Who: Dr. Watson and anyone else!
When: Erm, let's say Friday, the 16th.
Where: Center of Anatole
Format: Paragraph
What: John tries to figure out the rest of the city while trying to locate Holmes. He might also be looking for the clinic for employment.
Warnings: None yet!
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ADVENTURE TIME! )
He was growing frustrated by the minute. A part of him wanted to give up his search and just return to his flat, but what then? What if Holmes left the bookstore not expecting to come back? Watson also didn't know when the man would return, much like he did back when they lived together on Baker Street.
As Watson was still on the fence about what to do, he saw a thin group of people gathering not too far off. He furrowed his brow, curious. "Excuse me madam," Watson gently asked a woman on the edge of the group. "What's going on?" The woman looked at him and shrugged. "Some street performer I'm gatherin' or summat."
Well, at least a taste of him, Watson guessed.
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Without any warning, Holmes launched into Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto in E Minor, but merely the lead violin of the first movement. As his fingers danced along the neck, he was still observing every movement and detail of those around him. A rather round woman off to the side was constantly shifting her weight away from one foot to another; she had a club foot made obvious by the varying length of her two legs and the boot on one foot rather than both. Another man was leering at him particularly hard, one hand in his pocket. The thin material allowed Holmes to deduce that his fingers were wrapped around the hilt of a knife. What danger he expected from a street performer was only up to speculation. He didn't register the nervousness of a mugger.
All this was thought within a few bars of music, when Holmes thought he spied a familiar top hat among the crowd. He continued to play, undaunted.
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He kindly made his way through the crowds, pardoning himself if he bumped into a lady or nodding to a fellow gentleman. Watson finally broke through the crowd to the front, only to pause when he saw whom it was. He looked at Holmes, resting on his cane, a small smile on his face.
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"Thank goodness you've come, Watson. I was afraid I'd be forced to reach into my folk ditties."
He continued until the spectators dwindled. Holmes looked into his hat, scrutinizing the currency he'd collected. Satisfied, he joined Watson again.
"I suppose my usual profession will have a higher yield amongst these people." A smirk fluttered at the corners of his mouth, trying not to become a complete smile. "I see Anatole has treated you a bit better." Watson looked like he'd had a shave and some sleep since they'd arrived, unlike Holmes.
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He gave Holmes a look. "Though it looks like you'll be needing those." Not that his friend minded his appearance, of that he was sure.
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"Were you now?" Holmes offered his hat to Watson. "Take half, old boy. If I have your word that it won't be lost to dice." He took a glance at himself. He actually was a bit dirtier than he liked, and his stomach had been crying out for several hours. Most important to Holmes, however, was the fact that he was becoming too tired to think clearly. That was always a caution.
"Perhaps, in small doses."
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"Let's get you washed up and something in your stomach at least," he then said. "Gladstone will be happy to see you, I'm sure."
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"Come then, Watson. I've sampled enough of the street delicacies for now. And Gladstone will be happy to see anyone with something to put in his belly."
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Anything to prevent him from putting Gladstone through that again.
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"How is the leg then, old boy?" he asked, though he sounded more like he was insinuating something than showing concern. He stopped abruptly and faced Watson.
"But chemicals? You jump to conclusions. First we'll give him the local food that we haven't eaten to make sure it's fit for consumption." Holmes held back a grin.
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