[It was, Sherlock decided, entirely Mycroft's fault that he was here.]
[If his brother hadn't decided to pay him an entirely unnecessary visit, he could still be languishing on the couch in the comfort of his own home, instead of at a table in the unfamiliar trappings of some outdoor restaurant which he simply could not be bothered to remember the name of.]
[But no, because his brother was a bloody meddler he just had to go and raise alarm by showing up unexpectedly at their door and spending upwards of an hour reading in total silence, just to keep Sherlock company while he stared at the ceiling and did absolutely nothing of any value because there was nothing of any value to be done.]
[And then - because of course he did - he deliberately timed his departure for John's arrival home so he would be given entirely undo cause for concern. The way John had looked at him after his brother left, you'd think he was dying, not sulking.]
[And so here he is, showered, shaved, and entirely displeased about being dragged out of the hermit's den he'd made of the couch. He wasn't hungry, he didn't need a 'bit of fresh air' no matter how much good John insisted it would do him, and he certainly didn't want to make small talk when all the world was so dreary, dismal, and crushingly unprofitable that to simply be conscious in it required herculean effort.]
[And yet a herculean effort he has made, because John is a pushy little badger and he's never been able to deny him a damn thing, a revelation which would be both concerning and frustrating if he weren't too emotionally exhausted to feel either of those things.]
[Shortly after they're seated, a waiter comes by with a pair of menus. Sherlock holds up his hand to wave his off the moment it's offered.]
Don't mind me. I'm here under duress.
[The poor waiter gives an awkward laugh, looking from Sherlock to John, expecting an explanation or the punchline to a joke. He'll get neither from Sherlock, who has abandoned the interaction entirely, deciding that identifying the species of leaves decorating the walls and the ceiling overhead is a much better use of his time.]
[ It wasn't Mycroft, though. Honestly, it had started way earlier, when they'd hit a clean five-day streak of post-case blues (a term he only uses, because Sherlock doesn't respond very well to clinical depression) and while John had been at work today, he had wondered how the hell he was supposed to get Sherlock out of his slump, when he clung to it so stubbornly. So convulsively. It had occurred to him around three o'clock when he was seeing out his last patient -- that while Sherlock Holmes is loathe to do anything that's remotely healthy for himself, he will do any number of things for John Watson and if they went out on John's initiative, for John's sake, getting him out of the flat might be feasible, after all.
That was the plan. As must be very obvious, the plan worked, too.
However, it's an outing under much protest, as one can tell. Rolling his eyes and grabbing the menu offered him, John looks up at the waiter and just makes an apologetic face, Ã la don't mind him, trust me, he doesn't mean anything by it, he's just sulking because he's a proper idiot (all conveyed by expression alone, thank you very much, he wouldn't say it to Sherlock's face unless he was here to argue into eternity). As a matter of fact, he's here to eat. He's starving. Long day, short lunch break. ]
Yes, great, I'll have that pesto pasta you normally only make in the summer, please. [ A long look in Sherlock's general direction before he glances down across the wine selection, pointing to something random (red, though, always red) that he only recognises by name. ] Along with a bottle of that -- we'd like two glasses, lots of water.
[ Nodding, the waiter takes his menu and returns to the back, leaving them on their own and what a lovely place to be when Sherlock Holmes is being an utter cock. John folds his hands on the table, sighs. Deeply. Slowly. ]
Damned if I do, damned if I don't, then. Great, good, very good.
I suppose getting a point in with the great Sherlock Holmes was going to be an impossible feat from the bloody get-go. Massive intellect and all that, whatever you want to call it.
[How dare John not immediately assume he's continuing a conversation they had in person hours earlier, that wasn't really even a conversation so much as it was Sherlock blurting a short missive on his way out the door.]
I've finished Mycroft's little errand - not that my assistance was required. I suspect he noticed the lack of sensational crime reports as of late and felt the need to keep me occupied with a petty trifle.
[Such is Mycroft's particular brand of brotherly affection - if he doesn't see his brother's name in the paper in over a month, he finds some dangerous or intriguing task that needs doing and asks Sherlock to do him the 'favor' of taking care of it for him.]
[Sherlock would be irritated by the transparency of the gesture if he weren't also (very, very privately) touched by the sentiment behind it.]
[ It's a fine day, until the sun sets. And then the rain.
Buckets of it, rolling clouds that make a foreign city feel that much less so. She hears it drum down between the blips on heart monitors, the clacking of a keyboard, the rhythmic turn of gurney wheels against shiny, frictionless floors. No part of her new life carries the bustle of her old one. There's no House to impress, no diagnostic mystery to solve. Just medicine. Just the work.
Just Janet and the cats, the sudden rain, and trying to finish by 7pm. Normal, pedestrian problems. Normal is her new watchword.
It's 7:05 when the elevator pings open. First floor. Her hair's still lightly damp when she shrugs on her coat. The resulting smile is genuine when she looks up, the recognition flooding the planes her face. ]
Knight in shining armor, right? [ Remy points, eyes narrowed in mock playfulness. Her steps out of the elevator and towards John are short and even. ] I thought I ordered an 8pm delivery.
[ American. Her cadence sticks out like a sore thumb. ]
[ It's been a normal day. Well, you know, by his standards. Lestrade came by with a case that Sherlock wouldn't take, supposedly because it wasn't a serial affair or the blood spatter was impudently boring or whatever other weird reason Sherlock ever has of doing or not doing something. The man had descended into a right mood after that and John had left him to it, his violin and his at the best of times semi-unethical experiments. All in all, very normal day, nothing out of the ordinary.
Except his date, of course. He had liked Remy when she first showed up on the app he hadn't intended to use and yet, here he is. When he leaves 221B, he does so without a word. First off, the other man won't even notice he's gone, when does he ever. Secondly, he would very much like to avoid a repeat of Sarah, please. Kidnappings and death threats or whatever else has just... become a normal day in the life of John Watson. Yeah, they'll skip that.
He's standing at the entrance to Bart's, people accustomed enough to his presence by now that more than a few of them greet him on their way out. When she leaves the elevator, a moment of eye contact follows in which he gives her a look that says more like drowned rat while he shifts his umbrella into his other hand, holding out his left. ]
And I thought I ordered local. [ The smile tugging at the corner of his mouth softens the comment a bit. ] Hello, Remy.
[ And there's something she likes, immediately, about the way his mouth curves. Remy is just Doctor Remy Hadley here. No mysterious moniker, no nickname in a number, no social currency to be earned by picking people apart. Her right slips into his left, warm and brief. It's a short shake.
Tonight is just a date with a guy. She values the straight-forward simplicity of it more than she thought she would. ]
I don't know if you know this, [ she starts. ] but people like you here. You'd be amazed at what they say about you.
[ She'd asked around. Janet had been helpful, for about two seconds of it. A glint of something mischievous settles into Remy's eyes. ]
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Nothing much save for cocaine, which you have protested against vehemently and at great length.
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Today, I have only one vice to contend with.
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for acutereasoner.
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[If his brother hadn't decided to pay him an entirely unnecessary visit, he could still be languishing on the couch in the comfort of his own home, instead of at a table in the unfamiliar trappings of some outdoor restaurant which he simply could not be bothered to remember the name of.]
[But no, because his brother was a bloody meddler he just had to go and raise alarm by showing up unexpectedly at their door and spending upwards of an hour reading in total silence, just to keep Sherlock company while he stared at the ceiling and did absolutely nothing of any value because there was nothing of any value to be done.]
[And then - because of course he did - he deliberately timed his departure for John's arrival home so he would be given entirely undo cause for concern. The way John had looked at him after his brother left, you'd think he was dying, not sulking.]
[And so here he is, showered, shaved, and entirely displeased about being dragged out of the hermit's den he'd made of the couch. He wasn't hungry, he didn't need a 'bit of fresh air' no matter how much good John insisted it would do him, and he certainly didn't want to make small talk when all the world was so dreary, dismal, and crushingly unprofitable that to simply be conscious in it required herculean effort.]
[And yet a herculean effort he has made, because John is a pushy little badger and he's never been able to deny him a damn thing, a revelation which would be both concerning and frustrating if he weren't too emotionally exhausted to feel either of those things.]
[Shortly after they're seated, a waiter comes by with a pair of menus. Sherlock holds up his hand to wave his off the moment it's offered.]
Don't mind me. I'm here under duress.
[The poor waiter gives an awkward laugh, looking from Sherlock to John, expecting an explanation or the punchline to a joke. He'll get neither from Sherlock, who has abandoned the interaction entirely, deciding that identifying the species of leaves decorating the walls and the ceiling overhead is a much better use of his time.]
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That was the plan. As must be very obvious, the plan worked, too.
However, it's an outing under much protest, as one can tell. Rolling his eyes and grabbing the menu offered him, John looks up at the waiter and just makes an apologetic face, Ã la don't mind him, trust me, he doesn't mean anything by it, he's just sulking because he's a proper idiot (all conveyed by expression alone, thank you very much, he wouldn't say it to Sherlock's face unless he was here to argue into eternity). As a matter of fact, he's here to eat. He's starving. Long day, short lunch break. ]
Yes, great, I'll have that pesto pasta you normally only make in the summer, please. [ A long look in Sherlock's general direction before he glances down across the wine selection, pointing to something random (red, though, always red) that he only recognises by name. ] Along with a bottle of that -- we'd like two glasses, lots of water.
[ Nodding, the waiter takes his menu and returns to the back, leaving them on their own and what a lovely place to be when Sherlock Holmes is being an utter cock. John folds his hands on the table, sighs. Deeply. Slowly. ]
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for acutereasoner.
All these things are connected and you're being an idiot.
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I'll be sure to let Mycroft know he isn't alone in his flawed opinions.
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I suppose getting a point in with the great Sherlock Holmes was going to be an impossible feat from the bloody get-go. Massive intellect and all that, whatever you want to call it.
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for acutereasoner.
( Continued from here... )
Use legos.
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40 minutes later
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A legendary roster of degenerates has been assembled.
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[How dare John not immediately assume he's continuing a conversation they had in person hours earlier, that wasn't really even a conversation so much as it was Sherlock blurting a short missive on his way out the door.]
I've finished Mycroft's little errand - not that my assistance was required. I suspect he noticed the lack of sensational crime reports as of late and felt the need to keep me occupied with a petty trifle.
[Such is Mycroft's particular brand of brotherly affection - if he doesn't see his brother's name in the paper in over a month, he finds some dangerous or intriguing task that needs doing and asks Sherlock to do him the 'favor' of taking care of it for him.]
[Sherlock would be irritated by the transparency of the gesture if he weren't also (very, very privately) touched by the sentiment behind it.]
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for acutereasoner. tfln overflow.
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I shall be remembered by no one save those with a fascination for obscure, eccentric figures.
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Buckets of it, rolling clouds that make a foreign city feel that much less so. She hears it drum down between the blips on heart monitors, the clacking of a keyboard, the rhythmic turn of gurney wheels against shiny, frictionless floors. No part of her new life carries the bustle of her old one. There's no House to impress, no diagnostic mystery to solve. Just medicine. Just the work.
Just Janet and the cats, the sudden rain, and trying to finish by 7pm. Normal, pedestrian problems. Normal is her new watchword.
It's 7:05 when the elevator pings open. First floor. Her hair's still lightly damp when she shrugs on her coat. The resulting smile is genuine when she looks up, the recognition flooding the planes her face. ]
Knight in shining armor, right? [ Remy points, eyes narrowed in mock playfulness. Her steps out of the elevator and towards John are short and even. ] I thought I ordered an 8pm delivery.
[ American. Her cadence sticks out like a sore thumb. ]
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Except his date, of course. He had liked Remy when she first showed up on the app he hadn't intended to use and yet, here he is. When he leaves 221B, he does so without a word. First off, the other man won't even notice he's gone, when does he ever. Secondly, he would very much like to avoid a repeat of Sarah, please. Kidnappings and death threats or whatever else has just... become a normal day in the life of John Watson. Yeah, they'll skip that.
He's standing at the entrance to Bart's, people accustomed enough to his presence by now that more than a few of them greet him on their way out. When she leaves the elevator, a moment of eye contact follows in which he gives her a look that says more like drowned rat while he shifts his umbrella into his other hand, holding out his left. ]
And I thought I ordered local. [ The smile tugging at the corner of his mouth softens the comment a bit. ] Hello, Remy.
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[ And there's something she likes, immediately, about the way his mouth curves. Remy is just Doctor Remy Hadley here. No mysterious moniker, no nickname in a number, no social currency to be earned by picking people apart. Her right slips into his left, warm and brief. It's a short shake.
Tonight is just a date with a guy. She values the straight-forward simplicity of it more than she thought she would. ]
I don't know if you know this, [ she starts. ] but people like you here. You'd be amazed at what they say about you.
[ She'd asked around. Janet had been helpful, for about two seconds of it. A glint of something mischievous settles into Remy's eyes. ]
You know, in case you were wondering.
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katherine, tfln.
Technically, after giving birth, she wouldn't have an intact hymen any longer, so I'm on team "she didn't".
Thank you. Captcha's a pain. And yes, things are definitely better.
I told them your answer, and now Anne's laughing, and Catalina's mad as a hornet. I love it.
I guess it's some huge Catholic thing that Mary remained a virgin.
How's the liver reading? Any particular reason for that particular issue?
I'm glad. A bad weekend shouldn't become a bad week, after all.
Exactly. Also, I would like to note how much I've been enjoying these two.
I love them a whole lot, actually. They're very sweet.
Me too! We should sometime do a non-text thread with them if you're up for it!
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Kathy is such a tease sometimes.
She's amazing, keep teasing him, Kathy!
Oh, she will.
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@unruly, TFLN
Always judging you for your tastes, Dean, but I guess, God help me, I'm actually curious now.
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