Fill: Fill our mouths with cinnamon now (3c/?)lbmisscharlieSeptember 10 2011, 23:37:01 UTC
“No.”
“I haven’t even named a figure yet.”
“Not interested.”
“Hmmm. You’re very loyal, very fast.” John thought of wide, pleading eyes, of shared mannerisms and shared dark hair. He remembered standing at the top of the stairs in an abandoned house, cane in his hand and useless self-pity in his stomach. Loyalty? Perhaps not yet.
“No. I’m just not interested.” At this, his phone chimed. The man raised one eyebrow as John, not looking away for a moment, pulled it from his pocket. Baker Street. Come at once if convenient. SH.
While John read the text, the man’s voice, cold and imperious, interrupted his thoughts. “Trust issues, it says here.” He was reading again from his notebook and John’s stomach went cold.
“Where did you get that?” He forced his voice to be calm, steady.
“Could it be that you’ve chosen to trust Sherlock Holmes?” John gritted his teeth. “I can’t think of a man less suited. For Sherlock, only one person in the world matters. Trust him, and if it came down to it, he would betray you in an instant if it meant keeping her safe.” Sally Donovan’s words floated in his mind. He didn’t answer.
His phone chimed again. If inconvenient, come anyway. Could be dangerous. SH. What did he seek: protection or a partner in arms? Doctor or soldier? And why did the thought of either have John reaching for his gun?
John slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Are we done here?”
“Simply fair warning, Dr Watson.”
John was nearly seething. As Sherlock had said, he’d see, then he’d decide. He did not need bitter warnings or mysterious assignations to make his decision for him. “We’re done here.” He turned and walked the few short steps back to the car.
Anthea was still clicking away on her Blackberry but she absently nodded when he said, “221 Baker Street. But we need to stop off somewhere first.”
“I haven’t even named a figure yet.”
“Not interested.”
“Hmmm. You’re very loyal, very fast.” John thought of wide, pleading eyes, of shared mannerisms and shared dark hair. He remembered standing at the top of the stairs in an abandoned house, cane in his hand and useless self-pity in his stomach. Loyalty? Perhaps not yet.
“No. I’m just not interested.” At this, his phone chimed. The man raised one eyebrow as John, not looking away for a moment, pulled it from his pocket. Baker Street. Come at once if convenient. SH.
While John read the text, the man’s voice, cold and imperious, interrupted his thoughts. “Trust issues, it says here.” He was reading again from his notebook and John’s stomach went cold.
“Where did you get that?” He forced his voice to be calm, steady.
“Could it be that you’ve chosen to trust Sherlock Holmes?” John gritted his teeth. “I can’t think of a man less suited. For Sherlock, only one person in the world matters. Trust him, and if it came down to it, he would betray you in an instant if it meant keeping her safe.” Sally Donovan’s words floated in his mind. He didn’t answer.
His phone chimed again. If inconvenient, come anyway. Could be dangerous. SH. What did he seek: protection or a partner in arms? Doctor or soldier? And why did the thought of either have John reaching for his gun?
John slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Are we done here?”
“Simply fair warning, Dr Watson.”
John was nearly seething. As Sherlock had said, he’d see, then he’d decide. He did not need bitter warnings or mysterious assignations to make his decision for him. “We’re done here.” He turned and walked the few short steps back to the car.
Anthea was still clicking away on her Blackberry but she absently nodded when he said, “221 Baker Street. But we need to stop off somewhere first.”
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And the whole thing with Sally is unexpected - wonder what's going on there?
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