milliways_bar | (no subject)

Random unceremoniously drops paperback on the table and picks up the tea cup.

"I was just about to go get myself a mug. Thank you."

He takes a long sip, eyes taking in the changes in Holmes while he drinks, and smiles as he sets down the cup.

"Breakfast would be lovely."

Holmes glances down at his teacup and takes a sip from it, but his lips curve at the edges. "Then we may share."

He has the Times as well, and sets his cup down to unfold it, apparently content with quiet companionship at the moment. "Didn't you sleep well?" he asks at length.

He shrugs, cradling his tea.

"Not particularly. There was a storm, and it's disruption was enough to tip me into insomnia, seeing as I was already agitated. My brother was in the bar last night. It gave me a lot to think about."

He takes a slow sip, and pushes his hair out of his face.
"But you're looking a lot better."

"Which brother?" Holmes asks, consciously casual, flipping a page. "Nothing has happened in your world, I hope."

He waves a dismissive hand at Random's assessment of him. "I am well enough."

"One of the few good ones. Corwin. But talking to him is like playing badminton against a wall. There's not much you can do but react, and hope you don't give away too much."

He sips his tea again.

"I like him, though. We used to make paper boats together and sail them in the creek."

He snorts, draping an arm across the top of the bench.

"And chuck pebbles at each others, trying to sink them. We were racing, where too, we didn't know. But it was a race." It is today, too, it seems. Even though Random's trying to get Corwin as far ahead as possible.

"Is it still?" Holmes says, quirking him a smile. He worships Mycroft, in his own way, but there is a point at which besting his brother becomes peculiarly satisfying. Pity it happens so rarely.

Breakfast arrives, and he has to lean back to make room on the table. The fare is very traditionally English, and it apparently involves scones and a full silver tea service.

Random blinks at the tea service.

"Oh my goodness. The kitchen really knows what they're doing, don't they?"

He lifts one of the tray covers, and his eyes widen.

"As for our race... we're running in different directions, it seems. But towards the same goal. You know how it can be."

"Personally, I try not to think that members of the rodent family might be preparing my meals," Holmes retorts, but mildly, and takes a scone. Hunger has finally caught up with him, after days of deprivation.

He catches Random's eye and gives him half a smile. "And I do understand. Mycroft and myself have the same sort of goal, I think. But I find myself racing, and glimpse him already at the winning line." He chuckles. "It's quite a quandary, in fact, as he takes no more actual exercise than walking half a block, twice a day."

He laughs, and picks up a muffin.

"There are chefs, but I don't know if they do this stuff. First day I came in I spoke to one of them. A Doctor Lecter. He seemed very nice."

He breaks a piece of the side of the muffin, and regards it. Family is not a topic that can lead to any productive discussions.

"Well, that was an interesting first day at the bar. Duo, Doctor Lecter, and a cat who was a man, but not really."

Holmes arches a brow. "Yrael?"

A wary note enters his voice with the name. Not that Yrael has done anything unpleasant or untoward, where he is concerned, but the man has a certain dangerous aura about him. Too much power, perhaps, wielded too indiscriminately. He had the same feeling from that violet chap...Asar-Suti.

He nods.

"Bastard that he is, yes. Careful of him. I made the mistake of letting him touch my cards. Nearly sent myself into a coma."

He winces at the memory, ans takes a bite of his muffin.

"He's not what he seems. He's also one of those people with whom it is wise to be very polite. Not that I can say I followed that particular advice."

"I doubt I will have reason to speak to him again," Holmes replies, taking a corner from his scone. "Or rather, I imagine the only reason I attracted his attention at all was my violin." He isn't the sort of fool who regards focused attention as a gift. Just as often, flattery turns Trojan horse.

"You attract much attention yourself, given your power," he adds, faintly stern.

Random shrugs, and tears another piece from the muffin.

"I know. But I can be unobtrusive, if I have to be. It's only when I'm caught unawares that it's a problem. As, obviously, I was. The fluffy cat persona is very deceiving."

He winces. It's been happening more and more often that he's taken unawares.

"The worst of criminals have the best of manners and grace. And who would possibly suspect such a man? All appearances," Holmes agrees.

He demolishes the rest of the scone, and takes another. He should not waste energy thinking of Moriarity, but he does nevertheless--such twisted brilliance deserves concentrated study, after all.

He shakes his head, wondering who it could possibly be that Holmes keeps thinking about during their conversations.

"You're sitting here, Holmes, but your eyes are in London. Tell me more about your work? A time ago you said you'd tell me something about a speckled band, before we were interrupted."

Say anything you want to stop thinking about what ever's making you so edgy.

Holmes blinks, then shakes his head once, as if surfacing from underwater. "Pray forgive me," he smiles, wry. "You see? I must have a case, so that I may concentrate on the present, rather than the past or future."

Pausing to consider, he takes a swallow of tea, then nods. "The speckled band. I did say something of it, didn't I? A most peculiar affair, all around."

He nods.

"And will you tell me about it? I still don't completely understand what it is you do with yourself."

He takes another bite of the muffin, watching Holmes with interest.

Holmes assumes his most comfortable position, leaning back and taking a minute to light his pipe, then tenting his fingers together, breakfast largely forgotten.

"It would have been the very early days of my acquaintanceship with Watson," he begins. "April of '83, I should think, when I was awakened by an early and unexpected call at Baker Street..."

He goes on to detail the strange death of the murderous Dr. Grimesby Roylott, the investigation of the several peculiar clues found on inspection of the deceased lady's room, and his vigil with Watson, waiting in perfect pitch black for the sound of an otherwise silent creature.

"I suppose one could argue that I am indirectly responsible for the villain's death," he finishes with a narrow shrug. "I cannot say I regret the matter overmuch."

Random's eyes are wide.

"If given the choice between his life and that of the young ladies he put in danger, would you not make the same decision again? Regret has no place in Justice."

He smiles.

"You deserve to be very proud of yourself, if this is any indication."

Holmes laughs aloud, leaning forward again and pouring himself a fresh cup of tea, the pipe laid aside. "Watson would not have you say so. He bemoans the inflation of my ego as it is." His lips curve into a narrower, truer smile. "But he was proud of me, I do believe. Which is as much as I can deserve."

He holds out his empty teacup to Holmes, a silent request for it to be filled.

"Well, it's my honest oppinion. And so long as you realize that there is always someone bigger, stronger, smarter, better somewhere out there in the universe, then I don't see a reason to be worried about ego. I think you and I have siblings a tad too remarkable for that."

His smile softens, as well.
"And I'm sure he was very proud."

"Ha," he says, the unusual warmth fading from his expression as he leans forward to pour the tea. "Not that alone, as this place is quite a humbling influence in itself, thank you."

He offers Random the sugar with one hand, picking another piece off his scone. Cold now, but he had no particular objection to that.

He adds half a spoon of sugar to his tea.

"I've found that, too. Rather intimidating. I was used to being the strongest on around, especially when I lived in Rebma. But now..."

He takes a sip of tea, and winces, setting down the cup.

"Bah, hot."

"Careful." Too late, of course, but he rather enjoys admonishing Random. He offers the cream, in compensation.

"Rebma?" he prompts, arching a brow.

He sighs at Holmes, arching an eyebrow rather pointedly.

"A city on the bottom of the ocean. Inhabited by mer people who had very little use for me, other than as someone to complete paper work. It eventually got to the point when they just didn't speak to me anymore. I was exploring a cave formation when I found a Door."