Peeping Sally
I need to get more sleep. I don't even know...
Title: Peeping Sally
Author: Livia_Carica
Rating: PG
Summary: Sally has a suspicion...
Disclaimer: I have finished with them, you may have them back now.
For this prompt here
“Do you think they’re… you know?” Donovan took a sip from her takeaway coffee and nodded over to the two men sitting perched shoulder to shoulder on the back step of one of the police vans.
“Who?” Anderson looked up from his clipboard.
“Sherlock and his doctor. They seem very… close.”
“Well, I’ve clearly never given as much thought to it as you have, but I would say no… ” Anderson straightened and watched as John took a chunk of the sandwich he was eating and passed it over to Sherlock, who was absorbed in his notebook. Absently, he took the offered morsel without even looking up or stopping what he was doing and took a bite.
“See!” Sally was triumphant. Anderson scoffed.
“Oh, come on! He gave him a bite of his sandwich. That doesn’t mean they go back to that disgusting flat of theirs and have rampant sexual congress.” He started to pack up his equipment. “Now can we hurry up and get…. Sally?”
Donovan jumped guiltily, a flush spreading across her cheeks, and she quickly began putting things into the back of the van.
~*|*~
Sometimes police work was a lot of sitting around and waiting, especially on court day. Uncomfortable in her new suit, Donovan found a battered vinyl chair and prepared to make it base camp for the next few hours. She’d been through enough of these tedious afternoons to know she’d need something to do so she had a book, a magazine and some reports she needed to read through. She also had an unobstructed view of Sherlock and the doctor who were sitting in the opposite corner of the room.
She managed to get through the reports with little distraction, but John’s soft voice kept drifting across the cavernous room and she kept flicking surreptitious glances across at them. They had their heads close together and were almost leaning on each other; Sherlock was demonstrating something, but she couldn’t quite catch what he was saying. She tried to remember the body language seminar she’d gone to that one time in Ipswich but all she could remember was how to tell if someone was lying and that was only because she used that one a lot.
They all looked up as the heavy wooden door to the court room opened and Anderson emerged, his testimony finished. He loosened his tie and flopped down in the seat next to Donovan.
“He’s brought him tea,” she whispered, conspiratorially. “Twice.”
“Well, he does drink a lot of tea; looking at him, I’m fairly sure that’s all he lives on.”
“No, he brought him a bun!”
“Oh, well that proves it then if he brought him a bun! Is that code for having mad bunny sex?” Anderson yawned. “I could do with a drink myself. Do you…?” She shook her head; she didn’t want to leave unless she was called, she told him. He’d almost believed her.
When he was gone, she picked up her magazine. For a while, she was distracted by an article on some reality TV star’s trip to rock bottom and her ultimate redemption, until she noticed that the room was eerily quiet except for the creaking of the old building. A quick look later and she wished Anderson would come back.
Sherlock had wrapped himself up in his coat and was fast asleep with his head in John’s lap. John, for his part, was playing with his mobile phone, his other hand resting lightly on Sherlock’s hair, looking utterly bored. She scrambled for her own phone; if Anderson wasn’t coming back, she’d need proof but before she could take the photo, the massive doors swung open again and they were calling for Sherlock.
As he walked past, he caught her staring and frowned down at her and she couldn’t shake the feeling that the man could read her thoughts, most of which at that moment involved him, the good doctor and a compromising position or two.
She never got to her book.
~*|*~
Most people would have been perturbed if a dozen of the Metropolitan Police’s finest had turned up on their doorstep intent on finding illegal substances, but not The Freak. Sally had trudged up the steps again to 221B, snapping on the latex and resigning herself to her task.
They were home for this one. Sherlock stood ramrod straight staring out of the window, arms crossed. He was sulking, didn’t need any knowledge of body language to see that. He hadn’t expected this one, she thought and her interest was piqued; maybe this time they’d find something that didn’t once belong on, in or attached to a human being. Joining Anderson in the kitchen she started pulling out drawers and methodically searching.
John had pushed his way through with an excuse me, and two sorries.
“Right,” he clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Does anyone want a cup of tea?” A few hands went up. “Okay, then. Can someone search this so I can make some?” He held out the tea caddy. “Sherlock, do you want tea?” he yelled through to the front room.
“No!”
“Well, I’m making you some anyway, you sullen sod,” he’d replied mostly to himself as he waited for one of the officers to make sure they weren’t hiding cocaine in their kettle.
He had made him tea, and brought out a tin of biscuits. Donovan watched as he took the mug and some Jammy Dodgers through and handed them to Sherlock, turning the cup around so the detective could grab the handle without burning himself. A thought struck her.
“I’m going to take the bedroom…” she called to Anderson.
~*|*~
The Scotland Yard canteen was a busy place at the best of times, but Sally managed to find a table that gave a relatively unobstructed view of her quarries until Anderson sat opposite her. She’d protested, moving so she could see around him.
“This is getting more than a bit weird, Sally.”
“Yeah? Well…they’re weird.” She was fairly sure she hadn’t used that tone of voice since she was six, but she was also sure she was right. Sherlock sat with his fingers steepled under his chin, staring into space, while John tucked into the special of the day.
“Why don’t you just ask them? He’ll already know you’re watching them.” Anderson had taken a bite of his pasta.
Across the room, John pushed his plate to the center of the table and handed Sherlock his fork.
“Oh, they’ve gone all Lady and the Tramp,” she gasped, open mouthed. Anderson picked up his lunch and went to sit at another table.
~*|*~
Sometimes it was best just to let Sherlock get on with it. She had to give it to him, the man had a flair for the dramatic, as he moved around the room, muttering to himself and focusing on seemingly random objects, so they stood back and watched. She found herself standing next to Watson, who stood at military ease and had given him an awkward smile and a nod. He nodded back and they were silent for a long time.
“We’re not… you know.” John had leaned in and whispered. She froze, staring straight ahead at Sherlock who had pulled out a little magnifying glass and was studying the fireplace.
“Sorry?” She was going for indignant and managed to hit squeaky.
“Me and Sherlock. We’re not… involved. With each other, I mean.” At her protests, John had smiled that little smile of his that he usually only reserved for Sherlock’s more manic moments. Trying to fight through the humiliation of being caught out doing something she should have been good at, she turned to him, arms crossed defensively.
“I never said you were…”
“I’ve seen you watching us, Sergeant. So I just thought I would set the record straight. I am not involved with Sherlock Holmes in any way other than as his flat mate.”
She had almost believed him, but when his eyes slid away from hers and he started pulling at his ear, that body language course in Ipswich suddenly paid off. On the other side of the room, Sherlock let out a roar of triumph.
She couldn’t wait to tell Anderson.
Title: Peeping Sally
Author: Livia_Carica
Rating: PG
Summary: Sally has a suspicion...
Disclaimer: I have finished with them, you may have them back now.
For this prompt here
“Do you think they’re… you know?” Donovan took a sip from her takeaway coffee and nodded over to the two men sitting perched shoulder to shoulder on the back step of one of the police vans.
“Who?” Anderson looked up from his clipboard.
“Sherlock and his doctor. They seem very… close.”
“Well, I’ve clearly never given as much thought to it as you have, but I would say no… ” Anderson straightened and watched as John took a chunk of the sandwich he was eating and passed it over to Sherlock, who was absorbed in his notebook. Absently, he took the offered morsel without even looking up or stopping what he was doing and took a bite.
“See!” Sally was triumphant. Anderson scoffed.
“Oh, come on! He gave him a bite of his sandwich. That doesn’t mean they go back to that disgusting flat of theirs and have rampant sexual congress.” He started to pack up his equipment. “Now can we hurry up and get…. Sally?”
Donovan jumped guiltily, a flush spreading across her cheeks, and she quickly began putting things into the back of the van.
~*|*~
Sometimes police work was a lot of sitting around and waiting, especially on court day. Uncomfortable in her new suit, Donovan found a battered vinyl chair and prepared to make it base camp for the next few hours. She’d been through enough of these tedious afternoons to know she’d need something to do so she had a book, a magazine and some reports she needed to read through. She also had an unobstructed view of Sherlock and the doctor who were sitting in the opposite corner of the room.
She managed to get through the reports with little distraction, but John’s soft voice kept drifting across the cavernous room and she kept flicking surreptitious glances across at them. They had their heads close together and were almost leaning on each other; Sherlock was demonstrating something, but she couldn’t quite catch what he was saying. She tried to remember the body language seminar she’d gone to that one time in Ipswich but all she could remember was how to tell if someone was lying and that was only because she used that one a lot.
They all looked up as the heavy wooden door to the court room opened and Anderson emerged, his testimony finished. He loosened his tie and flopped down in the seat next to Donovan.
“He’s brought him tea,” she whispered, conspiratorially. “Twice.”
“Well, he does drink a lot of tea; looking at him, I’m fairly sure that’s all he lives on.”
“No, he brought him a bun!”
“Oh, well that proves it then if he brought him a bun! Is that code for having mad bunny sex?” Anderson yawned. “I could do with a drink myself. Do you…?” She shook her head; she didn’t want to leave unless she was called, she told him. He’d almost believed her.
When he was gone, she picked up her magazine. For a while, she was distracted by an article on some reality TV star’s trip to rock bottom and her ultimate redemption, until she noticed that the room was eerily quiet except for the creaking of the old building. A quick look later and she wished Anderson would come back.
Sherlock had wrapped himself up in his coat and was fast asleep with his head in John’s lap. John, for his part, was playing with his mobile phone, his other hand resting lightly on Sherlock’s hair, looking utterly bored. She scrambled for her own phone; if Anderson wasn’t coming back, she’d need proof but before she could take the photo, the massive doors swung open again and they were calling for Sherlock.
As he walked past, he caught her staring and frowned down at her and she couldn’t shake the feeling that the man could read her thoughts, most of which at that moment involved him, the good doctor and a compromising position or two.
She never got to her book.
~*|*~
Most people would have been perturbed if a dozen of the Metropolitan Police’s finest had turned up on their doorstep intent on finding illegal substances, but not The Freak. Sally had trudged up the steps again to 221B, snapping on the latex and resigning herself to her task.
They were home for this one. Sherlock stood ramrod straight staring out of the window, arms crossed. He was sulking, didn’t need any knowledge of body language to see that. He hadn’t expected this one, she thought and her interest was piqued; maybe this time they’d find something that didn’t once belong on, in or attached to a human being. Joining Anderson in the kitchen she started pulling out drawers and methodically searching.
John had pushed his way through with an excuse me, and two sorries.
“Right,” he clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Does anyone want a cup of tea?” A few hands went up. “Okay, then. Can someone search this so I can make some?” He held out the tea caddy. “Sherlock, do you want tea?” he yelled through to the front room.
“No!”
“Well, I’m making you some anyway, you sullen sod,” he’d replied mostly to himself as he waited for one of the officers to make sure they weren’t hiding cocaine in their kettle.
He had made him tea, and brought out a tin of biscuits. Donovan watched as he took the mug and some Jammy Dodgers through and handed them to Sherlock, turning the cup around so the detective could grab the handle without burning himself. A thought struck her.
“I’m going to take the bedroom…” she called to Anderson.
~*|*~
The Scotland Yard canteen was a busy place at the best of times, but Sally managed to find a table that gave a relatively unobstructed view of her quarries until Anderson sat opposite her. She’d protested, moving so she could see around him.
“This is getting more than a bit weird, Sally.”
“Yeah? Well…they’re weird.” She was fairly sure she hadn’t used that tone of voice since she was six, but she was also sure she was right. Sherlock sat with his fingers steepled under his chin, staring into space, while John tucked into the special of the day.
“Why don’t you just ask them? He’ll already know you’re watching them.” Anderson had taken a bite of his pasta.
Across the room, John pushed his plate to the center of the table and handed Sherlock his fork.
“Oh, they’ve gone all Lady and the Tramp,” she gasped, open mouthed. Anderson picked up his lunch and went to sit at another table.
~*|*~
Sometimes it was best just to let Sherlock get on with it. She had to give it to him, the man had a flair for the dramatic, as he moved around the room, muttering to himself and focusing on seemingly random objects, so they stood back and watched. She found herself standing next to Watson, who stood at military ease and had given him an awkward smile and a nod. He nodded back and they were silent for a long time.
“We’re not… you know.” John had leaned in and whispered. She froze, staring straight ahead at Sherlock who had pulled out a little magnifying glass and was studying the fireplace.
“Sorry?” She was going for indignant and managed to hit squeaky.
“Me and Sherlock. We’re not… involved. With each other, I mean.” At her protests, John had smiled that little smile of his that he usually only reserved for Sherlock’s more manic moments. Trying to fight through the humiliation of being caught out doing something she should have been good at, she turned to him, arms crossed defensively.
“I never said you were…”
“I’ve seen you watching us, Sergeant. So I just thought I would set the record straight. I am not involved with Sherlock Holmes in any way other than as his flat mate.”
She had almost believed him, but when his eyes slid away from hers and he started pulling at his ear, that body language course in Ipswich suddenly paid off. On the other side of the room, Sherlock let out a roar of triumph.
She couldn’t wait to tell Anderson.