The Spanish Inquisitive (Samantha Lestrade & SH-221B)

She smiled at Sherlock as he spoke. Did she find him a bit odd? Probably, but he seemed to have enough social skills to keep her from running the other way. Besides he was interesting, and being easy on the eyes didn't hurt either. She couldn't help but smile a little more when he talked about his own family. She hadn't met or really heard of Mycroft, but she could tell from his tone that they two didn't get along very well.

Samantha looked releived that firearms weren't mandatory, not because she was afraid of them, but because her lack of their might have stopped her from joining the party. She nodded "Yes, I have heard some of the stories about your methods from Greg. As long as you aren't planning on ingesting possibly deadly pills, then I'm not worried of my lack of fire power." Yes she'd heard of the case of the pink lady...she'd even read about it on Dr. Watson's blog sometime ago. She wasn't really worried about danger, I mean really, how much danger could they possible get into in Spain...on her vacation. But she appreciated the honesty.

She nodded lightly as he explained the plan, noting his consideration in allowing her to finish her meal...though to be honest she'd rather just get on with the adventure. She took another bite, then leaned a bit towards her new companion, curious as to what he was search. She finished it off with a drink of water and wiped her mouth with the cloth napkin before hopping off the stool. "Alright, ready when you are!" The whole affair took less than a minute which perhaps spoke to her keeness to begin, though she assumed Sherlock wouldn't notice, given he was already focused on the case. She offered him a bright smile and followed Mr. Holmes towards his "transport" curious as to what it was exactly.

Sherlock wondered what else Greg had told Samantha about him when she mentioned the cab driver's pills. “Jennifer Wilson” he said remembering everything of any importance about the first case that he took John on. “A very clever, and grossly underestimated, woman. Murdered by a psychotic taxi driver being paid by James Moriarty to kill, just to amuse him”.

“That was the first time that I spoiled Moriarty's fun.” Sherlock continued. “Did Greg tell you that twelve people died just because a blind lady began to describe Moriarty's voice to me?” He remembered sitting in Greg's office having worked out how to save the old lady and he tried to stop her from signing her death warrant in describing something that could help to identify Moriarty and the chilling, telling silence when her phone suddenly cut off.

“Well, it won't be as dangerous as that, but it will consume all the rest of your holiday up.” Sherlock affirmed and smiled. “So, as you are ready” he got up and led the way to the bar to pay for their lunch and then showed her the way to his hotel.

Sherlock stopped outside the hotel's garage doors, threaded the key into the lock and pulled one side of the double doors open. “It's comfortable and a joy to handle.”

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She listened as Sherlock gave an account of the woman under the matching pink outfit. In some respects, given what Greg had infact told her about Holmes, she was surprised he remembered the woman's name. She vaguely remembered something about the woman using her cellphone post morteum to help catch her killer.

She frowned as Sherlock mentioned the old woman and the death of a dozen. She shook her head, Greg didn't give her all the gory details, and he had not spoken alot of Moriarty so this was new information. She watched him slip into a memory, again fighting the urge to reach out and touch his arm in a comforting manner.

She smiled as he returned to her and reassured her of her safety. She chuckled as he mentioned occupying the rest of her vacation "Oh I am counting on it." She never had been one to spend holidays laying on the beach. She followed him, keeping up with his long strides and offering a thank you as he paid for both their meals. She stepped out of the building, and moved to the hotel. But once he opened the door to the garage, she stood their a bit stunned for a moment. She looked from Sherlock to the bike and back before speaking "Really? I think a motorbike is the last thing I would have imagined you riding." A soft smile played on her lips. She was being honest, she was surprised, but not displeased. She looked down at her dress. "Well I'm not exactly wearing the most appropriate attire for riding, I think I can make do." Apparently she was always up for an adventure. She stood to the side and waited for Sherlock to hop on first.

Sherlock realised that Greg had not told Samantha as much as he thought he might have done about the depths that Moriarty went to just to ensure that he didn't get bored. He decided to spare her gory details too.

The detective took in that she was very surprised that he rode a motorcycle. “It blends in, it's easy to park, it'll go off road, and especially if I'm wearing a crash helmet it helps with disguise. You haven't seen my ginger wig yet, that's very fetching, that's why my hair's shorter than usual.”

The detective grinned and zipped up his leather jacket. “You need to wear a crash helmet here, on a bike.” He showed Samantha round to the door of the bar that was at the side of the hotel “Won't be long, I'm just going in to see the hotel owner's son and borrow a helmet for you” the grin started again.


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“I don't think we will be staying in Toledo for very long and we won't be coming back here so you'll need to get some clothes from your hotel. The panniers are just like suitcases, they unlock and come off so if you want to fill one? We might have to kill time waiting for someone so bring a swimming costume and a pair of trousers with you as well, it's much cooler in the mountains at night.”

She listened to his explanation as to why he'd chosen the motorcycle and it was all very logical. Almost too logical, which is why she had to tease a little. "And I'm sure the fact that its fun to drive has nothing to do with your choice." That mischievous smile had returned, though she paused to give him an appraising look. Ginger? Really? I would have thought you'd go for something like Platinum blonde." She chuckled.

She had to admit, though only to herself, that he looked quite fetching in that leather jacket. Relaxed and slightly bad ass. She nodded as he spoke of safety first and followed him to the bar door. She watched the grin return to his lips. The next piece she was only slightly surprised by...the fact that they'd be going off after Toledo and not coming back here.

She nodded, her own hotel not far away, just down the street really. She stepped back "Alright, I should be more that 15 minutes. 20 max." She quickly rattled off her cellphone number, should he need to contact here before she returned, then headed down the street and into her own room. She tried to keep her packing light, the essentials really and also adjusted her wardrobe a bit. She checked out of her room and made arrangements with the staff to return the rest of her items back to England if she did not return by her departure date.

She stepped outside, moving back towards Sherlock's hotel, still wearing the same white sundress, though now with light leggins and a light blue cardigan to block out a bit of the breeze. She was pulling her hair back into a low ponytail to keep it out of the way for the journey and couldn't help but notice she was feeling a bit giddy, perhaps it was just the thrill of the game, though she wasn't completely sure.

Sherlock smiled genuinely. The bike was fun to ride but the guiding principle behind almost all choices that Sherlock made was of practicality first. His fun was in solving crimes that were interesting and that usually meant perplexing and complex. He understood that people got their fun in different ways “I hope you do find being on the bike fun” he commented with the smile that now came quite readily for her.

The detective was entirely lost though why Samantha thought Platinum Blond would have been a choice he made for a suitable disguise and it showed on his face as incomprehension as he looked at her, listening, trying to understand what was making her chuckle. Perhaps at one time he would have scoffed and rolled his eyes but he was no longer an immature young man. As Samantha went to her hotel he entered her phone number in his mobile.

He had seen that Samantha was surprised that they may not be staying in Toledo for long so when she returned with the pannier full of her clothes he quickly locked it back onto the bike then pulled out the slip of paper from his wallet and showed it to her.

The single handwritten line read ' Call Bernardo Zapater 417819 6pm'

Sherlock explained “It's not a reminder to phone someone, it's written in code, Call stands for Calle, in Spanish, it's a street name, and the 6 refers to the sixth number. So the painting was the first clue to go to Toledo where it is being exhibited.” he took out his phone and showed her the website with the address of the Art Gallery. Second clue the address on the paper” he took it back from Samantha and placed it back in his wallet.

“Can you find which town Calle Bernardo Zapater is in” it was less of a question than an instruction. Sherlock handed her his phone with google up ready for her to conduct a search while he got on the bike and wheeled it onto the street.

She smiled as his connect directed towards finding fun on a bike and then shrugs "Well that is yet to be determined. I suppose we are about to find out." Contrary to the area she'd grown up in, Samantha had never ridden on a motorcycle before, but she figured it sounded a bit thrilling and fun.

She could tell that sometimes Sherlock didn't get her teasing, but she was alright with that. In fact she found it rather amusing. She returned not long after she left, 20 minutes at max and watched him zip it up, before moving to stand beside him to examine the slip of paper. After his explanation she smiled a little "That is rather clever, I would have assumed it was a contact you were meeting."

She took the phone that was more handed than offered to her, though part of her playful wondered what he would do if she refused it...probably roll his eyes or some such thing. She took the phone, typing as she followed him onto the street, then looked down. "ITs in Albar...Albarrac..Albarracin, about 4 hours from Toledo oomph!" Looking down she didn't notice Sherlock stop and ran into him. She stepped back, catching herself and looked up with an apologetic and slightly embarressed smile and handing him back the phone. "Didn't have an address for any business at number 6." She watched as he prepared the bike. "How long will it take us to get to Toledo anyways?". She offered another soft smile and waited patiently.

Sherlock nodded liking that Samantha appreciated that the simple code was a clever way to transmit private information and that she got to work finding him information. John had been quick to use his particular skills, of which finding information quickly was one, to help him and the detective was simply used to working like that now.

“Good, very good,” Sherlock gave her an approving nod and a warm smile. He was impressed with her skills at finding information for him. It would be very useful to be able use his skills to deal with the things that he had to take care of while Samantha used her skills on a case. He had already discovered the name of the town for himself and he was delighted that his initial deduction about her was proving correct. “It's a house then if it's not a business address. Makes it easy.” He responded as he closed the garage doors.

The detective's eyes then narrowed as he consulted his mental map of Spain to calculate the mileage and travel time on the motorcycle as he switched the headlights on to the mandatory daytime dipped beam. “It's about 7 hours to Toledo from here. But we can cut it down to 4 hours by going straight to Albarracin first”, he pronounced the town name 'alba rra theen', in reply to Samantha's pertinent and intelligent question.

Sherlock donned his crash helmet and getting into the saddle held the machine steady for Samantha to climb on board. “Put your feet on the footpegs, arms around my waist, sit still, lean with me, if you need to stop for any reason let me know, I've got a spare pair of gloves if your hands get cold. Oh and enjoy the scenery” he smiled cheekily and turned the engine on. It would feel much cooler with the wind passing by at speed and he was a little concerned that she hadn't put a jacket on.

The Honda let out a single lusty roar then the engine settled into a gentle purring sound. The detective adjusted his mirrors, checked that Samantha was sitting comfortably "Are you OK?"

She smiled at his response. There was something about Sherlock that made one eager for his approval. Or maybe that was just her. She nodded as he mentioned a house. It had been thinking as well, and was happy that he thought the same. She had taken her helmet from him and was starting to put it on, though she paused. 4 hours was longer than she'd thought the ride would be...especially for her first time on a motorbike, but she'd signed on for an adventure and she was about to find herself in one.

She nodded as he mentioned going to Albaracin first. She was happy that they were choosing the shorter distance rather than the longer one to start. She stepped onto the bike as requested once the helmet was in place. Listening to his instructions, she placed one foot on the foot pegs, then tentatively placed the other one, her hands on his him to steady herself. Once she felt steady, her arm slipped around him her hands resting one over the other. She reminded herself that she would need to lean with him. Going over that onces more, the look of concentration on her face was most likely comical. When he asked if she was alright she came out of it and nodded to him.

For the first few minutes Sherlock felt her arms stiff, her body tense behind him. But as they continued she began to relax, so that by the time they were out of the city, her grip had loosened some and she'd shifted a little, molding her body to the bike and his back. She two wished she had a jacket, but the sweater was the heaviest item she'd brought, having thought that she and Rupert would spend most of their time on the beach.

Despite the cold, she was enjoying the ride, and realized that she rather enjoyed motorcycles. Perhaps when she returned to England, she would find some time to take lessons. About two hours in, her fingers began to stiffen, but she didn't want to be the one to slow them down, so rather than ask to stop for the gloves, she shifted, sliding her hands into the pockets of Sherlocks jacket and resting them there.

The detective thought that his new companion was doing very well for her first time riding on a motorcycle and after threading their way through the busy city roads he was used to the extra weight and her slight movements.

By the time they were on the ring road and picking up speed Samantha had relaxed her grip around his waist. He found it strange, but not uncomfortable, to be in such close proximity to anyone. Sherlock turned the bike southward down the coast road, noticing the influx of tourist money had only increased the building of new mini skyscraper hotels.

About halfway to the town of Albarracin, having travelled through a dozen or more charming old villages, it seemed that Samantha was feeling cold. As she unexpectedly slipped her dainty hands into his jacket pockets he was startled for a moment.

Before leaving the main road south Sherlock pulled the bike into the next large resort town to find her a shop to buy a jacket which she would need for the 4000ft climb up the A23 to the mountain town of Albarracin. He took off his jacket and scarf and sat, in a white T shirt and sunglasses, on the motorcycle waiting for her.

When Samantha returned triumphantly clutching a bag he waited for her to slip the jacket on then when she was settled he set the bike back on the road. Soon they were turning off up the A23 and travelling through increasingly rugged but verdant picturesque scenery of the National Park.

She began to enjoy the gentle hum of the bike, lulling her into a relaxed almost zen state as they rode. She watched the hotels go by and the sea shimmering in the background. She also made mental notes of everything she knew about the painting they would see in Toledo, wondering what importance it could have.

She almost pulled her hands back out of his pockets when she surprised him, feeling him tense momentarily but it was too bloody warm in there to have any real desire to remove them, so there they stayed until he stopped in town. Her teeth chattered a little as she got off the bike and removed her helmet and gave him a soft thankful smile for being attentive to her needs.

She waited a moment to warm up in the sun before heading inside the shop. When she came out, she was no longer wearing the sweater and sundress, which were now in the bag, trading them for a knee length knit sweater, thinking it would stand up better to the evening in the mountain. She slipped her jacket on, placed her bag in the side back and requested the spare gloves before returning to her place behind him.

She wasn't tense at all this time as they moved back onto the road, enjoying the scenery and 100 times more comfortable now that she was in fact warm. Sometime during the last hour of their trek, she turned her head slightly, resting it on Sherlock's back lightly, finding the position a bit more comfortable.

As they reached the town, she straighted up again, taking in the surroundings, trying to get her bearings.

Sherlock could tell that Samantha was enjoying the scenery and taking everything in as he could feel her moving slightly whenever she looked around. He realised that she was feeling chilly but she was not shivering and he particularly wanted to avoid the trip being hard and miserable for her since he could not predict if the case would be easy, and therefore quick, or complex and liable to be more demanding on her.

Samantha was proving adaptable, flexible, prompt, uncomplaining able to take his advice and with her hands stuffed in his pockets, which later made him chuckle, unexpectedly innovative and in her interest in staying warm. He smiled too as Samantha's head came to nestle on his back making herself comfortable as he unexpectedly benefited from his back being warmer.

The detective slowed as they swept around a smooth corner and he saw the sign for the town in front of a tunnel. Above were characteristic pink plastered walls of houses. It was their first view of Casas colgdas, hanging houses, named for the way the house's upper stories seemed to hang out into thin air.



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The engine noise echoed for a few seconds off the walls of the tunnel and then back in the remnants of the daylight Sherlock looked for signposts. Taking the right turn brought them, by luck, to Calle Bernardo Zapater and the detective swung the bike across the road into a handy hotel car park area. “Up this way, will be number 9, on our right, if you are ready.” he indicated with a hand and, being a gentleman, walked on her left so that she was on the inside and he was closer to the road.

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She smiled as they rode, and even hummed a little, though she could only really feel the vibration and hear it inside her helmet. If she knew how much care Sherlock was taking to make sure she was comfortable, she would have been touched. But she didn't. Besides, it took alot for her to be miserable. Between her and Greg, she was the optimistic child. Which was good, because given the fact that the first clue led to two different locations, this writer would bed that the journey was going to be complex and more demanding.

Her first impression of the city was the colour, this dusty rose, that make the whole place look like it was a clay model replica, rather than an actual village. Daylight was dimming and she wondered if they would spend the night here before heading to the next place. She supposed it depended on what they discovered and how anxious Sherlock was to move on. Though she had to admit the thought of the even cooler night air whipping around her they rode was not a pleasant thought, and she let a tiny shiver run down her spine as she slid off the bike and removed her helmet.

She glanced around and removed the gloved, sliding them into her jacket pocket and rubbing her hands together to get the blood flowing. She pulled her hair out of the ponytail and ran a hand through it, making her feel a bit more presentable after a four hour bike ride. She could tell already she was going to be a bit stiff tomorrow. "I think a hot bath is an order this evening" She smiled at the thought and then nodded that she was ready.

As they walked up the hill, she looked up at her companion. "So you really have no idea who will be behind the door Sherlock? I mean do you think they are expecting us? They might have assumed we'd hit this place on the way back." She considered it and looked to the right wanting to see where they were headed exactly.

“It's safe, whoever lives here is expecting someone at some point. They may know nothing about the Toledo painting though. Nor Moriarty by name” Sherlock explained, pleased that she had considered that point, as they sauntered up the quiet main road. “Wherever we go, don't mention Moriarty at all.” He smiled momentarily as he glanced at Samantha to check that she had heard his warning, which she had. “It upsets people, both good and bad.”

A minute or so later they came to the house they were looking for and the detective rattled the old, salamander shaped iron door-knocker on the ancient oak door vigorously and then stood back looking around.

Shortly there were footsteps on a tiled floor and the door was opened by a stocky, well built, dark haired, balding Spaniard of about 50 in a steel grey shirt and dark grey trousers held in with a thin, black leather belt. Educated, moderately wealthy, local businessman, married, with children at least two at home, and a large elderly golden brown dog Sherlock deduced and stepping forward spoke to the man in Spanish.

“Si, me llamo es Jose” the occupier smiled a little nervously and answered looking at Sherlock and then Samantha and stepped back inviting them inside where the two men shook hands. Their host showed them through to his kitchen and offered them a seat at an old rectangular oak dining table.

Sherlock translated when the man finished speaking “Jose suggests that there is a suspicious painting and that we stay the night to see it tomorrow, he is going to arrange a hotel for us and he has a restaurant if we would like to eat later, oh, you said you wanted a bath.” he turned back to Jose “equipadas con baño completo?”

Their host, going to the telephone on the wall, smiled warmly and enquired "Habitación doble, matrimonio?”

“No, de uso individual, gracias, tambien apartamento es posible.” Sherlock smiled thinly and translated for Samantha “he asked what sort of hotel rooms we want, single or otherwise. I said an apartment would be fine as well”

They arranged to meet in the morning at 9am at the Cathedral and bidding their host good-evening went back to where they had parked, hopped on the bike and went to the hotel Jose had arranged for them.

“The hotel belongs to his younger brother, their elder brother is a monk in charge of buying investment art for the Order” the detective told Samantha while they were unpacking.

She looked at Sherlock and nodded, she would take his warning under advisement, though Moriarty wasn't a name she was liable to bandy around anyway. She remained by Sherlock's side and took on the role of silent partner as they waited for the door to open. Her first observation of the man was how interesting it was that someone who wore clothes so monotoned could live in such a colourful house. Her mind wasn't reeling like Sherlock's, but she did notice he was married and had a kind face. Not the most scientific of observations.

She offered Jose a soft, warm smile and followed Sherlock inside, taking the offered seat. Her Spanish was rusty, so she resorted to watching and looking about the room. She noted the man was nervous and wondered why. Her attention turned back to the lanky man beside her as he translated. "Just a suspicious painting? No other details?" She would have preferred some sort of detail, though she had already begun to try and see how it might be connected to "The Ladies". She almost went into that zoned out state that sometimes took her in things involving art, but then the word bath caught her ears and Sherlock had her attention again. For the act of remembering such a small, off handed remark, he was handsomely repaid with a bright smile and a sparkle in her eyes. Sometimes it was just the little conveniences.

She watched the men go back to speaking and thought she caught a familiar word or two, though she looked to Sherlock hoping he could explain. She was interested considering Jose's warm smile and Sherlock's thin one. Her smile remained, wondering if he was referencing their earlier conversation. "An apartment? You know if that's where we end up I'll expect you to make breakfast in bed right?* There was a wink and smile, and then a chuckle, she was indeed pulling his leg this time and not afraid to let him know it. "Please tell Jose thank you for his hospitality." She nodded to the man and bowed her head in thanks before following Sherlock back to the bike, which led to the hotel.

She looked up at the hotel and followed Sherlock in. "So this is a family affair then. I really am curious as to what makes the painting strange. I had half a mind to just demand we see it straight away, though it was good I didn't now, seeing as his brother is a monk." She gave a wry smile. "I can't be a counterfiet or the real ladies...I mean I can't see the Order purchasing such a thing, given that it is widely known that it is housed in the Irish National Gallery. I am sad to admit don't have the faintest idea what is going on." She grabbed her back, unzipping her jacket now that they weren't planning on moving again for awhile. "So Sherlock...how are you going to keep me entertained this evening...I am after all on my vacation."

“'Suspicious' Jose says, so he's unwilling to say something and it turn out to be wrong. Facts are eloquent.” Sherlock informed Samantha. He noticed that his request for Samantha for a room with a bath had been well received, he basked in the warmth of her bright smile for a moment or two. It was nice to be appreciated.

The lanky detective watched as his new assistant winked and smiled, making a joke about his share of duties if they had been staying in an apartment. He liked how she chuckled and he thought of something that might amuse her.

“I went to Buckingham Place wearing a sheet” Sherlock confided without a hint of embarrassment “And I have long arms, but making breakfast while I'm still in bed? Even I can't quite manage that.” he grinned.

Sherlock went to see what Samantha's room was like before going to his own across the hall. It was neat and reasonable in size with a single bed, the walls were decorated with a couple of framed pictures of local views, probably by a local artist and it had a modern ensuite bathroom through a door with the promised bath.

“Spain is a very family orientated country.” Sherlock agreed. “I couldn't tell you at this stage what is going on but the Order have clearly bought a painting and have some doubts about it's authenticity. Certainly it cannot be the Lady and Maid, as you say, that's far too well known.” Sherlock smiled as if in apology for not being able to enlighten Samantha about the case.

The only plans Sherlock had were to think about the case and do what he usually did, so he suggested that to Samantha when she asked him how he planned to entertain her for the evening."We could freshen up and go for a drink before dinner. There isn't usually much to do at night in small villages in the mountains like this. They are always popular with the Spanish tourists but not many foreigners bother to go off the beaten track. Meet downstairs, in a couple of hours, eight-thirty?"

Samanth nodded as Sherlock explained what he assumed were Jose's reasons for being vague. She paused looking at his curiously as he mentioned the sheet. "In a sheet? Like a ghost costume?" She found that strange, but amusing. And then he made an actual joke and she giggled. Shaking her head and nudging his shoulder with her own slightly. It was nice to see that his mood seemed to have lifted some. "You can't? Well then you're just not trying hard enough." She smirked.

She looked at her room, clean, which a decent looking bed. She paused to look at one of the pictures, though she eyed the bathroom, knowing she would be heading in that direction before too long. She dropped her bag on the bed and looked back at Sherlock as he gave his thoughts. It was still early in the case she assumed, for Sherlock to have any theories that were too elaborate.

She offered him a lopsided grin at the mention of drinks and not much entertainment in small towns. "Well then we should find out what the locals do for fun." She knew she was pushing her luck a bit, that Sherlock was not one to socialize....not that she'd every seen anyways. She let him off the hook quickly. "Drinks and dinner sounds good. See you at 8:30." She went to fall him to the door and paused before shutting it. "And thanks...for letting me tag along." She offered a softer almost shy look and turned shutting the door and heading for the bath.

Sherlock laughed “Not like a ghost costume, whatever that looks like. I had got out of bed wrapped in the sheet and John was out on a case so I was speaking to him on his laptop when I was summoned to go to the Palace. I was on a case and I don't drop a case just in case my brother wants me to. I refused to get dressed and went as I was. John and I had a good laugh about it” he explained. Good old John he'd have some tales to tell his grandchildren one day.

The detective thought Samantha was good company as she liked a laugh too but he was a bit disconcerted at being touched when he wasn't expecting it. He was unused to being touched. He was very pleased that she was so interested in having a little adventure and impatiently wished again that he had something to tell her about the case, but he needed details first.

“The locals go to a bar earlier in the evening and have a snack then they go for a walk before they go out for a meal. That's why Jose was dressed smart casual, he'll go to his restaurant later.” Sherlock replied to Samantha's question about what locals did for fun.

Sherlock left Samantha to have a rest and get her bath. His hotel room was very similar to Samantha's and he looked at the artwork on the walls while peeling his clothes off to get in the bath. He enjoyed a soak in a hot tub but as usual the bath was too short for him to immerse himself fully so he made do with sitting upright. Then he washed and dried his hair. He sat back in the comfy chair in a 't' shirt and his boxers and thought about the case until he had to get dressed. He longed for his usual smart, tailored clothes instead of the sort that tourists wore and pulled out a maroon coloured sweater to go with his other pair of black jeans.

He was down in the hotel foyer for shortly before 8:15 pm and was looking at the artwork when Samantha appeared.

She listened to the story of Buckingham palace and giggled a little. She could actually see Sherlock doing that...going wrapped only n a sheet. Whether he knew it or now, Sherlock could be rather entertaining, and she quite liked that genuine smile that occasionally appeared on his lips. She listened as he spoke of the local culture and their intentions. She smiled softly "Yes, but its what they choose to do after that I am interested in." Because she was curious about people, always had been. There were as fasinating to her as paintings as each one had a story, their own lives, hopes, problems and dreams. But she didn't voice this, as she assumed it wouldn't interest Sherlock in the least.

She watched him leave, shutting the door and locking it before heading into the bath. Where she happily remained until the water became luke warm. Once up and about, she flipped through the channels on the tele, then used her phone to do some research on the Lady and Maid just to brush up on the facts.

As she dressed a while later, she thought to what she'd be doing if Rupert had stayed, not having been kicked to the curb by Sherlock. Most likely they would have been having dinner at some restaurant filled with tourists and owned by an englishman. She was looking forward to instead sampling local cuisine made by the locals. She slipped on a pair of dark blue jeans and a white flowy top with applique flowers on the neck line, giving it a more soft and feminine look. She slipped her newly aquired black leather jacket over, though she left it open. She let her hair hang loosely, applying only a touch of mascara and some lip gloss.

Samantha headed down stairs 5 minutes after Sherlock and was surprised to see him already there. She smiled and walked over, clearing her throat to draw his attention. "Well, shall we?" There was a soft, warm smile offered to him as she waited for him to lead the way. As they stepped outside, she inhaled slowly, taking in the fresh mountain air.

Sherlock immediately left the painting he was studying to greet Samantha with a warm smile as she appeared in the foyer. “Why not?” he replied and opened the heavy oak metal studded door for her to the outside.

He thought Samantha looked completely harmless, meek and sort of innocent and not at all capable of sorting out big brawling bar-goers or as astute as he knew her to be. She reminded him of John, almost. Looking entirely inoffensive and mild, concealing an ability to handle himself and a love adventure were qualities that his shrewd best friend had.

“Quite off the beaten track, isn't it.” he said appreciating the view of the distant partially wooded hills and the barer, dusky red earth coloured mountain beyond.

They walked through cobbled streets past ancient half timbered houses with walls filled with the natural pink plaster and painted plaster. They found Jose's restaurant was next to a large cosy and pleasantly decorated bar that was already filling with customers. Sherlock found them a seat in a corner. Pleasant if, like himself, one didn't mind a collection of mounted stuffed fox and wild boar heads and a huge plasma screen television on in the opposite corner.

“What would you like to drink?” Sherlock asked taking his leather jacket off and folding it onto the deeply stuffed, comfy looking leather bench seat.

She smiled softly, giving Sherlock the once over and stepped outside at his behest. She really did enjoy this little adventure and his company...though she wasn't sure anyone else would believe her if she told them.

She nodded at his comment and paused for a moment, just to take in the scenary. "Yes...I don't think I would have even know this was a place possible to visit if you hadn't brought me here Sherlock." As they continued to move towards the restaurant, walking past a building, she reached out to run her hand over the pale pink plaster.

The look on her face was delight as they stepped into the cozy and authentic spanish mountain bar. She glanced at the foxes and boars, and really they didn't bother her, so long as they didn't start talking or some such thing. She moved to sit next to where he'd placed his jacket, shrugging off her own as her attention returned to him. "A glass of white wine would be lovely, thank you." She smiled, again pleased to discover he was infact a gentleman.

The detective noticed Samantha's curious hand passing over the pink plastered wall and smiled a little. “There are many little places that are rarely seen by outsiders.”

Sherlock glanced around the room while he was at the bar waiting to be served. When he returned from the bar he had a two glass-full sized carafe of white wine for Samantha and a pint of cold coke for himself. “Don't be surprised if someone comes up and asks you if you are on your way to the coast to do the beaches. They hear about the Brits on holiday but don't meet many for themselves.”

They began talking about art and Sherlock turned towards her. “My mother's side of the family were related to the artist Verner.” Sherlock told her. “I don't paint, but I play violin, although I suppose art in the blood accounts for my bent for observing details.” he leaned back for a moment and laughed.

He had a theory about the painting they were going to speak with a member of the monastery about in the morning. “Artists, and subjects, go in and out of fashion and how long the Order has to wait until the market is hot again isn't a material consideration. Based on it being an investment piece it could be a new fake of any one of a number of prolific leading artist's or a forgery.” he spoke quietly, still leaning towards Samantha interested in her thoughts.

After half an hour or so a young man got up and turned the plasma television on for the CANAL tv station broadcast of a bullfight. The buzz of the room descended to a hush interspersed with gasps, louder approving comments and Sherlock indicated he was ready to move on to the restaurant a couple of doors away after Samantha had seen enough of the sport.