but that last sequence … look, I called it sexy for a reason. That shit was so *satisfying*. I’m not going to pretend that it didn’t help that Miles felt VERY Elon on multiple fronts, which made it even better. But Helen getting to destroy it ALL - not just physically by smashing and burning and doing everything some of us wish we could do to a billionaire’s home, but by doing it in such a way that his whole damn empire is about to *fall the fuck apart*.

I kept thinking about Marta in the first movie and Helen in this one, how they both go up against the rich and privileged, although they wouldn’t have done so if a murder didn’t spur them on. They’re both exceptionally brave. Marta’s bravery may be more understated in comparison (God knows she doesn’t blow the house up), but they’re both the real heroes in movie where the urge is to go, “Well, Benoit is the hero, of course.” Even he would go, “No, I do this all the time. But HER! She’s a marvel.” God, I could watch a hundred movies where Benoit Blanc does his detective work while a woman stands up to privileged bullshit and wins over and over. I hope we get so many more Benoit Blanc movies. He’s SO good, but the movies also give him the BEST characters to work with or against.

Ugh, I just want to rewatch ALL of Janelle Monae’s scenes from the start. She had a scarf around her head in that scene with the box at the beginning and of COURSE she did, she’s wearing a robe, she probably just got up, but of COURSE she did, because she’s *Helen*, and she’s got a different haircut. And what I love is that yes, she smashed that box with the hammer because she was good and pissed and good for her, but also she’s the sort of character where if she actually sat down and tried to figure it out, you *know* she could. She’s sharp, she’s a teacher, she’s quick on her feet. But goddamn it, that box NEEDED smashing, and I feel like I could watch two straight hours of Janelle Monae breaking stuff and that would be my porn.

But I love Benoit Blanc so goddamn much, too. I’m not a James Bond fan so I haven’t watch Daniel Craig’s run (that’s on the character, not him), but I’ve adored him in other stuff. Like, he’s so much fun in Logan Lucky, a movie that doesn’t nearly get enough play for being VERY good and for featuring Southern characters without making them the butt of the joke. Oh, but Benoit.

Also, kudos to writing in the pandemic as a plot point in a way that didn’t make me want to whack the screenwriter on the head with a newspaper. Like, Kate Hudson wearing that jeweled chain mask was both so in character and SO infuriating because *people actually did that shit*, a fact I will NEVER get over.

#glass onion #spoilers

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sleepymarmot · 2 years ago

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Glass Onion

Yes, I had been waiting for this movie for a while and dropped everything to watch it the day of release. What about it?

Liveblog

Is it bad that I’m already like “I want all of these people to die”? Well, maybe not Lionel I guess.

Lol a bit of sci-fi to justify the actors not wearing masks for the entire movie

Is the bad CGI robot some kind of Star Wars legacy? :D

Aww, poor Benoit Soo, one of the guests plans to murder the host for real, and invites a detective to frame another guest?

It’s been 30 minutes, can people start dying please (Not Andi though, that’d be uncool)

Love the scenery, and Craig’s outfit is nice

Cool shot where Andi has the same expression as the Mona Lisa

“This is reckless. And you’re gonna get somebody killed.”

Okay, so far we’ve established the motive for: Peg, Duke, Lionel, maybe Claire. What about Birdie? And the random guy hanging around? And Andi? Is Andi automatically disqualified because we saw her destroy the box? That could be a real alibi or a red herring.

Nooo, so awkward, I can’t watch this Oh, he did it on purpose, that makes it a bit less painful

Huh, he didn’t mention Andi in the monologue...

Oh good, exactly an hour into a murder mystery, someone finally died! Yes, yes, of course it was an attempt on Miles’ life, I thought we’ve already established he’s who everyone wants dead. Cool trick to keep Norton among the active cast, I thought it was weird for the most famous actor to play the victim. (It’s nice to see Norton again btw, I wondered a while ago why I hadn’t seen him in new movies recently.)

Lmao the lights! Now this is fun

Oh no, Andi! :(

Plot twist!! Well now he's responsible for an innocent woman’s death, that’s going to give him a motive to find the killer

This shit is wild

Hell yeah she’s alive!!!

Is she going to attack the Mona Lisa?..

I feel bad about the painting. The way this was framed as a triumphant moment has the same energy as that Tumblr post about destroying famous paintings because rich people like them.

Review

[Additional spoilers for Knives Out, The Last Jedi, Midsommar, and The Handmaiden]

The film takes too much time to get started. The characters are too flat to carry it until the plot actually launches. Only gets good after the plot twist. The secondhand embarrassment scenes are excruciating.

The plot: “rich people bad, the detective teams up with a pure-hearted woman of color and helps her win”, take two. Are they going to make a whole franchise out of this? Not a great foundation for murder mystery: just look for the most entitled white man and that’s your killer.

Benoit Blanc himself, though, is a good character to build a movie series around. A classic independent detective with a kind heart and a taste for adventure — I want to see more of him. Many people have said it already, but I want Blanc to replace Bond as Daniel Craig’s #1 role.

The biggest strength of the film were, of course, all of the clever and fun twists and reveals. As you can see from the liveblog, I was misdirected very successfully and loved it every time.

And now for the biggest flaw of Glass Onion in my eyes. Just like Knives Out, this film has an extremely fun outer layer wrapped around the heart that I find a genuine downer. Most of the shallow, annoying characters got off scot-free, and what was harmed the most in act 3 was an innocent painting. I’ve already seen The Last Jedi, I don’t really need the same ending scene as the Canto Bight storyline — except worse because the writer doesn’t see the difference between “rich asshole’s property” and “priceless piece of art”. Which is a bad enough take to see on Tumblr, but straight up baffling to encounter in a high budget movie, written by a professional filmmaker. (Amazing timing, though. How did they manage to release this not only in the middle of the Musk major meltdown/Twitter takeover but also soon after the Van Gogh soup discourse?)

In retrospect it also reminds me of a couple of other famous scenes with a female protagonist involved in destruction, and the comparison is not in Glass Onion’s favor. Midsommar also ends with the heroine and a huge symbolic fire, but it’s a horror/drama, and the event takes not only the lives of those caught in the fire but the soul of the heroine. The Handmaiden, on the other hand, features a scene of art destruction that is genuinely positive and cathartic, but the nature of art and the role it plays in human lives is radically different.

[Edited to add] I’ve seen people who liked the ending defend it by saying that people are more important than art. The thing is, if this were framed as the trolley problem — if destroying a priceless work of art were presented as the only way to save an unknown number of lives — I would feel differently. Instead, the film seems to want the viewer not to value the Mona Lisa just because the rich amoral characters do value it.

In a more Watsonian and practical sense, I don’t see how this is a win for Helen. She was the one who burned the painting. The fuel played only a minor part, the painting would have been destroyed just the same without it (in fact, that’s what expected Miles’ lighter to be for). But even if it were otherwise — okay, so this new fuel can easily cause a fire; well, so can electricity and gas if you’re not careful! Not great for PR of this specific product, but not a death sentence either. Most importantly, it’s the person who committed arson that will be charged for it, not the person who unwittingly provided the fuel for the fire.

I did have a good time, to be clear! Very worth watching unspoiled. The release was timed well: the overall lighthearted tone, clever twists, vibrant visuals (bright colors, stylish outfits, idyllic location) make this a good holiday movie.

I’m having trouble with a numerical grade (the worst part of IMDB and Letterboxd is that they make me care about grading, even though it doesn’t work with how I think about media at all). Glass Onion feels like a 7, but I gave Knives Out a 9 and they don’t feel two whole grades apart.

#glass onion #glass onion spoilers #blah blah blah

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pickledpascal · 2 years ago

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The Missing Link

Chapter Four: Hindenburg

Warnings: Panic attack, Miles Bron is closeted (?), some swearing.

Word Count: 7.4k

The Missing Link Masterlist

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Out of all the people Detective Blanc expected to arrive at the dock earlier that day, Ezra Wayne and his daughter were not one of them. Birdie Jay, why wouldn't he? She was the problematic fashionista who was clinging onto relevancy by trying to come up with something new and revolutionary every few years. Duke Cody was a men's rights activist, pleading for his audience to trust everything he said. And they did, not thinking to make at least one Google search to check if he was telling the truth or not. Claire Debella and Lionel Toussaint were similar in that much of their money to do their work was provided by Miles, in turn they'd basically support everything he did.

Ezra Wayne was the outlier.

Why would he come all the way to Greece to meet an old friend who he was very vocal about not liking anymore? He didn't owe anything to Miles as far as Blanc knew. Ezra started his acting career from nothing. No help or reassurance was given to him by any of his past friends.

He knew this because of some of the interviews he'd seen. It was safe to say Benoit was a fan. Who wouldn't think the tall, dark, and handsome man wasn't the best looking in all of Hollywood anyway? He was also a great actor too, starring in anything from a silly rom com to the scariest of horror movies. Blanc liked versatility in his men.

Seeing Ezra in person was certainly something. His gray's were much more prominent than in the movies, showing his age. Maybe he hadn't gotten around to re-dyeing it yet. Then there was the part where Birdie deadnamed him. Ezra didn't seem that bothered, just annoyed.

When he got his chance, Blanc smiled kindly as Ezra turned to him. "I must say, I absolutely love your films! I've seen almost all of 'em, you're amazin' in every single one." He was nervous but he needed to get that out as he looked Ezra up and down. It felt like he was a teenager again, talking to the most attractive boy at school. Ezra always looked absolutely beautiful on screen but it didn't compare to seeing him in real life.

Once on the boat, Benoit wanted to get an inkling to each person's personality. It just so happened that he was walking into the boat to talk with Lionel when Elle waved him over. It was hard to say no, especially with such a beautiful man in the room. But nerves, they were never something Benoit got over easily. He was a relatively calm person, even after the sheer amount of dangerous cases he's been through that would send any sane person running. Who takes on the mysterious case of the death of the mystery novel writer? Apparently, Benoit Blanc does. When Benoit did get nervous, though, they didn't leave as swiftly as he would hope.

After all, meeting your celebrity crush and escaping a near death experience are two completely different things. Although, they might meet on this isolated island.

Conversation with the father-daughter duo was certainly interesting and insinuated something Benoit wasn’t sure he wanted to admit. As much as he wanted to focus on the matter at hand, it was hard with someone as determined as Elle to make both himself and Ezra a blubbering mess.

Benoit pursed his lips, he might as well use this time to try and eliminate Ezra from his suspect list. Or try to. “Y’know, Ezra, you and your daughter seem to be out of place among all these…. Eccentric personalities. For an actor, it’s strange of me to admit such a thing.” It was peculiar that Ezra was here. If he wasn’t the murderer–which would be horrible for Benoit–-then why was he here?

“I like to think it’s because I grew up poor and didn’t compromise myself or leech off of others in order to get rich and famous.” The brunette explained with a hum. Benoit nodded at Ezra and looked down at his hands.

The others happened to grow up in middle class families, besides Birdie–she was the daughter of a famous model, making her famous even before she was born. And Lionel, a little different too. He intimately worked with Miles, being employed by him for the sake of doing what he always wanted to do. Only for the sake of science of course.

—------

Now, Benoit did not know of Ezra before his transition but the actor was always open about that time, sharing photos of himself and even his deadname but Benoit didn’t think it was that difficult to call Ezra by the name he goes by now. Apparently it was very hard for Miles.

“Liz-Ezra…. You look amazing. Great, actually. I’m glad you’re here.” Miles’ eyebrows furrowed as he corrected himself. Benoit observed him as he walked the length of the glass dock. It seemed Miles was blushing a little but it didn’t look like embarrassment.

Huh, interesting…. Oh.

Oh.

Well, it’s reassuring that Benoit isn’t the only one attracted to Ezra. He glanced at Helen who stared at Miles. His main objective was to get her some answers, he needed to focus on that. If he happened to get a boyfriend out of this case, well, that would be nice. Benoit closed his eyes for a moment to get his head in the right mindset, fixing his sunglasses.

“Can we just take a second and fully inbreathiate this moment together?” Miles said with a gentle smile. Benoit pursed his lips and cocked his eyebrow, he ignored it but something inside him was saying that he needed to remember that for later.

Benoit was quiet as the tour started, mostly hanging around Helen to give her some semblance of comfort. Someone here killed her sister so he didn’t blame her if she was tense and weary of everyone, even if some of them seemed too dense to commit a murder.

“Get settled in! Change. Let’s meet up at the pool.” Miles told everyone with a happy smile. “We’ll have a chill afternoon and then the game begins!” He announced, letting everyone fiddle with the bracelets around their wrists to find their room. As expected, Miles requested Benoit come with him for a private chat.

—-------

The pool seemed to be calmer but that meant it was time for Benoit to start gathering some information, among other things. He looked around the rectangular pool, catching sight of Birdie and Claire on the pool chairs off to the side while Miles was playing a tune on the guitar. He made his way over the Miles and grabbed one of the drinks inside the cooler.

“Oh! Baby Blue!” Benoit exclaimed, a light smile on his face as he twisted the cap open and took a drink. His nose wrinkled slightly at the taste. It was like Jared Leto somehow bottled how he smelled. Benoit had never met him before but that’s what he imagined he’d smell like.

Duke took a sip of his drink, “Yeah. Miles, you remember when you almost pancaked me outside Andi’s–”

“Anderson Cooper’s birthday party? Yeah, Coop's parties are memorable.” Miles laughed with an almost nervous smile as he grabbed a bottle as well.

Benoit stood from his crouching position and looked over at Ezra and Elle. They were talking with each other. No one seemed to want to talk to them. Peculiar, with such a close-knit group like this. He made his way over to the pair and sat at the other pool chair next to Ezra. “Have you always been…. The outcast in a group like this?” He asked, careful but still blunt.

“Eh, kinda.” Ezra lowered his sunglasses so they covered his eyes, the sides of his lips were tense. “I was the only one who wanted a job in the performing arts and then I told them I was also trangender, kinda put the nail in the coffin.”

“Hmm.” Benoit nodded, catching a glimpse of the scars ever so slightly showing from underneath the half-open shirt on Ezra’s shoulders. “You look…. Great.” He said with a light smile, knowing his face must be some shade of red. He assumed crimson. It didn’t take the detective much to get him a blushing mess. It just depended on the person and if they had the means to.

Ezra let out a small laugh at the compliment. “Thanks, Detective. I could say the same for you.” Benoit bit the inside of his cheek. Was he flirting with him? Holy shit. “I mean, I would be very proud of myself if I was the most attractive detective alive.” Ezra shrugged.

Benoit let out a flattered laugh, feeling as if he was a boy again. “Some might say you’re the most attractive actor alive.” It was weak, but it was all he could come up with. It was like his brain was short-circuiting. Only for a second.

—------

After the little stunt at the pool, Helen and Benoit met in the gym as it seemed no one was using it or was going to use it in the short time they were there. Of course, that led to Benoit snooping around the compound to eventually find Duke watching Miles and Whiskey…. Doing their thing in front of a window. Honestly, though, how could Miles not see Duke. Weird.

Helen got a little closer, wanting to hear what the pair was talking about behind the glass. Benoit pursed his lips, shaking his head at her. She was good but damn if she got caught, that'd be the end of their investigation.

—------

"My mom took me to Paris when I was six years old. First time I looked at this lady, it changed my life. You know Da Vinci invented a technique for brush strokes that leave no lines?" Miles gushed over the real Mona Lisa, the one in songs and meant to be the museum of art in France. Guess not these days. "That's how you can look straight at her and her expression changes every time. Her smile's there, then it disappears. Is she happy? Is she sad? Is it something else?"

Benoit never was one to be interested in art, at least not high art like the Mona Lisa or any of Goya's paintings. He appreciated it, sure, just not one to dedicate his whole life to caring about them. It seemed Ezra was similar in that aspect, taking a sip from his glass with an unbothered look in his eyes.

Helen kept staring at the painting, nodding. "It really is something." Benoit glanced up at the painting before he looked back at Miles.

Claire looked from Miles to the painting and narrowed her eyes. "Wait a minute, Miles. Why do you have the Mona Lisa in your living room?" Her tone was pointed, like she knew something the rest didn't. Or, that Claire knew Miles was gonna do something she didn't like.

Miles let out a breath, a cocky smile appearing on his lips. "In one week, I've invited world leaders and members of the press from all over to unveil the future." He said as he grabbed a crystal-like object from his pocket and showed it to everyone in the room. Most looked confused…. But Claire and Lionel…. "You know what this is?"

"You know damn well we do." Lionel gritted out, tapping at the lip of his glass. "What's going on, Miles?"

Benoit raised his hand, letting out a strained laugh. "Uh, I don't." It seemed, neither did Ezra or his daughter who's attention was peaked at the crystallic object. They seemed to have felt the rise of tension in the room.

"Don't drop it." Miles threw it at Benoit who caught it with ease.

But Claire, she was concerned. "Oh my god!" Perhaps something would have happened if the little crystal touched the floor. They were all in trouble, then.

Benoit looked at the crystal between his fingers, carefully staring at the grooves and small bubbles that seemed to be trapped inside.

"That's a new solid hydrogen fuel. It's incredibly powerful." Miles explained, "It's radically efficient. Zero carbon emissions, and it's derived from abundant seawater. I call it Klear, with a K." Because of course he did. "And at this event, we are going to announce 'Klear America.' Our affordable home power solution. Klear is going to be powering people's dreams, all over this country, by the end of this year."

Ezra shook his head, he may not have been a chemist or anything that had to do with the sciences but the looks Claire and Lionel had on their faces weren't hard to read. They were concerned, devastated even.

Lionel slammed his glass down on one of the podiums, causing the glass on the Mona Lisa to lift back up. It was protecting itself, from what? It didn't know just yet. "No. No. Because I was clear with you. I told you I need two years minimum to test this stuff to see if it's safe or even viable. Claire and I are not gonna be responsible for putting something out in the world before it is tested. And–" He paused once Miles pointed up at the air around them.

"Shit." Ezra breathed. So much for being safe on this summer vacation. They were walking around in a ticking time bomb….

"Oh, no." Lionel realized as well, stepping back from Miles.

Miles nodded with a smirk, "Oh, yeah."

Benoit's eyebrows furrowed as he looked back at the small crystal in his hand. "You're running this entire place off this?"

"The whole Glass Onion is powered by Klear." Miles let out a light laugh. He was giddy, his dreamlike fuel was working. As far as he knew. "Come on, let's…. Let's eat!"

It was clear that both Lionel and Claire weren't sure they could trust Miles anymore. He was being reckless. More reckless than he usually was. Elle narrowed her eyes at Miles before she looked at Ezra who let out a light breath. Maybe they could get through this night and leave as soon as possible in the morning. Ezra didn't want to stay too much longer if the whole island was dangerous and he also didn't want to feel responsible if something were to happen to his daughter.

This was a huge mistake.

—----

Dinner was short-lived, Benoit solved Miles' "mystery" in just a few short seconds and Ezra had to refrain from the urge to laugh once he saw his defeated face. The pair went upstairs, leaving Ezra and Elle with everyone else who deemed it was time to get royally hammered after their weekend was ruined.

Duke's notifications went off, causing the glass vault to go back up. "You know, you could just power it down." Lionel suggested to Duke.

"Ah, it's my Google Alerts. Got them for all you guys." Duke explained, taking a sip from his glass. "Whiskey, sports I like, general interests."

Ezra rubbed Elle's back while she leaned on him. She was tired even though it was only 8:30 but he couldn't blame her. The whole day was filled with…. things out of the ordinary. Plus she found another father figure and half her time was spent getting him and Ezra together. Well, Elle's work seemed to be done. They may never see each other again after Ezra leaves tomorrow. It was sad, thinking about the future and the fact that each time Elle would look at a magazine with Benoit's solved cases on the front cover, she would ache for something that could have been.

Lionel was unimpressed as Duke's phone rang yet again. "You have a Google Alert for the word 'movie?'"

"I like movies!" Duke defended. "Don't hate. Nerd." Says the guy who started off on Twitch as a gamer.

Ezra took a sip of his drink, looked at the red table in front of him. His eyes glazed over as he thought about what may happen after this. He'd be glad to go home, back to his normal life. Which was weird to think that being an actor everyone sought over was normal. But it was for him. Though, Elle knew differently. He longed for someone to be with, and if that someone just so happened to be Benoit Blanc…. Well, wouldn't that be nice?

Birdie let out a relieved sigh as she sat down on the couch, "Thank God for Benoit Blanc. We don't have to spend the weekend spelling hedges." She sipped her drink through her straw.

"Well, I'm outta her. Tomorrow morning. Gone." Duke stated, waving his hand.

Whiskey shook her head, "We just got here." She was on the floor. Ezra wasn't sure why or how she got there and he didn't really care either.

Duke mockingly whined like a baby. Elle's gaze hardened at him, she could treat Whiskey much better than him. If only she could let him go and leave him, Duke didn't deserve her. Not to mention, Duke was at least twenty years older than Whiskey. "You can stay. Have fun."

"Fine. You're murdering my vibe." Whiskey grabbed the bottle of tequila next to her and stood up, walking outside.

Birdie whined, "No! Miserable in paradise. We've all earned this."

Andi walked towards the group, "Yes, you have." She seemed more tense than before. Perhaps she was gonna blow up again.

Ezra helped Elle stand from her place on the couch and retreated outside with her by his side. He didn't want to hear whatever argument that was going to happen. It would have been entertaining but Ezra's brain was close to shutting off. And if Elle was anything like her father, he knew it was the same for her.

Soon, Andi was leaving too. She stopped to say a few words to Whiskey then made her way to Ezra.

"You-you are the only good one. And I don't blame you for leaving all those years ago." She said before running off.

Ezra cocked his head somewhat confused while Elle looked off into the distance, admiring how the moonlight danced with the water. Whatever happened in there, must've been enough to set her off. Not that Ezra blamed Andi at all. After everything that's happened between her and Miles and suddenly she's cut out of the company. Ezra didn't know many details about why but he assumed it was because of something big….

His eyes widened, shaking his head a little. He was being dumb. It was because of that Klear stuff, wasn't it? Andi knew it was dangerous and didn't want Miles to be distributing across the entire country. No wonder….

—-----

Well, they certainly picked the wrong time to make their way back inside. Duke looked as if he was choking, falling down on one of the coffee tables until his harbored breaths were silenced. He died. Right in front of their eyes. Ezra immediately shielded Elle's eyes, holding her tight to his chest while Benoit inspected his body.

"I'm afraid Mr. Cody is…. Is dead." Benoit said as he looked up at Claire. There was a certain sense of bewilderment in his eyes. He's seen plenty of deaths before, it was a part of his job, but none quite like Duke's.

Birdie started to scream while Whiskey cried, "No, Duke! No!"

The rest of the conversation seemed to buzz in Ezra's ears. Someone killed Duke. That much was obvious. The question was who? And, well, there were only a select few on the island.

"Fuck." Ezra cursed under his breath, loosening his grip on Elle. "We have to get the fuck out of here." He ran a hand through his hair.

Sure, Claire could see the headlines but Ezra could see them too. He was an actor, a transgender one at that so criticism was something he was used to. But this…. This would be a whole new level. Ezra hated red-pill "truthers," so being on an island with one who just so happened to die would automatically blacklist him. Progressives in Hollywood wouldn't cast him anymore and the conservatives didn't cast him at all because he was trans.

"My dear, hey, you're gonna be alright." Benoit told Elle softly, wrapping his arms around her for a moment while she sniffled softly.

Even if Duke was an asshole and a bitch, witnessing his death wasn't something Elle was particularly fond of. Sure, he might have deserved it with the harm he caused on little boys minds but…. This…. This was different. It would haunt Elle for the rest of her life, she was sure.

"Boat can't come till low tide in the morning. Six am at the earliest." Lionel announced as he walked back.

Benoit patted Elle's shoulder for a moment before he looked at Lionel. "Do they understand the situation?" He asked with a frown.

"There is no other landing point, and Miles' dumbass Banksy dock was set to low-tide height and it isn't buoyant. It is a piece of shit." Lionel explained, tone very reasonably pointed at the man who decided to have said dock.

Ezra wrapped a blanket around Elle's shoulders, knowing that sometimes she needed the weight to feel normal again. This certainly wouldn't help all the things going on inside her brain. And, holy shit, was Miles saying someone was trying to kill him and not Duke? Well, then they royally fucked up. Poison in the person's drink was rather cliché wasn't it? And clumsy because shit like this could happen. You could mix up the drinks and accidentally have given it to the wrong person.

Hm, maybe Ezra could be the new Harlan Thrombey…. Without all the parts of suicide and…. Well, Benoit Blanc appeared in Ezra's life too. Maybe that was a sign.

"Forget about his phone. Look." Lionel pointed at Duke's holster…. Which was missing the gun. The gun that Duke was famous for always keeping with him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck…." Ezra ran a hand through his hair, squeezing Elle's shoulder to comfort her. Now someone was roaming around the island with a goddamned gun. So much for a little light hearted fun.

Elle shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "I can't believe this is happening." Her lungs were screaming for air, her esophagus closing up. "D-Dad…." She said weakly. She could feel her heartbeat going faster and faster. She couldn't breathe.

She was having a panic attack.

Ezra's eyes widened. He knew these signs. He didn't care about what was happening behind him, he needed to focus on his daughter. "I'm right here, Elle, c'mon look at me, okay?" He tilted Elle's head towards him as he wrapped his arms around her. "Take a few big breaths, honey. I'm here for you, whatever you need, okay?" Ezra squeezed her tight, not missing the concerned look Benoit had for her. But it was like he knew Ezra would help her through it.

"Blanc, you have to help me. Help me! Help me!" Miles yelled right before Benoit slapped him across the face.

Benoit shouted, "What happens at ten o'clock!"

As soon as those words left his mouth, all the lights powered down. They were showered in darkness, the only light that didn't turn off was the lighthouse just outside. It rotated, causing only a sliver of light to run through the house.

Against Benoit's wishes, no one stayed in the living room. Well, besides Elle and Ezra. Weirdly, the light seemed to help Elle out of her panic attack. Her heart was still beating fast but she could breathe again which helped marginally.

"Alright, that's good, sweetheart." Ezra said calmly, cupping her cheek softly as he wrapped a blanket around her. "I'll grab you some water, okay. Stay here." Turning on the flashlight from his phone, he found his way to the kitchen and grabbed a glass to fill it with water. Once he was back in the living room, Elle took it gratefully and downed it. Her throat was feeling better, less dry than before. "There we go." Ezra kissed the top of her head. "I love you, kiddo."

Elle buried her face in Ezra's chest, letting a few tears flow. "I love you too, Dad. So much."

—-----

"Who?" Claire asked, that's the thing all of them were thinking but it seemed only Benoit had the answers.

Benoit, looking off to the side for a moment, smacked his lips. "Well, I keep returning, in my mind, to the Glass Onion." Ezra cocked an eyebrow at him. He's heard of the weird ways Benoit had explained the truth of a case but…. What did the Glass Onion have to do with any of this? "Something that seems densely layered, mysterious and inscrutable. But in fact, the center is in plain sight. And that is why this case has confounded me like no other." Benoit gently rubbed Elle's arm before walking the length of the living room.

"Why, every complex layer peeled back has revealed another layer and another layer and come to naught." Benoit looked around at the room, at the different people standing in front of him as his eyes narrowed momentarily. "And that was the problem, right there. You see, I expected complexity. I expected intelligence. I expected a puzzle, a game." Where was he going with this? Ezra kept Elle close, not knowing if they were in a room with a murderer or not. "But that's not what any of this is. It hides. Not behind complexity, but behind mind-numbing obvious clarity. Truth is, it doesn't hide at all."

Ezra looked around the room. Who would be the most obvious choice to murder both Andi and Duke? He could think of many reasons why all of them would want to kill Andi but Duke? He was dumb, he had no ill intentions. At least, not to them. To the greater public? Probably.

"I was staring right at it." Benoit sighed, feeling somewhat dumb for not assuming it at first. "The killer nearly struck my Achilles' heel. But thank high heaven, at the last moment, I realized what had teased my brain through this entire case… "inbreathiate." It's not a word." Benoit shook his head, glancing at Ezra for a moment.

It seemed obvious he would start to catch on out of all of them. Not to say that Whiskey wasn't smart or the rest weren't but they all believed Miles and how "smart" he portrays himself to be. Ezra, on the other hand, does not.

Lionel shook his head for a second, not getting how this related to anything. "What?"

"'Inbreathiate.'" Ezra repeated. "It's not a real word, it just sounds like one but it's…. Made up. Like something a kid would say to sound smart." He explained, blinking a little as the pieces started to fall into place.

"Precisely." Benoit nodded, "And "reclamation," that is a word. But it's the wrong word." His eyebrows furrowed for a moment, sighing. "This entire day… A veritable minefield of malapropisms and factual errors." Now, Ezra would be lying if he said he knew any of the words Benoit used in that single sentence but he was sure the detective was using them correctly. After all, Benoit had this way of speaking that felt like he would be more at home in the 40s or 50s if he should ever set foot in that time period.

Benoit turned and pointed out the window. "That is the Aegean Sea." Right…. Miles said the Ionian Sea. But if what Benoit was starting to say was true then… It was Miles all along. But he couldn't, right? Miles was too dumb to pull off a murder.

"Oh, yeah. It is, it is." Claire said, not understanding what Benoit was trying to explain.

"His dick doesn't float. His wonder-fuel is a disaster. His grasp of disruption theory is remedial at best." Aw, and just when Ezra was going to turn to the dark side. Yeah…. No. "He didn't design the puzzle boxes. He didn't write the mystery. Et voilà. It all adds up. The key to this entire case. And it was staring at me right in the face." Benoit then clarified, clicking his tongue as turned back the group. "Like everyone in the world, I assumed Miles Bron was a complicated genius."

Ezra chuckled, shaking his head. "First mistake, Detective." He shrugged. Miles couldn't come up with his own idea if it saved a million lives.

Ezra knew that and he warned Andi against partnering with Miles… but she didn't listen. And that's why he left. Sure, the transphobia was part of it but he couldn't bear to watch Andi throw away all her ideas and let Miles get all the credit. Alpha was hers, never Miles'. He just so happened to run into Andi and she took him along for the ride.

Benoit glanced at Ezra, a slightly amused look in his eye. "Look into the clear center of this Glass Onion… Miles Bron is an idiot."

Whiskey covered her lips, a little shocked Benoit would say such a thing. Miles' jaw tensed, "Oh, please." He grumbled, shaking his head as he crossed his arms. "Just tell us who tried to kill me."

"No one tried to kill you, you vainglorious buffoon." Benoit countered, shoving his hands in his pockets. If Miles was the murderer, Benoit certainly did not seem scared when he insulted him to his face.

Miles exclaimed, growing frustrated and not in the way that would make him seem innocent. "Duke took my glass!" He wouldn't make a great actor, Ezra could see all his tells easily.

Keeping his composure, Benoit looked at Miles unpressed. "That's what you told us he did. He must've picked it up by mistake, you told us, right after it happened." Ezra cocked his head slightly as he started to remember. It was right in front of them. Miles couldn't be that dumb? To attempt murder right before their eyes. "Ignore his lies, everyone, and think clearly now! What did we all actually see?"

"Y-You handed Duke your own glass. In front of us! And you lied. Made us think you didn't." Ezra said, letting go of Elle once it seemed she was alright. "I must admit I'm not sad that he's dead but…. You traumatized my kid for life.

"Blanc, Ezra… you're telling us Miles killed Duke?" Lionel asked in disbelief.

Benoit nodded, "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because the night Andi sent you all the emails, when Duke got to Andi's house early on his motorcycle he saw Miles leaving. Was almost struck by him." Benoit explained, Ezra wasn't following this time. What email? "In fact, he told all of us. Right in the open, he told us. That night, at Andi's."

Claire nodded, rubbing her chin slightly. "That night…. Duke told us he almost got in an accident. He… pancaked?" She realized.

"Okay yeah, but Miles had been living in Greece the past six months." Lionel said. He couldn't accept the fact Miles would kill one of their closest friends. Even if Duke was…. Duke.

Benoit let out a light huff, a laugh almost. "No." It was clipped. "Whiskey." He made his way over to her. This piqued Elle's interest, what did all this have to do with her? "Miles saw you on your birthday in New York. Gave you that necklace for your birthday. You're a Taurus." He whispered.

"I am." Whiskey said in a light whisper as well before she realized, "Two weeks ago. May 9th."

Benoit shrugged as Peg ran back into the room. "Forget the hydrofuels, and the sweatshops, and the consensual cuckolding for cable news assignments." Cuckold? God, that had to be the first time he's ever said that for a case. It made Ezra snort out a laugh.

"Sorry what?" Peg asked, face clear with confusion.

"And focus! On the envelope." Benoit motioned with his hand to a staircase.

Everyone's heads turned at the staircase to reveal Andi descending from the steps. Birdie let out a shriek, while Claire yelled a few curses. Ezra, on the other hand, was utterly confused.

"Andi?" Lionel asked, appalled.

Ezra looked from Andi to Benoit, "What the fuck is going on?" She was dead not more than two minutes ago when he thought she was dead, the grief was just starting to set in until she came back.

"Who did the envelope threaten?" Benoit didn't expect Ezra to know, maybe he should have explained but it's not like Whiskey really would have known either. "Miles Bron." Almost as if Miles' mom just died in a house fire, his expression became sour and hardened. "That night, Lionel faxed Andi's email to Miles who received it in New York. The one thing that could destroy his empire of lies, the truth in the hands of the only person unafraid to tell it. So Miles drives his Baby Blue Porsche to the scene of the crime, and Andi let's him in." Benoit cocked his head at Miles, eyes narrowed.

Benoit never had any remorse unveiling the truth, especially with cases with such…. Shitheads. "Of course she did. Miles' machine of lawyers and power could destroy her through sheer dumb force. But Miles himself? Oh, she was clever enough not to fear Miles." If this was going where Ezra thought this was going… then who was the woman that looked exactly like Andi? "But she didn't see the real threat, the obvious threat until it was too late. Duke alone knew you were there that night, but he didn't know Andi was dead."

Ezra ran a hand down his forehead. Wait… Andi had mentioned she had a sister to him, maybe a few times just when families were brought up in conversation. She didn't happen to say her sister was twin but… What else could this be? The actor looked up at the "imposter"—if he could really call her that–and realized. That had to be Helen.

"No, no, he didn't know that until this evening." Benoit continued as he pointed out, "Right here, when he got a Google Alert on his phone, which has now fallen strangely silent." He made his way around Miles and grabbed something from his pocket to reveal that Miles had Duke's phone ever since he died. Ezra was somewhat scared Benoit was feeling him up or something, thankfully it didn't seem Benoit had a kink for villains. "Which he showed to you… because you don't own a phone."

"Did you really think you could stop all of them from finding out about Andi's death? They all have phones." The blonde made her way towards the group, her southern accent was thick.

"He didn't need to hide the death, he just needed to hide that Duke has shown him the death moments before he was killed." Benoit spun the tail a little further… Well, not so much spinning, more like weaving. Putting the pieces together so they could see the finished product more clearly. "Right out in the open, Duke showed him. And told him exactly what he wanted in return for his silence. So what does Miles do?" The Detective stepped away from the man in question.

The woman followed Benoit, "Does he keep a vial of poison in his tooth or something? Is that some rich person thing?" If it was, Ezra was in trouble.

Benoit sighed, shaking his head in slight disappointment. "No, no, no, no, it's just… it's so much stupider than that. Birdie, what are the ingredients to your Cuban Breeze?" He asked.

Suddenly the attention was on her and it winded her for a moment. "Um, vodka, amaretto…."

"Oh, God." Whiskey gasped, raising her hands to her mouth as she realized.

"And… pineapple juice." Birdie finished after a little while.

Benoit strained, slightly disgusted and appalled. "An allergy!"

"He can't even have a drop."

"Pineapple juice!" The detective exclaimed in frustration. "He just put pineapple juice in his whiskey! It's so dumb." He shook his head, raising a hand to his forehead to rub at it. It teased his brain in the worst way possible.

Birdie, probably drunk, gasped in amazement. "It's so dumb, it's brilliant!"

"No! It's just dumb!" Benoit exclaimed, rubbing a hand against his forehead.

Ezra didn't need to check as he went up to her while the rest went to check their phones, reading off the first article about Cassandra Brand. "You must be Helen Brand…" He said softly.

"You know Helen?" Claire asked. It seemed none of them knew who she was, or they didn't pay much attention when Andi told them about her.

Helen glanced from Claire to Ezra. "We met once. He was in Alabama for some movie and recognized me." She explained, fiddling with the red envelope in her hands as Miles realized… The person he just tried to kill wasn't Andi at all. But an entirely different character all together.

"And now we come to Helen's attempted murder. Which, I have to give you credit for, did have a sound foundation of thought." Benoit said, earning him a glare from Ezra. The actor could see it being a bad habit already, the detective praising a criminal for their creativity just because it tested him enough. But Ezra didn't mind if that was the worst thing about Benoit. "You realized the opportunity laid out in front of you. You have a house on a remote island, filled with desperate people, all of whom have a real-life reason to wish this woman harm. You–" Benoit paused suddenly, narrowing his eyes as he looked at Miles. Something started to become abundantly clear in his mind.

Benoit continued, somewhat weary, "Furthermore, you have a loaded gun conveniently within reach. And the lights had even been turned off." He let out a heavy sigh as he brought a hand to his forehead. "Heavens to…" Ezra didn't want to laugh but the sound escaped him anyways. Benoit may have described Ransom and Harlan in an older case as "drama mamas" but he wasn't exempt from that description either. "You dim-witted, brainless… jackass!" Elle jumped a little as she wrapped the blanket tighter around her form.

"Your one murder, with any panache at all, and you stole the whole idea from me." It seemed he knew how it felt now. Andi got her ideas stolen by Miles for years, the napkin wasn't the only thing. They all knew that.

Lionel cocked his head, "And after all that, you…. You still kept the envelope? Didn't burn it or anything?" He asked. It could have been seen as a trophy of some sort but if someone–like Helen–were to discover he still had it then his empire would fall.

"You recognize this?" Helen asked, almost smug as she took the napkin out of its packaging. "Andi's handwritin'. I got you, son of a bitch." Miles almost looked scared.

Miles shook his head, "Oh, let's slow down there, sister. Okay? Because first, how could you ever prove that that's the original?" He countered. "She might have copied mine."

"No. The bar closed nine years ago, and hers has one thing that yours just doesn't." Helen pointed at something, Ezra couldn't see what since he was standing behind her. However, Ezra was prepared to jump Miles if Helen asked him to.

Miles hummed, glancing over Helen's shoulder to meet Benoit's eyes. "Okay, but second…." He clicked on his light to set the napkin aflame.

Benoit and Ezra ran over to Helen. "What the hell did he do?" Benoit exclaimed as he looked at the pile of ash that suddenly formed at Helen's feet.

"He just burned it!" Helen gasped as Benoit squatted down to see it for himself.

"Burned what? I didn't see anything." Miles shrugged.

Ezra growled, "You are acting worse than a child! And I should know, I have one." Elle pouted, shaking her head. At least Ezra raised her right. Who knows what Miles' parents were like.

"This will not stand." Benoit ground out, his jaw clenching.

Miles chuckled, "Uh-huh. Well, did you see this proof, this smoking napkin, Blanc?" He asked with a knowing smile. They had no more evidence. Nothing that could prove Andi's death. "No. Did anybody?" The group casted their gaze downward, defeated and silent. They couldn't go against Miles, he had them in his pocket. "Okay, then wow! Wow! We got some big accusations flying around here. Except, everybody seems to have a very foggy recollection of what they actually saw–"

"Well, I did see you burn something." Ezra countered.

"And there's nothing but totally circumspective evidence." Miles continued, completely ignoring Ezra like he did most of the time a decade ago. "So, if this was just us playing my murder mystery game, which we should have been doing all weekend, then Blanc wins an iPad Pro this time." He joked softly. "But this is the real world. And in the real world you need more than a neat, little detective story. You need evidence. And you've got… nothing. Do you?"

Ezra looked from Benoit to Helen. He was right. You need evidence and you need witnesses. And if Ezra was going to be the only to side with Helen then the courts would never work out in her favor. Miles had the majority here.

Benoit pursed his lips, a sad glaze rolling over his eyes. He hated losing in a game as serious as this. "He's right." He sighed, pursing his lips. "The contents of that envelope and his possession of it were our only physical evidence."

"Right." Miles pointed at him, clicking on his lighter yet again to fiddle with it. "Wanna take that to the cops? You wanna take that to the courts?" He laughed quietly, "Look, pick your poison. Anywhere you go, it's going to be your word against mine. How do you think that's gonna go?"

Benoit took his jacket from the glass pedestal he hung it from and put it on as he walked across the room, ushering Ezra with him by setting a hand on his back.

Miles shrugged, clicking his tongue slightly. "I think it's gonna go about like it went for Andi."

"Jesus." Lionel whispered under his breath, glancing at Helen. He could have been good. But no. Lionel wasn't quite there yet.

"And I do want to say, your sister was a complicated woman, but she meant the world to me." Miles pursed his lips, trying his best to sound sincere. But if it was sincere… would he have ever killed her? "And I'm so sorry for your loss."

Dejected, Helen made her way over to Benoit. "Blanc. I need you to do something." Tears started to form at the edges of her eyes, threatening to fall. After all this work and… nothing.

"I'm sorry, Helen." Benoit shook his head, eyebrows drawing together. "I gave you the truth. This is where my jurisdiction ends. I have to answer to the police, the courts, the system. There's nothing I can do." He took a quick breath as he grabbed the glass with 'Andi' written on it. "Except maybe… offer you some courage." Benoit handed Helen the glass. "And a reminder of why your sister walked away in the first place." He quickly handed her something else, Ezra could only imagine what it was.

Benoit turned away, whispering to Ezra, "I suggest you and your daughter come with me." He said. It was a very serious tone and Ezra hadn't had the time to think it through much so he followed his instructions.

Ezra grabbed Elle by her arm and walked outside, following Benoit to the docks. He wondered why Benoit was in such a hurry to leave. Or maybe… not? He didn't seem that worried.

But, well…. The entire Glass Onion blew up a few minutes later and Ezra would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the fireworks.

"Disruption." Benoit laughed as he took a drag from his cigar.

"Fuckin' A." Derol laughed as well, his joint firmly between his lips as he lounged on a chair.

Ezra ran a hand through Elle's hair while a proud smile was on his lips. Helen sure knew how to shake things up, Ezra didn't mind though. Miles deserved to have his house blown up.

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