A Child's Entertainment 4 of 7
A Child's Entertainment
Rating: PG
Chapter: 4 of 7
Summary: A trip to London entails: a bus tour, snarling about said bus tour, a giant ferris wheel, a scavenger hunt, a doctor, a consultant detective, and a deranged psychopath. Peregrine and Darren know how to take a vacation.
Disclaimer: While Perry and Darren are native residents of my head and the Falconry therein contained, Sherlock and all related characters are merely visitors... Y'know... when they bother to show up.
Notes: "A house is not a bloody home without a coffee maker" needs to be on a plaque... or mug. I would use it.
Birds of a Feather
Peregrine kneaded his forehead, wincing as his fingers dug into the still sore spot. Given the time, the drink turned out to be tea--Tea?!--at the flat shared by Sherlock and John. A house was not a bloody home without a coffee maker. He stood by that.
He really didn’t have much choice about sticking around though, given that Sherlock had commandeered the phone to dig through. Repeatedly. He only paused in it to get a summary of what had transpired from Peregrine.
Peregrine ended up pacing the room. He had no idea what had happened to Darren, and the phone had fallen silent for the night, with that last message hanging in the air.
It did not leave him feeling comfortable with the silence.
“Oh god, can you not stay still for five minutes?”
Sherlock looked up from the phone when John spoke, then to Peregrine, and then back to the phone.
Peregrine, for his part, paused. “Ah, sorry?”
John’s response was a head shake and a frustrated sound in his throat. “Just sit down.”
He earned a warm mug for his compliance, which, while it wasn’t coffee, was still not a bad thing at all. Hell, he was just grateful John had asked about milk rather than assuming. The tea would be flavorless enough without bloody milk in the mix.
While Peregrine was still rotating the mug in his hands, waiting for the liquid to reach a level of drinkable, John sat down.
At first John looked to Sherlock, but given the latter’s preoccupation with the map, Peregrine found the attention focused back on him soon enough. “So why’d you come to London anyway?”
“Ah. Vacation. Darren’s idea.”
“Do you know anyone in the area?”
Peregrine fixed John with a look, about to force down the tea currently scalding his mouth so he could reply. Before he could do that, John trailed on.
“Right, no. I guess you wouldn’t.” He looked to Sherlock, who still seemed mentally elsewhere and sighed. “Any enemies?”
Before Peregrine could reply to that, Sherlock heaved a frustrated sigh. “Of course he has enemies, John. The question here is which enemy would have resources for an international alliance, who would want the two of you alive?”
Peregrine shrugged. “Ah. Best guess is a ah, ‘drug lord,’ Travis Markes.”
“Best guess? So there is another possibility?”
Peregrine just shrugged again, not caring to go into his whole bloody life story if he didn’t have to.
Sherlock--in spite of obvious frustration at Peregrine’s lack of elaboration--set in on his own observations thus far, flipping the phone towards them. “It’s obvious Moriarty hasn’t invested much into this. Next to no personal involvement. And the names. Gadget, Claw? Inspector Gadget, an American cartoon, a child’s entertainment. No, he wasn’t expecting much of you, and then he hamstrung you from the beginning. Clearly there was another purpose.”
Sherlock paused, taking a stance where he was half crouched on his chair. “Would it make you feel any better to know you’ve surprised him a time or two?”
Peregrine started, hissing through his teeth as he managed to spill some of the tea on his fingers. “Not enough.”
“Well of course not. You were never meant to ‘win’, but every time you did better than he expected, he’d find the smallest excuse to ‘punish’ and thus distract you more by means of your partner. No, this was only ever meant to wear you out.”
“Well it’s working,” Peregrine grumbled, shaking his head.
John spoke then. “How long since you’ve slept?”
“Ahh... What day is it?”
“God, right, I’ll take that as ‘too bloody long ago’.”
“He can stay here.”
“What?” Peregrine asked, wide-eyed, and somehow in time with John. He was apparently bloody good at timing his one-word questions. Damn.
“Obviously the best choice. Moriarty’s invited me into this game. It’s just a matter of time before you don’t matter any more. Maybe you don’t already, and we both know the hotel room is compromised.”
Peregrine just raised an eyebrow up sharply at that. Bloody hell, he had a way with words. “I ah...” Where the hell was he even supposed to stay, anyway? He looked around the cluttered wreck of a room.
“Right. Okay. I guess,” John trailed off, amusingly falling into the same conundrum. “I can clear the couch.”
“Nonsense. He won’t sleep there. I won’t be using my room tonight. Put him there.”
“I ah I’d rather keep working.”
“Oh no. One’s enough,” John said, shaking his head and shooting Sherlock an exasperated look.
The exchange felt far too familiar for comfort. Damnit, he really hoped this guy was as smart as he thought he was. They might actually stand a bloody chance at saving Darren.
----------
By the time the sun rose, John rather wished he’d followed their reluctant guest’s example and grabbed some sleep. He stifled a yawn, and squinted for a second as he focused on the laptop.
If Sherlock had bothered asking how John would have liked to spend his night, this would not have made the list. Not that he asked. Not that he ever asked.
John stood, needing a breather, and pushed aside the curtain to look outside. Still no Sherlock. He’d abruptly decided to dash out with the phone, leaving John alone to deal with an awkward house guest whenever he woke up.
And read a never ending stream of bloody articles about some drug dealer.
“Learn anything?”
John let out a startled yelp, turning to face Sherlock. “When did you get back?”
“Just now,” he replied, perching on the arm of the chair.
With an annoyed sigh, John resumed his seat. “This Markes sod’s rivalry is with Detective O’Riley, not Peregrine, over the death of his lover.”
Sherlock scowled. “Revenge? Boring.”
“I’m sorry the drug-dealer in another country couldn’t be more interesting for you.” John shook his head and then grinned ever so slightly. “Peregrine though, he’s like you if you’d joined the Police.”
The scowl shifted to annoyance and then something resembling a pout before he could articulate a reply. “That was cruel.”
John just smirked and shrugged. “Okay. Maybe he’s not that much like you.”
“You’re right. I would never join the police.”
John grinned and shook his head. “Any luck with.... what were you doing anyway?”
“Digging. And yes,” Sherlock replied, steepling his hands and not explaining himself right away.
John just watched expectantly, brows raising. Any time now.
“Well, we already know we were both intended to be at the accident. I think that whole thing was arranged with him in mind.”
“So what does that mean?”
“He has Moriarty’s interest more than I thought. He put a lot of research into finding something he would know that I wouldn’t.”
“And?” Usually Sherlock reached some kind of point by now.
“Everything so far adds up to something. It has to. Something I should be able to figure out, or he wouldn’t have invited me, too.”
“So what? Something like where this Darren chap is?”
“Exactly.”
“But you already said he’s not supposed to win.”
Sherlock let out a frustrated sigh. “Of course not. It will be a trap. But this is it, our chance to out-play Moriarty at his own game.”
“Good god, listen to yourself, Sherlock. You do remember the last time you played one of Moriarty’s games? It didn’t end well.”
“This time we know to expect the trap, so it won’t catch us. We have to to do this, John. He’s not just giving a chance at saving his other victim, but a chance at catching him.”
John threw up his arms. “Fine. Just why don’t you make sure to run it by your ‘bait’ first?”
“Oh, he’ll agree. You already know he will.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You compared him to me.”
[ToC] [Next>
Rating: PG
Chapter: 4 of 7
Summary: A trip to London entails: a bus tour, snarling about said bus tour, a giant ferris wheel, a scavenger hunt, a doctor, a consultant detective, and a deranged psychopath. Peregrine and Darren know how to take a vacation.
Disclaimer: While Perry and Darren are native residents of my head and the Falconry therein contained, Sherlock and all related characters are merely visitors... Y'know... when they bother to show up.
Notes: "A house is not a bloody home without a coffee maker" needs to be on a plaque... or mug. I would use it.
Birds of a Feather
Peregrine kneaded his forehead, wincing as his fingers dug into the still sore spot. Given the time, the drink turned out to be tea--Tea?!--at the flat shared by Sherlock and John. A house was not a bloody home without a coffee maker. He stood by that.
He really didn’t have much choice about sticking around though, given that Sherlock had commandeered the phone to dig through. Repeatedly. He only paused in it to get a summary of what had transpired from Peregrine.
Peregrine ended up pacing the room. He had no idea what had happened to Darren, and the phone had fallen silent for the night, with that last message hanging in the air.
It did not leave him feeling comfortable with the silence.
“Oh god, can you not stay still for five minutes?”
Sherlock looked up from the phone when John spoke, then to Peregrine, and then back to the phone.
Peregrine, for his part, paused. “Ah, sorry?”
John’s response was a head shake and a frustrated sound in his throat. “Just sit down.”
He earned a warm mug for his compliance, which, while it wasn’t coffee, was still not a bad thing at all. Hell, he was just grateful John had asked about milk rather than assuming. The tea would be flavorless enough without bloody milk in the mix.
While Peregrine was still rotating the mug in his hands, waiting for the liquid to reach a level of drinkable, John sat down.
At first John looked to Sherlock, but given the latter’s preoccupation with the map, Peregrine found the attention focused back on him soon enough. “So why’d you come to London anyway?”
“Ah. Vacation. Darren’s idea.”
“Do you know anyone in the area?”
Peregrine fixed John with a look, about to force down the tea currently scalding his mouth so he could reply. Before he could do that, John trailed on.
“Right, no. I guess you wouldn’t.” He looked to Sherlock, who still seemed mentally elsewhere and sighed. “Any enemies?”
Before Peregrine could reply to that, Sherlock heaved a frustrated sigh. “Of course he has enemies, John. The question here is which enemy would have resources for an international alliance, who would want the two of you alive?”
Peregrine shrugged. “Ah. Best guess is a ah, ‘drug lord,’ Travis Markes.”
“Best guess? So there is another possibility?”
Peregrine just shrugged again, not caring to go into his whole bloody life story if he didn’t have to.
Sherlock--in spite of obvious frustration at Peregrine’s lack of elaboration--set in on his own observations thus far, flipping the phone towards them. “It’s obvious Moriarty hasn’t invested much into this. Next to no personal involvement. And the names. Gadget, Claw? Inspector Gadget, an American cartoon, a child’s entertainment. No, he wasn’t expecting much of you, and then he hamstrung you from the beginning. Clearly there was another purpose.”
Sherlock paused, taking a stance where he was half crouched on his chair. “Would it make you feel any better to know you’ve surprised him a time or two?”
Peregrine started, hissing through his teeth as he managed to spill some of the tea on his fingers. “Not enough.”
“Well of course not. You were never meant to ‘win’, but every time you did better than he expected, he’d find the smallest excuse to ‘punish’ and thus distract you more by means of your partner. No, this was only ever meant to wear you out.”
“Well it’s working,” Peregrine grumbled, shaking his head.
John spoke then. “How long since you’ve slept?”
“Ahh... What day is it?”
“God, right, I’ll take that as ‘too bloody long ago’.”
“He can stay here.”
“What?” Peregrine asked, wide-eyed, and somehow in time with John. He was apparently bloody good at timing his one-word questions. Damn.
“Obviously the best choice. Moriarty’s invited me into this game. It’s just a matter of time before you don’t matter any more. Maybe you don’t already, and we both know the hotel room is compromised.”
Peregrine just raised an eyebrow up sharply at that. Bloody hell, he had a way with words. “I ah...” Where the hell was he even supposed to stay, anyway? He looked around the cluttered wreck of a room.
“Right. Okay. I guess,” John trailed off, amusingly falling into the same conundrum. “I can clear the couch.”
“Nonsense. He won’t sleep there. I won’t be using my room tonight. Put him there.”
“I ah I’d rather keep working.”
“Oh no. One’s enough,” John said, shaking his head and shooting Sherlock an exasperated look.
The exchange felt far too familiar for comfort. Damnit, he really hoped this guy was as smart as he thought he was. They might actually stand a bloody chance at saving Darren.
----------
By the time the sun rose, John rather wished he’d followed their reluctant guest’s example and grabbed some sleep. He stifled a yawn, and squinted for a second as he focused on the laptop.
If Sherlock had bothered asking how John would have liked to spend his night, this would not have made the list. Not that he asked. Not that he ever asked.
John stood, needing a breather, and pushed aside the curtain to look outside. Still no Sherlock. He’d abruptly decided to dash out with the phone, leaving John alone to deal with an awkward house guest whenever he woke up.
And read a never ending stream of bloody articles about some drug dealer.
“Learn anything?”
John let out a startled yelp, turning to face Sherlock. “When did you get back?”
“Just now,” he replied, perching on the arm of the chair.
With an annoyed sigh, John resumed his seat. “This Markes sod’s rivalry is with Detective O’Riley, not Peregrine, over the death of his lover.”
Sherlock scowled. “Revenge? Boring.”
“I’m sorry the drug-dealer in another country couldn’t be more interesting for you.” John shook his head and then grinned ever so slightly. “Peregrine though, he’s like you if you’d joined the Police.”
The scowl shifted to annoyance and then something resembling a pout before he could articulate a reply. “That was cruel.”
John just smirked and shrugged. “Okay. Maybe he’s not that much like you.”
“You’re right. I would never join the police.”
John grinned and shook his head. “Any luck with.... what were you doing anyway?”
“Digging. And yes,” Sherlock replied, steepling his hands and not explaining himself right away.
John just watched expectantly, brows raising. Any time now.
“Well, we already know we were both intended to be at the accident. I think that whole thing was arranged with him in mind.”
“So what does that mean?”
“He has Moriarty’s interest more than I thought. He put a lot of research into finding something he would know that I wouldn’t.”
“And?” Usually Sherlock reached some kind of point by now.
“Everything so far adds up to something. It has to. Something I should be able to figure out, or he wouldn’t have invited me, too.”
“So what? Something like where this Darren chap is?”
“Exactly.”
“But you already said he’s not supposed to win.”
Sherlock let out a frustrated sigh. “Of course not. It will be a trap. But this is it, our chance to out-play Moriarty at his own game.”
“Good god, listen to yourself, Sherlock. You do remember the last time you played one of Moriarty’s games? It didn’t end well.”
“This time we know to expect the trap, so it won’t catch us. We have to to do this, John. He’s not just giving a chance at saving his other victim, but a chance at catching him.”
John threw up his arms. “Fine. Just why don’t you make sure to run it by your ‘bait’ first?”
“Oh, he’ll agree. You already know he will.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You compared him to me.”
[ToC] [Next>