milliways_bar | (no subject)

"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."

"Unforgivably impolite of them." Blithely ignoring the pointed glance, he leans back a bit, tilting his head slightly to one side. "Should I ask how someone as outwardly human as yourself might manage to breathe, underwater?"

He nods at the statement, and then pauses. A moment of thought, another of intense concentration.

"Magic. Complicated stuff. Even I don't entirely understand it."

He grins.

"A lot of my life is like that, nowadays."

"That sounds like a bit of a dangerous risk," Holmes says, but with a narrow grin in return. Pausing for a moment, he chuckles, then adds, "I believe I remember the first of our many conversations. Bemoaning the nature of bureaucracies."

He thinks back and grins.

"Yes. I remember that. Coasters and ammunition. I still hold by that principle."

He blows absentmindedly on his tea, and smiles.

"That was when you had a broken limb. Whatever happened to that? Next time I saw you I was on crutches of my own. And humans don't heal that fast, you know."

"Miss Nita Callahan," says Holmes promptly, with some appreciation in his tone. "And it was merely a twisted ankle, I will have you know. She repaired it the same evening. A singularly impressive experience."

Pity that he hadn't spoken to her since. Sometime in the future, surely.

"I know her. She did my arm for me, though my leg healed itself."

He grins.

"A very capable and intelligent young lady. An especially strong wizard, too. I wish I knew her better."

"Yes, pity there are always so many other matters with which to concern oneself." Matters which appear to consist of lighting a cigarette and lazing about smoking it, at the moment.

"That someone of such a young age should have so much experience," he marvels a moment more.

Random arches an eyebrow. "Time is relative."

He tries to sip the tea again, and finding it too hot resolutely sets the cup back down on the saucer.

"Age has very little to do with anything, as I'm in a very good position to tell you. It's how you treat the experiences the years provide that makes all the difference."

He stares at the tea impatiently, as if glaring at it could make it cool down.

Holmes arches an eyebrow in return. "I grant you that is so, but her accomplishment at a mere fifteen relative years surely measures up in some percentage to yours at..." He pauses. "Exactly what might be your age?"

"9217. On August the first, if you want to split hairs about it."

He takes a sip of his tea and smiles in triumph.

"Hah! Finally."

Green eyes peer up at Holmes over the rim of the cup.

"And this is all you have managed to accomplish in that time?" He clicks his tongue. "How disappointing."

His eyes glint, but he manages to look otherwise perfectly somber, sipping from his cup in return. Strange, that Random's eyes do not remind him of Yrael's--both a little otherwordly. Not that he is about to complain.