milliways_bar | Entries tagged with sherlock holmes (bbc)

Sinric comes down to the bar dressed in heavy furs and carrying a large pack. He stops at the bar, dropping off a small bundle of letters and packages before requesting the last of the tools he needs.

For Ragnar and Athelstan.

For Hannibal, Rae, Emcee, Seimei, Childermass, and Sherlock.

He gives the main room one last look over before pulling his fur hood up and heading out into the snow-covered garden.

In the gloom and falling flakes, he turns towards the mountain and the massive ash tree waiting for him there.

{ooc: reactions only, please.}

just_cant_lose

Despite the impression he's been giving to Sherlock on the rare occasions it's come up, Jim has not actually been looking forward to today. Neither is he entirely ambivalent towards it, which would normally be the case. This is why he gets up before dawn and heads outside, distracting himself with things that suddenly seem more important than lounging around enjoying himself.

He takes a motorbike from the garage and spends most of the morning up the mountain, getting the lay of the land and picking a good spot for his upcoming project. It doesn't take long enough, but at least it blows some cobwebs away. He finds himself sharp again, dissecting ideas and throwing away the unnecessary, calculating what he needs for both this most benign of occupations, and the less benign situation regarding certain other patrons of this bar.

He comes down at lunchtime. For one thing, it's bloody cold. For another, there's no point putting it off any longer. It is what it is, and he's worked enough today. Time to put on a show, for Sherlock's sake if nothing else.

'Bar,' he says, dropping gloves on the counter. 'Your very best steak and a bottle of Jameson's, if you will.'

Both things are duly provided. Along with a chocolate cupcake with a sparkler in lieu of a candle, and a glittery party hat with streamers pouring out of the top. A napkin reads, Happy birthday, Jim.

'Oh, fuck off.'

It's said drily, but he takes everything to a booth anyway, and paints on a smile for the benefit of the room. It doesn't reach his eyes, but then, it rarely does.

[OOC: Open alllll weekend, and probs into next week.]

thewidewideworld

The door opens to the sound of angry murmuring and discussion and Sinric strides in, hampered by the full Tang Dynasty court robes. He slams the door behind him with a crack.

Red faced and furious, he rips the elaborate cap off his head and throws it at the fire. With shaking hands he tries to untangle his hair from the braids and pins that hold it in a top knot.

He’s not crying. Really he’s not.

just_cant_lose

OOM:

The Great Game

mightbeagoodone

It is impossible to maintain a smoking habit in London nowadays.

Which is why, when Sherlock Holmes walks into the bar, after his eyes flick around and take in ... everything, the first thing he does is get his pack of cigarettes out of his coat and light up.

Ahh.

[ooc: If there's anything Sherlock should observe about your character that is not in their profile, please leave a comment here. Comments are screened.]

equal_of_any_man

Olivier pushes the door open with his back, unaware of his surroundings as he rocks the bundle in his arms. He drifts towards the fire out of instinct as he sings to the crying baby in Arabic. The woollen shawl the little one is wrapped in is slipping and he tries to untangle it.

However multitasking while holding a bawling child is an art he has yet to master. Any help would be appreciated.

guppy_sandhu

Guppy hasn't got a lot of time before preparing for a very busy couple of days, but he drops off a collection of little packages at the tree. (Except for Gavroche who got his yesterday.) With each one comes a card the kids helped make and then copied.

( Enzo, Hannibal, Zhaan, Thirteen, Malcolm, Charles Xavier, Doc, Knox, any other medics/heroes/reducers of damage )

( Atton, Kate Barlow, Michaelangelo, Raphael, Sherlock, Will Scarlett, Gene Hunt, Ben Grimm, Javert, Teja, Amanda, Mia, Ginny, any other cops/heroes/fighters )

He also carefully deposits some presents Fry has been making from salt dough.
Some of them may take a little deciphering.

( Enzo, Hannibal, Charles Xavier, Atton, Kate Barlow, Mikey, Raph, Sherlock, Teja, Gene )

He hangs around a few minutes to check if anything is going on before heading back to the excited small people at home.

[ooc: Guppy and I have been kicking around for nearly nine years, we've talked to a lot of people - if you feel your pup is missing off this list please add yourself to the appropriate category, or if you have an overlap, pick one :)]

death_gone_mad

Sarah had a good view of the Giant Yule goat someone had erected outside, so she should have noticed someone setting fire to it. Or maybe even the smoke coming from it.

Should have, would have, could have.

When she is done with her breakfast, she 'notices' the flames climbing up on of the goat's legs

"FIRE! FIRE! Out back!" she shouts, putting a just a tiny bit of her mind control magic into it. "Something's on fire out by the lake!"

She's almost at the back door when she remembers that she left her coat at her table. She runs back to retrieve it then runs out the back door yelling "FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!"

Once she is outside, she stops, unsure of what to do next.

death_gone_mad

Morning comes and the sun reveals that out back there is a giant yule goat, made of thin strips of timber and palm leaves. Only in Milliways will you find a yule goat covered in palm leaves gathered from a tropical place, standing in the middle of a snowy environ.

It stares at Milliways. It judges.

Inside, at a table beside a window with a view of Milliways' huge 'backyard' or whatever it is, is one Sarah Black, drinking coffee and watching snow accumulate on the goat. She is dressed warmly and the meltwater around her boots implies she has been outside recently, but probably just to get a closer look at the goat.

Probably.

protect_and_survey

This time, Jemma manages to walk into the bar without tripping over anything, which is... new, at least. Of course, she was looking for the research library, not a pub. But seeing the bar reminds her that she hasn't had lunch (and breakfast was a rather long time ago), so she goes to rectify that.

And is rewarded with a note along with her soup and tea.

At first she's excited.

And then she's disappointed.

And then she's white as a sheet, because thank you, no, she'll do just fine without a meeting, oh good Lord.

guppy_sandhu

It's been a busy afternoon for Guppy, as always. Though he had the unusual task tonight of explaining to his young son that the 'ripples of friendship' that Kate had told him about was not an invitation to throw an entire jug of water over Patrick and some other kids at lunch.

He sets up clinic and sits with a cup of tea, thinking how to tackle a couple of irate parents.

Free Walk-in Clinic
The doctor is in

Distractible.

the_gene_genie

He's starting to think he works more here than at home. Still, he doesn't attempt to argue this time; he's well aware of the size of his tab. But he's hardly going to submit without stipulations. He's not stupid.

'Gonna make it worth my while, then?'

A napkin appears, with a message that turns his expression from resigned to shocked.

'No need for that! Soddin' women.' Hmpfh. 'Go on then, go away an' stop botherin' me.'

There's a pause, and then a box appears. It's Subbuteo, and his face brightens immediately. 'Nice one, luv.'

SPECIALS

Ale (from Central Manchester)

Beat me in a penalty shoot out, have one on me.

He's been playing this game his whole life. He fancies his chances.

'Come an' get it then.'

Bar's open.

[OOC: Celebrating having handed all my coursework in! It's playtime, folks - this is open for new tags for the next 9.5 hours (1am GMT). Brief slowtime in a couple of hours for child-collecting; other than that, have at! :D]

drjohnhwatson

Dr. John Watson sits at the bar with a lager he has sipped quite a bit and a book he hasn't opened yet.

He's too busy enjoying the relative peace of the bar.

[tiny tag: John Watson (BBC)]

properpolice.livejournal.com

The front door opens, and a WPC in a tired-looking uniform wanders in, earphones and tape player in one hand, her coat in the other.

Well.

This isn't the alleyway shortcut to home.

After a moment she shrugs, and heads for the bar. After the events of the last couple days, she's been avoiding Luigi's like the plague, and she could do for a pint. Part of a pint, anyway.

the_gene_genie

Gene bounces into Milliways, exuding energy the way he always does when he's on the trail of a scumbag. He grins when he sees where he is - pint, excellent! - and then he sees the television above the bar. It appears like there's some sort of event going on in London, but he doesn't recognise the names of those involved. William and Catherine? Doesn't ring a bell.

And then he sees the carriage, and the cheering crowds, and the flags. The commentator mentions the name of the Queen, and he goes white. For a moment, he feels like he might pass out. There's a memory...something. A noise; familiar, but he can't place it.

The bar is closer than the door. He collapses on a stool, and grinds out,

'Whiskey. An' turn that shit off.'

For once, she doesn't argue on either score. With the blank screen comes relief, but not half as much as when he's halfway through the bottle. That's the kind of relief he likes. Blessed oblivion, and he's welcoming it with open arms tonight.

hello_freak

This time he's ready for it. This time he's prepared for that odd little shift in light or gravity or what have you that makes this place manifest in the stead of his study. Or his kitchen. Or the ruddy anatomy laboratory. This time, it will not get the better of him.

Which is, of course, why his head is down over his mobile when he loses signal. He stops in the middle of the floor for a moment, watching the acquiring signal icon flash, his thumbs hovering over the keypad.

A rat tugs on his pant leg, and chitters a brief message.

"Bollocks."

Right. A book it is, and a cup of tea. Enforced relaxation, Mycroft would call it. Therapeutic.

He sneers at the very thought.

[ooc: subject to sporadic slows, open till he EPs again ]

aaaaaaaagh_sky

Scritchity-scratch-scratch creeeeeeeek, goes a door in the Staff and Other Important Areas part of the bar.

A gray and black form slinks out at the creeeeeek noise and darts through the sea of patrons' ankles, tail held high and slobbery paper something-or-other clutched in his jaws. The dog- not quite two feet tall at the shoulder, somewhat longer than that from stem to stern- makes it to the Bar successfully and scrambles up onto a very unfortunate stool, the better to deposit the aforementioned slobber-paper on the bartop.

It vanishes, a little reluctantly. Somewhat later a black bag with the Bar's name on it, and a pair of easily cleaned handles, appears in its stead. As one of the tabs on the Tab Board increases by a good number of caps, the dog barks once and does his best to get those handles in his jaws. He's got a mission today! He's a good dog!

[tinytag: Sherlock Holmes (BBC)]

vance_prime

The snow has finally cleared from Greenbrier. The Resistance moves at dawn. They're as ready as they're going to get, which even Alyx has to admit isn't much.

All that's left is to get a good night's sleep. Unfortunately, that's easier said than done.

Hence, we find Alyx in the Bar, doing her meditation exercises in the hopes of settling her mind enough to sleep. So far, it's not working.