The Dangerous Edge of Things aka Sherlock Holmes has a Boyfriend who lives in Canada Part 2 (1/?)
Ok, So this is a min-update. The rest will follow Monday Evening. A bunch of you lovely people have friended me, so thanks for that! Please note that none of this is beta'd or brit-picked, so take from it what you will. Also, 2jamie, LJ says it is your birthday, so Happy Birthday!
Scotland Yard was not what John had imagined. In his head, London was gaslight and steam and the Yard was a large brick building where detectives huddled behind thick oak desks, trying to read by weak electricity or candlelight.
But no, Scotland Yard was modern. Glass and streamlined -not a candle in sight.
He tries hard to not be disappointed.
Sherlock sweeps in, and John limps in his wake, taking in the looks of dislike as they flash over people’s face. Well, he’d never thought Sherlock would be popular. 3:00 AM calls where he’d have to listen to Sherlock play some Hungarian piece on his violin (and Sherlock would know when John was falling asleep) told him more than enough.
Gone are the smiles and cheerful hellos from the terminal. Lestrade scowled when Sherlock approached his office and rapped on the glass.
Young female. Around 23 years of age. Dark hair. Her hands wrap around a Styrofoam mug -the liquid jitters and splashes the sides of the cup.
Shock, John thinks at once.
This thought has him wrapping a hand around Sherlock’s arm and pulling him away from the office.
Sherlock turns to him, an eyebrow raised.
“I need to ask her some questions, John. Can this wait?”
John shakes his head.
“That girl, she’s had a rough night.”
“Doubtless many people across London have had a rough night, John. This one might have some answers for us.”
Sherlock made to pull his arm from John’s grip. John holds on for a few seconds before letting go, the threat present in his frown.
Sighing, Sherlock rolls his eyes and knocks again on the glass. Lestrade waves them in, even though Sherlock is already taking a seat across from the young woman. John settles in the extra chair against the wall.
“What can you tell us about your attacker?” Lestrade asks, as Sherlock leans forward, his hands steepled in front of his mouth.
“I- I don’t remember much. I was walking around, enjoying the sights and then there’s this huge gap between Leiscester and Trafalgar. I went to a movie at Empire,” the girl chokes, her breath shuddering, “and the next thing I know, someone is dragging me somewhere - oh god I just want to go home.”
Lestrade grimaces, his hand coming to rub his temples.
John interrupts the girl, “What movie was it?”
She cranes her head to look at him.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“What movie?”
“uhm…Frankenstein.”
“Oh, I’ve seen the trailers - any good?”
“Yeah not too bad. Some weird English moments,”
John huffs a laugh. “I’ve been here less than a few hours and already it’s overwhelming. I’d kill for poutine.”
“I’d kill for ketchup chips. I mentioned them to some of the people at the Hostel - they acted as if it was the most disgusting food they’d ever heard of.”
“Clearly they were never educated in the joys of the-”
Lestrade coughs, and John wraps his hand around his cane, heaving himself up.
“I’m going to get some tea, want more?” He asks the girl. She flashes him a smile.
“Yeah, thanks.”
By the time John has returned with the Tea, Sherlock is already walking out of the office. Swearing, he gives the girl the cup he made and waves to Lestrade.
When he catches up with Sherlock, he’s tries hard not to pant.
Falling into step beside the man, he looks up and wonders for the hundredth time how any one person ever grew so tall.
“You stopped her from having a panic attack.” John starts before his face floods red. He looks away again.
“I am a Doctor. I’m surprised the hospital released her.”
“She doesn’t have traveler’s insurance.”
“So?”
“She was worried she’d have to pay. When Lestrade showed up, she jumped at the chance to leave.”
John pressed his lips together, thinking this through.
“I don’t have travelers insurance.”
“Of course you do.” Sherlock stares straight ahead as he pushes past the large doors to outside. There’s a strange silence that John’s not sure he wants to break.
“So what did you find out?”
“She’s a history major. Decided to discover herself. Oldest child. Recently broke up with her boyfriend. The hostel she’s staying is within an eight block radius of Leichester Square. All completely useless.”
Sherlock scoffs, giving a sharp turn of his head as if tossing the memory of the interview from his head.
“What about the fellow who brought her in?”
Sherlock smiles.
“We’re going to see him, aren’t we?”
Sherlock’s arm is already in the air, hailing a black cab.
“National Gallery,” Sherlock directs once the door has closed.
Scotland Yard was not what John had imagined. In his head, London was gaslight and steam and the Yard was a large brick building where detectives huddled behind thick oak desks, trying to read by weak electricity or candlelight.
But no, Scotland Yard was modern. Glass and streamlined -not a candle in sight.
He tries hard to not be disappointed.
Sherlock sweeps in, and John limps in his wake, taking in the looks of dislike as they flash over people’s face. Well, he’d never thought Sherlock would be popular. 3:00 AM calls where he’d have to listen to Sherlock play some Hungarian piece on his violin (and Sherlock would know when John was falling asleep) told him more than enough.
Gone are the smiles and cheerful hellos from the terminal. Lestrade scowled when Sherlock approached his office and rapped on the glass.
Young female. Around 23 years of age. Dark hair. Her hands wrap around a Styrofoam mug -the liquid jitters and splashes the sides of the cup.
Shock, John thinks at once.
This thought has him wrapping a hand around Sherlock’s arm and pulling him away from the office.
Sherlock turns to him, an eyebrow raised.
“I need to ask her some questions, John. Can this wait?”
John shakes his head.
“That girl, she’s had a rough night.”
“Doubtless many people across London have had a rough night, John. This one might have some answers for us.”
Sherlock made to pull his arm from John’s grip. John holds on for a few seconds before letting go, the threat present in his frown.
Sighing, Sherlock rolls his eyes and knocks again on the glass. Lestrade waves them in, even though Sherlock is already taking a seat across from the young woman. John settles in the extra chair against the wall.
“What can you tell us about your attacker?” Lestrade asks, as Sherlock leans forward, his hands steepled in front of his mouth.
“I- I don’t remember much. I was walking around, enjoying the sights and then there’s this huge gap between Leiscester and Trafalgar. I went to a movie at Empire,” the girl chokes, her breath shuddering, “and the next thing I know, someone is dragging me somewhere - oh god I just want to go home.”
Lestrade grimaces, his hand coming to rub his temples.
John interrupts the girl, “What movie was it?”
She cranes her head to look at him.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“What movie?”
“uhm…Frankenstein.”
“Oh, I’ve seen the trailers - any good?”
“Yeah not too bad. Some weird English moments,”
John huffs a laugh. “I’ve been here less than a few hours and already it’s overwhelming. I’d kill for poutine.”
“I’d kill for ketchup chips. I mentioned them to some of the people at the Hostel - they acted as if it was the most disgusting food they’d ever heard of.”
“Clearly they were never educated in the joys of the-”
Lestrade coughs, and John wraps his hand around his cane, heaving himself up.
“I’m going to get some tea, want more?” He asks the girl. She flashes him a smile.
“Yeah, thanks.”
By the time John has returned with the Tea, Sherlock is already walking out of the office. Swearing, he gives the girl the cup he made and waves to Lestrade.
When he catches up with Sherlock, he’s tries hard not to pant.
Falling into step beside the man, he looks up and wonders for the hundredth time how any one person ever grew so tall.
“You stopped her from having a panic attack.” John starts before his face floods red. He looks away again.
“I am a Doctor. I’m surprised the hospital released her.”
“She doesn’t have traveler’s insurance.”
“So?”
“She was worried she’d have to pay. When Lestrade showed up, she jumped at the chance to leave.”
John pressed his lips together, thinking this through.
“I don’t have travelers insurance.”
“Of course you do.” Sherlock stares straight ahead as he pushes past the large doors to outside. There’s a strange silence that John’s not sure he wants to break.
“So what did you find out?”
“She’s a history major. Decided to discover herself. Oldest child. Recently broke up with her boyfriend. The hostel she’s staying is within an eight block radius of Leichester Square. All completely useless.”
Sherlock scoffs, giving a sharp turn of his head as if tossing the memory of the interview from his head.
“What about the fellow who brought her in?”
Sherlock smiles.
“We’re going to see him, aren’t we?”
Sherlock’s arm is already in the air, hailing a black cab.
“National Gallery,” Sherlock directs once the door has closed.