Disguise, part 6a/?
anonymous
April 27 2011, 01:55:57 UTC
[part six is divided into 4 comments. :)]
~*~
Three times during the next week John catches out Sherlock's disguise.
The first is in a cab on the way to visit Harry. He's not really focused on anything: looking out the window without really seeing anything. Weariness fogs his eyes, he'd been up late helping Sherlock find an obscure passage in an old Jane Austen novel (naturally Sherlock was little help in that endeavour) to answer a puzzle from the forums of Sherlock's website. Why John agreed to that with an early morning shift looming he has no idea, but John's long accepted that he has almost no will-power when it comes to Sherlock Holmes.
"Long day, then?"
John's startled out of his trance and glances up into the rear-view mirror.
"I'm sorry?"
"I said: has it been a long day? You look exhausted." The cabbie's eyes wrinkle at the corners as she smiles at him. Her eyes are lovely: light and wide, and with a dark brown lining her eyelids. She looks back at the road.
"I am, yeah." He remembers his manners. "Thanks for asking. And ... how's your day been?"
"Ahh, you know how it is," she says. "Driving around London, avoiding reckless pedestrians with a death wish and looking for a fit bloke who needs a cab." She flicks two fingers up at the car that swerves in front of her, then deftly manoeuvres around it.
"Shall I help you look for one, then?"
The cab pulls to a stop at an intersection and she captures his gaze in the mirror again. "No need. Already got one."
John smiles widely.
"Then I shall endeavour to make it worth your while."
"It already is."
It's another six minutes before John gets that little prickle inside his mind, the sense that there's something he's not seeing. He's just been regaling the cabbie of some of the more peculiar aspects of being a soldier in the middle of the desert (particularly: sand in, um, interesting places). She has the most uncharacteristic low laugh. Somehow it gets under his skin, fills his blood and rushes through him until he's breathless.
Images, memories, flood his mind and John sucks his breath in recognition.
"... Sherlock?"
So far he's never been wrong.
There's a long, measured silence, then: "was it the laugh, then?"
John considers that. "It was definitely the laugh, but--" he can't put his finger on it. "There's something else. I don't know if I know what it is."
It's that sense he gets. That feeling that everything is unbalanced and exciting and new, and it's not quantifiable somehow. There's no scientific explanation that John can find, he can't define it. And, maybe... well, maybe he's not really ready to try.
Sherlock looks at John in the rearview mirror and says, "we're nearly there."
"Thanks." Then he looks out the window and another thought occurs to him. "Sherlock, I didn't know you knew how to drive."
"Of course I know how to drive."
"It seems like something that would be ... I dunno, beneath you."
"John, I assure you that knowing how to drive a car is a very useful skill for someone who wishes to learn about people unobserved."
There is that. "Yeah, alright then," John concedes. "Still surprising, though."
Sherlock frowns at the line of cars stretched out end to end in front of them as the cab slows to a stop.
~*~
Three times during the next week John catches out Sherlock's disguise.
The first is in a cab on the way to visit Harry. He's not really focused on anything: looking out the window without really seeing anything. Weariness fogs his eyes, he'd been up late helping Sherlock find an obscure passage in an old Jane Austen novel (naturally Sherlock was little help in that endeavour) to answer a puzzle from the forums of Sherlock's website. Why John agreed to that with an early morning shift looming he has no idea, but John's long accepted that he has almost no will-power when it comes to Sherlock Holmes.
"Long day, then?"
John's startled out of his trance and glances up into the rear-view mirror.
"I'm sorry?"
"I said: has it been a long day? You look exhausted." The cabbie's eyes wrinkle at the corners as she smiles at him. Her eyes are lovely: light and wide, and with a dark brown lining her eyelids. She looks back at the road.
"I am, yeah." He remembers his manners. "Thanks for asking. And ... how's your day been?"
"Ahh, you know how it is," she says. "Driving around London, avoiding reckless pedestrians with a death wish and looking for a fit bloke who needs a cab." She flicks two fingers up at the car that swerves in front of her, then deftly manoeuvres around it.
"Shall I help you look for one, then?"
The cab pulls to a stop at an intersection and she captures his gaze in the mirror again. "No need. Already got one."
John smiles widely.
"Then I shall endeavour to make it worth your while."
"It already is."
It's another six minutes before John gets that little prickle inside his mind, the sense that there's something he's not seeing. He's just been regaling the cabbie of some of the more peculiar aspects of being a soldier in the middle of the desert (particularly: sand in, um, interesting places). She has the most uncharacteristic low laugh. Somehow it gets under his skin, fills his blood and rushes through him until he's breathless.
Images, memories, flood his mind and John sucks his breath in recognition.
"... Sherlock?"
So far he's never been wrong.
There's a long, measured silence, then: "was it the laugh, then?"
John considers that. "It was definitely the laugh, but--" he can't put his finger on it. "There's something else. I don't know if I know what it is."
It's that sense he gets. That feeling that everything is unbalanced and exciting and new, and it's not quantifiable somehow. There's no scientific explanation that John can find, he can't define it. And, maybe... well, maybe he's not really ready to try.
Sherlock looks at John in the rearview mirror and says, "we're nearly there."
"Thanks." Then he looks out the window and another thought occurs to him. "Sherlock, I didn't know you knew how to drive."
"Of course I know how to drive."
"It seems like something that would be ... I dunno, beneath you."
"John, I assure you that knowing how to drive a car is a very useful skill for someone who wishes to learn about people unobserved."
There is that. "Yeah, alright then," John concedes. "Still surprising, though."
Sherlock frowns at the line of cars stretched out end to end in front of them as the cab slows to a stop.
"I just never bothered learning how to park."
John throws back his head and laughs.
~*~
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