and I knew it complete
He worries about Sherry.
If you'd asked him, before he moved to the other corner of the continent, he wouldn't even have thought of the possibility. Worry? About Sherlock Holmes? What about him, exactly ( Read more... )
If you'd asked him, before he moved to the other corner of the continent, he wouldn't even have thought of the possibility. Worry? About Sherlock Holmes? What about him, exactly ( Read more... )
Comments 35
He's standing in a corner, partially obscured in shadow.
(Should the shadow be falling quite like that? Never mind.)
"Three thousand miles away and he's still messing with your head."
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"Jesus fucking Christ!"
He shoves his chair back from the desk and scrambles to his feet. By the time it has even fully occurred to him to wonder how the hell Obie got here, he is already most of the way across the room, intent on either hugging the crap out of him or punching him in the face. He'll figure it out.
In the event, hugs win.
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"Hang on there, kiddo," he says. "I'm not all the way back yet."
He reaches over as if to pat Tony's shoulder, the way he's done hundreds of times before, but his hand, of course, passes right through.
"I've figured out a way to fix that, but I'm gonna need some help."
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(Also, 'kiddo'? Obie hasn't called him that in-)
"What kind of help?"
Naturally he is immediately on board. Because naturally he hasn't even considered the possibility that this might not be Obie, or that the help might be something he wouldn't want to do. Or something he couldn't.
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