docwithablog | storyline one.

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storyline one.

chronology -

00. word association w/ Sherlock

1. gen texting w/ Sherlock

2. the case of the missing first violinist w/ Sherlock

3. the case of the missing first violinist w/ Sherlock

4. the case of the missing first violinist w/ Sherlock

5. the case of the missing first violinist w/ Sherlock

6. texting w/ Sherlock

7. texting w/ Sherlock

8. texting w/ Sherlock

9. texts from last night w/ Sherlock

10. the case of the dying detective w/ Sherlock

11. the case of the dying detective w/ Sherlock

12. the case of the dying detective w/ Sherlock

13. the case of the great game w/ Sherlock

14. the case of the great game w/ Sherlock

15. texting w/ Sherlock

16. otherwordly w/ Sherlock

17. the case of the navel treatment w/ Sherlock

18. the case of the navel treatment w/ Sherlock

19. the case of the navel treatment w/ Sherlock

20. the case of the navel treatment w/ Sherlock

21. texting - part one | texting - part two w/ Sherlock

22. the case of the navel treatment w/ Sherlock

23. texting w/ Sherlock

24. the case of a scandal in belgravia w/ Sherlock

25. texting w/ Sherlock

26. the case of a scandal in belgravia w/ Sherlock

27. the case of a scandal in belgravia w/ Sherlock

28. the case of a scandal in belgravia w/ Sherlock

29. truth or dare w/ Sherlock

00. texts from last night w/ Sherlock

30. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

31. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

32. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

33. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

34. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

35. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

36. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

37. texting w/ Sherlock

38. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

39. the case of the devil's root w/ Sherlock

00. word association w/ Sherlock

00. texting w/ Sherlock

00. penny for your thoughts w/ Sherlock

40. midnight texting w/ Sherlock

41. interlude w/ Sherlock

42. interlude w/ Sherlock

43. interlude w/ Sherlock

44. texting w/ Sherlock

45. the case of the sign of three w/ Sherlock

46. the case of the sign of three w/ Sherlock

47. the case of the sign of three w/ Sherlock

48. texting w/ Sherlock

49. texting w/ Sherlock

50. texting w/ Sherlock

51. anniversary w/ Sherlock

52. texting w/ Sherlock

53. interlude w/ Sherlock

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[ After a less than eventful visit to Staunton's family home, an immense villa on the peninsula of Wirral in Heswall, they'd gone to visit Elizabeth Overstowe, a retired teacher living in a small townhouse in central Liverpool. Though his parents hadn't been forthcoming in any way whatsoever (newly rich, constructed a business empire from scratch, extremely private and apparently willfully ignorant as to the existence of their only son), one of the old maids of the household had caught with them on their way out, telling them to look up Mrs. Overstowe who'd "know of the boy if anyone does, she's always been there for him". Sherlock, on his part, was happy to have one theory confirmed. Estranged doesn't even begin to cover this.

Their visit to Elizabeth Overstowe has left them quite winded, though, seeing as they had to actually flee the premises. Those things happen but then again, she hadn't been at all forthcoming with any useful information so he doesn't really care. They're currently half-running down a small street lined with shops when he spots a coffee house on the corner. He comes to a complete stop, somewhat abruptly. ]

John! [ He points at the coffee shop. It's a relatively popular chain but it doesn't look crowded right now and he really needs to think. Gaze scanning the windows quickly (young couple, infatuated, too busy staring into each other's eyes to be disruptive; two students, university-age, heavy-looking bags, here to study and nothing else; old lady with a tiny dog) he nods to himself. It's fine, it'll do.] Coffee break!

[ Without further comment or elaboration, he crosses the street and heads for the narrow stairs leading to the entrance. ]

[ Most likely, he should be concerned with the fact that they got bloody well caught lurking at some nice, old lady's bedroom window and actively had to flee the place, running half across Liverpool with an angry neighbour at their heels. Because it's stuff like that, always getting into bloody trouble, which makes Sherlock seem completely at odds with the rest of the world, normalcy, whatever you want to call it. However, a good run was probably just what the doctor ordered, shit, after their visit to Staunton's childhood home which albeit much grander and richer than the shoddy Chelmsford townhouse he grew up in, still reeked of all the same problems and pretty much the same outcome, too.

So, John has spent most of their great escape thinking and wishing that he just -- wouldn't, really.

Suddenly, up front, because Sherlock happens to have much longer legs than him, the other man comes to an abrupt halt and yells his name, waving his arm at a coffee house across the street briefly before -- yes, as you'd expect, crossing the street and quite simply calling it a break all by himself, leaving John to desperately try and catch his breath (Army shape's seeping out of him, isn't it) while stumbling after Sherlock towards the coffee shop, catching up to him approximately two steps and a flight of stairs from the entrance. ]

Great! Good, very good. [ Coffee. Better than beer which is what he truly craves right now, go figure. ] Are you actually going to ingest something this time around?

[ John comes up panting behind him and Sherlocks throws a quick glance at him before entering the shop. The other man looks understandably winded (invalidated home from Afghanistan doesn't exactly imply top shape, does it) but apart from that, there's also something distinctively... dark, perhaps, about his demeanour. Has been, really, ever since they left the Stauntons'. For someone who can shoot a man without even a wobble, it ought to take more than a couple of rich idiots with superiority complexes to throw him off. Data for his John!file, isn't it. In it goes. He steps inside the coffee shop and speaks over his shoulder: ]

Never on a case. Feel free to have something yourself.

[ With that, he heads for the table he's had his eyes on since crossing the street. It's a corner table, small, just big enough for two and cramped in between the wall and the window. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it over the chair before slipping into his seat, his long legs crossed beneath the table as he staples his fingers under his chin. Like this, he goes over the facts of the case quickly, mind running through all possible scenarios and arriving at the same, basic conclusion: she must know. She knows. He could, potentially, head back to London, admit defeat and analyse the rosin, though it'll take forever getting anywhere useful with it - and then, who knows what might happen to Staunton who's still well and truly missing with too few people truly caring about his whereabouts? And more importantly, the case! The answers!

No, they'll have to go back to Elizabeth Overstowe. He can't see any better way from here. ]

[ Stopping in front of the counter, unattended as they're obviously the only newcomers currently, the few other customers in the coffee shop already appearing stocked up on beverages all-around, John glances after Sherlock with a frown. He hadn't eaten anything at Angelo's either, so apparently they've just encountered another principle which, along with the fact that the man's a poor eater on the best of days anyway, should kick John's medical training into gear, but honestly, he can't rightly be bothered. Though, you might at times have your doubts, the man is pushing his, what, mid-thirties (John actually doesn't know his exact age, now that he thinks about it), but under any circumstances -- what Sherlock Holmes puts in his mouth is really none of his business. Christ.

Abusing his credit card just a tad further, he buys himself a tall black coffee -- to go, because who the hell knows, exchanging a few pleasantries with the waitress who's speaking in a very distinct and very adorable Scouse, before making his way over to the table Sherlock's picked out, easing himself into the empty seat opposite him and stretching out his legs as much as can be done with the other man's long stilts crossed, knees absolutely everywhere. John's bump against his briefly as he shifts from one buttock to the other, trying to find a comfortable position and when Sherlock doesn't react, John raises an eyebrow, taking a long, thirsting drink of his coffee.

Okay, he's at a disconnect again. Lovely. ]

Dead end, it seems. Nobody's talking.

[ Another sip of his coffee ]

[ He's midways through planning a stakeout by Overstowe's house - need car, binoculars, streetmap to memorize the roads in the area, probably something for John to eat as they can't possibly stop for that - when John speaks, pulling him out of his thoughts. Oh. Oh, he's - here. With a cup of coffee and a rather obvious declaration. Sherlock glances at his cup, then at his face, noting for some reason that he can't possibly fathom that there are traces of coffee on his bottom lip. Blink. Blink. What was it - oh yeah, dead end. Well. ]

He wrote her. [ His voice is sharp, a hint of frustration underneath. ] He wrote her because she's his, what, sole parental figure? Must have taken some effort to work up such a level of trust, considering the way his actual parents have treated him. [ He frowns. ] But why would he write her? Tell the police what? [ Pause. He thinks for a moment, gaze growing distant, before he re-focuses on John: ] I need you to do some research for me while I gather supplies. Get an overview of crimes committed throughout Liverpool over the past week and a half - the more detail the better, though I suspect anything involving our friend has been anonymised into near obscurity.

Research, sure. [ He licks his bottom lip and repeats, mostly to commit it to memory -- crimes in Liverpool, past week and a half. ] I can do that.

[ He could look it up on the Internet, naturally, knows that's basically Sherlock's preferred method of researching everything from the weather in Cardiff to bus plans, but since the man's asking him to do it and spreading out a newspaper, running down a comparative amount of pages is how John has worked with data since his school days, they're going to do it the analogue way. Though, he will probably have to Google the way to the library... Alternatively, he could ask the waitress. Get himself another charming round of Scouse for his efforts. Yeah.

The coffee's nicely strong, nicely hot and the scent of it's filling his nostrils as he takes another long drink, considering Sherlock's final comment. Why would whatever they're looking for in regards to Staunton be any more anonymised than the rest? Oh. Well, he can probably think up a reason or two, right? Contrary to his family dirt that was secret to exactly no one, these are people who can pay their way out of most pickles.

Eyebrows knitting together, he licks his bottom lip again and throws it out there: ]

Would look bad for his parents, I suppose, that Godfrey's got himself into trouble.

[ It takes John a second to catch up but as always, he complies immediately and without question. Like that, he's... quite uniquely valuable as a case partner, really. Sherlock watches his thinking process, always very visually obvious on the other man's face, as he sips his coffee, licks his bottom lip (it's a thing he does pretty consistently meaning there's a pattern to it, meaning more data for his file) and offers his analysis. Would look bad for his parents, he says. Sherlock smiles briefly, feeling a burst of satisfaction. Unlike most other people, John does what he can with the available facts and though he doesn't always get it right, he tends to make... educated attempts.

Another reason why he's a great case partner thus far. ]

You have one hour. [ He sits back in his chair, straightens up - and then gets to his feet, grabbing his coat off the chair in a swirl of fabric. No time like the present, after all! ] I'll text you.

[ With that, he looks the other man over briefly once more (posture relaxed, mood alert, strong coffee for a solid burst of energy, it's good, they ought to get somewhere today, even if they don't make it all the way to the end) before spinning on his heel and leaving the coffee shop, dodging an incoming guest and ascending the stairs in one, fast jump. On his way down the street, he answers a text from Overton (not yet, will keep you posted - sh) before pocketing his phone once more. ]

[ You have one hour. I'll text you.

And so, like that, Sherlock Holmes is off again in a swirl of coat fabric and a glimpse of cheekbones, obviously done thinking for the time being -- if you can ever expect that man to be done thinking, come on. The clockworks are perpetually turning in his head, John's beginning to understand. Probably why he's up all night playing his bloody violin and not sleeping like normal people. John was warned and still didn't see it coming, fault's on him, he'll take it.

As he disappears down the stairs, the waitress staring after him curiously, John remains at the table only for a few seconds longer, eventually inclining his chin with a slight head shake, slapping his whole palm lightly against the tabletop twice and pushes himself to his feet, walking over to the counter with his half-finished coffee in one hand. The waitress smiles at him brightly. Good coffee, she asks.

Very good, he says with a strong tug at the corner of his mouth, half-smile growing. Listen -- scan the tag on her blouse, though don't stare too overtly, Miranda, could you tell me where the nearest library is?

She could, as a matter of fact. Along with the address and directions, she also writes down her phone number and he pockets the slip of paper with a slightly wider smile this time around. Okay then, some things are actually worth breaking a little sweat for, it seems. ]

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