Ficlet: Bookstore!AU (Sherlock-BBC, PG, Sherlock & John)
Inspired by: this piece of art
"One moment!" John called out as the ring of the bell attached to the door chimed near the front of the store. Snapping the medical journal he had open shut, he slotted it back into its place on the shelves. Grabbing his cane from where it was leaning, he started to wind his way through the tall maze of loaded bookshelves, making a note to dust again over in the Foreign Affairs section as he passed by. "May I hel-- oh," he finished, his tone going from curious to annoyed. "Didn't I tell you to stay out?"
The dark mop of curls across the floor from him barely moved as the tall, well dressed man hummed in his throat while flicking through one of the displayed first edition books. "I can hardly remember that if you cannot, John."
"It's Dr. Wats- no, you know what? Never mind. You never listen to me anyway. What did you come here for this time?"
"A client of mine had a two volume set of A History of British Birds stolen from his private collection not three days ago." Dark brows pinched momentarily before the man crouched to replace the book in its case. A deft flick of a delicate seeming wrist slid the glass door shut.
"Right..." John sighed, wandering ponderously around a stack of new books to be taken later to the backroom as he joined the intruder behind the counter. "That's a rather plain title so it has probably been used more than once. Any other information? Author, edition number, condition, unusual markings?"
"Thomas Bewick," said offhand, as the man turned to the next door down the counter, a lock pick in hand. "Sixth edition, reportedly a clean copy, but my client doesn't strike me as a book connoisseur. The Sparrow-hawk woodcut has three light parrallel scratches in the upper right corner."
John watched in exasperation as the lock clicked under the man's tender care. "Can you not do that?"
"Come now, John," the man said with glee in his voice as leather gloved hands reached in and took out one of the case's contents. "If I did that, I would not be able to peruse this treatise on systematic document examination by François Demelle. Wonderful find, by the way," he finished with a hum of deep satisfaction.
John clenched his hand on his cane, wanting to punch the interloper, but stayed his hand as to not cause damage to the delicate papers in those leather clad hands. He had learned his lesson the third time this arrogant, rude self-proclaimed consulting detective had come to his store. Fifty thousand pounds in ruined merchandise was not a loss one simply forgot about. Even if the git that had offered to cover the expense. "Thanks. It came in last week. You could peruse it at your leisure, if you'd bother to buy it. Just like the other books you've just plopped down on the floor and read before."
Gray-blue eyes flicked up to him and held steady. "It is research, John. You would let Detective Inspector Lestrade read one of your books if he needed to for a case."
"Well, yes," John answered honestly, taken aback. "But then I know him. I don't even know your name!"
The man blinked, as if that information was a surprise. "So knowing someone's name is all you would take in recompense? I am surprised your store is still in business, with that economic plan."
John gritted his teeth, giving his best army officer glare.
The man shrugged, turning his attention back to the treatise. "It's Sherlock Holmes," he said, seemingly offhanded like it wasn't bizarre that they'd been acquaintances for months and he was only now introducing himself.
John waited, expecting something more. When nothing seemed to be forthcoming, he knocked his knuckles against the counter above Sherlock's head. "That's it? That's all you're going to say?"
"Yes. Now instead of looming over me, perhaps you could go be productive? Find out if any of your colleagues have recently bought the books I described," Sherlock commanded imperiously, taking care to turn a page.
"Do you even listen to yourself?" John asked, voice calmer than he truly felt.
"Amazingly enough, yes. It occurs when one talks and is not impaired in that sense after all."
Frustrated beyond belief, John turned to the landline next to the cash register. "You better buy something this time or I'm calling the police and getting a restraining order. This is a store, not a library."
"Hmm."
--TBC?
"One moment!" John called out as the ring of the bell attached to the door chimed near the front of the store. Snapping the medical journal he had open shut, he slotted it back into its place on the shelves. Grabbing his cane from where it was leaning, he started to wind his way through the tall maze of loaded bookshelves, making a note to dust again over in the Foreign Affairs section as he passed by. "May I hel-- oh," he finished, his tone going from curious to annoyed. "Didn't I tell you to stay out?"
The dark mop of curls across the floor from him barely moved as the tall, well dressed man hummed in his throat while flicking through one of the displayed first edition books. "I can hardly remember that if you cannot, John."
"It's Dr. Wats- no, you know what? Never mind. You never listen to me anyway. What did you come here for this time?"
"A client of mine had a two volume set of A History of British Birds stolen from his private collection not three days ago." Dark brows pinched momentarily before the man crouched to replace the book in its case. A deft flick of a delicate seeming wrist slid the glass door shut.
"Right..." John sighed, wandering ponderously around a stack of new books to be taken later to the backroom as he joined the intruder behind the counter. "That's a rather plain title so it has probably been used more than once. Any other information? Author, edition number, condition, unusual markings?"
"Thomas Bewick," said offhand, as the man turned to the next door down the counter, a lock pick in hand. "Sixth edition, reportedly a clean copy, but my client doesn't strike me as a book connoisseur. The Sparrow-hawk woodcut has three light parrallel scratches in the upper right corner."
John watched in exasperation as the lock clicked under the man's tender care. "Can you not do that?"
"Come now, John," the man said with glee in his voice as leather gloved hands reached in and took out one of the case's contents. "If I did that, I would not be able to peruse this treatise on systematic document examination by François Demelle. Wonderful find, by the way," he finished with a hum of deep satisfaction.
John clenched his hand on his cane, wanting to punch the interloper, but stayed his hand as to not cause damage to the delicate papers in those leather clad hands. He had learned his lesson the third time this arrogant, rude self-proclaimed consulting detective had come to his store. Fifty thousand pounds in ruined merchandise was not a loss one simply forgot about. Even if the git that had offered to cover the expense. "Thanks. It came in last week. You could peruse it at your leisure, if you'd bother to buy it. Just like the other books you've just plopped down on the floor and read before."
Gray-blue eyes flicked up to him and held steady. "It is research, John. You would let Detective Inspector Lestrade read one of your books if he needed to for a case."
"Well, yes," John answered honestly, taken aback. "But then I know him. I don't even know your name!"
The man blinked, as if that information was a surprise. "So knowing someone's name is all you would take in recompense? I am surprised your store is still in business, with that economic plan."
John gritted his teeth, giving his best army officer glare.
The man shrugged, turning his attention back to the treatise. "It's Sherlock Holmes," he said, seemingly offhanded like it wasn't bizarre that they'd been acquaintances for months and he was only now introducing himself.
John waited, expecting something more. When nothing seemed to be forthcoming, he knocked his knuckles against the counter above Sherlock's head. "That's it? That's all you're going to say?"
"Yes. Now instead of looming over me, perhaps you could go be productive? Find out if any of your colleagues have recently bought the books I described," Sherlock commanded imperiously, taking care to turn a page.
"Do you even listen to yourself?" John asked, voice calmer than he truly felt.
"Amazingly enough, yes. It occurs when one talks and is not impaired in that sense after all."
Frustrated beyond belief, John turned to the landline next to the cash register. "You better buy something this time or I'm calling the police and getting a restraining order. This is a store, not a library."
"Hmm."
--TBC?