milliways_bar | (no subject)

Random smirks, and sets his cup down.

"When I was quite young I realized that it was a much greater accomplishment to be happy than to be successful."

He shrugs.

"Of course, the idea falls apart in places, but for most of my adult life I've been doing fairly well."

There's something a lot warmer about Random's eyes than Yrael's. They've also got a lot more gold in them than the ghostly cat.

Holmes slants him a grin in return. "Well said."

A number of very unpleasantly proper people of his distant acquaintance would hardly call Holmes successful, after all, but he gave not a damn for regular business or grandiose living, so long as he had something worthwhile for his mind to pursue.

He smiles triumphantly into his tea.

"It's turned out fairly well, so far. The Touchstones and Audreys of the world get along much better than Lear and his gang of harpies."

He looks up at Holmes, quickly.

"How did you decide to become a 'Consulting Detective.' Surely you must have been under pressure to find a 'stable career' and whatnot."

"Indeed." For a moment, Holmes scowls into his cup, eyes distant with unpleasant memory, but then his lips curve in a grim suggestion of a smile. "Fortunately, I did not and do not give a damn what the majority of society thinks of me." Provided the law did not work entirely against him, of course.

"Honestly, nothing else had one-tenth the power to hold my attention," he shrugs. "I studied chemistry for some time. At Cambridge. A lengthy term of study was good excuse to use a full and functioning laboratory toward my own purposes." His lips quirk.

He snickers.

"I imagine that must have been quite a treat. Though I freely admit, chemistry is one of my shortcomings. I have an annoying tendency to set things on fire."

He sips his tea.

"And I mean things that should have no possible flammabitity. Once, I caused an explosion while performing a simple splint test for hydrogen. It was rather embarrassing, I can tell you."

He snaps his fingers.

"Which reminds me, in a Study in Scarlett you mentioned a test for bloodstains, yes?"

He chuckles at the image of unanticipated explosions, then nods. "Yes. I have improved the process somewhat considerably since then." He traces one fingertip around the rim of his teacup. "Though the police have found more daily use for it than have I. That was the original purpose, of course."

"I was wondering... would it be possible to applicate through a perfume bottle? In a spray like that, it would be much more discreet and much more adaptable to a difficult situation."

He steeples his fingers, leaning his elbows on the table.

"But I don't know enough about the compounds to know if it would work."

Eyebrows arching, Holmes leans forward, an eager spark entering his eyes. "It might. It should." He taps one fingertip against his lower lip. "In fact, I see no reason why it would not. Though a medium to heavy application might be necessary, and would depend upon the bottle in question."

He curves his lips, just a bit devilish. "Planning something discreet?"

He grins back.

"I mean, should you need to be in and out, fast. Being a police officer envolves... constraints that a Consulting Detective need not pander to all the time."

The grin turns positively evil.

"Especially if you don't get caught."

Holmes chuckles, speaking low. "Perhaps you know too many of my habits already, my dear sir."

He hasn't yet been caught taking the law into his own hands, so to speak, and hopefully he never will.

He arches an eyebrow.

"Actually, that was an educated breath, based on my own reaction to the situation. But I'm glad I was right."

He sips his tea, looking relatively smug.

"I suppose it was more of a deduction than a guess, really."

"Guessing is worthless," Holmes replies, pausing to take a breath from his neglected cigarette. "One depends on nothing but luck, without deduction, which is why I do not gamble."

He rests his elbow on the table and leans his head against one hand, eyes traveling over the table. "I believe breakfast is successfully conquered."

Random grins, and nods.

"I thought you were going to say that. Which is why I amended the comment. And yes, I'd say we won that one. No bodily harm done to anyone, either. Unless you count the scones and a muffin."

"We can count one casualty, in memory of the burning of your tongue. A Glorious Revolution, indeed."

He straightens up again, fingertips pressing together. "And what shall you do now?" A casual inquiry, of course.

He snickers.

"Alas, the woes of battle."

But all the inquiry earns him is a shrug, and the enigmatic comment:

"I hadn't thought this far ahead."

"That will ever be your downfall, Random."

There is a Raven sitting in the booth, now.

"I would agree." Holmes sits back, regarding the new addition with a sudden and focused concentration, eyes sharpening past gray and into steel.

"Though I should like to know with whom I am in agreement, sir."

Raven turns his head to regard Holmes. His eyes are black, and very bright.

"They call me Raven."

Random smiles at Raven, and inclines his head, turning to Holmes.

"He's a very close friend of mine."

Something in his gaze sharpens further; it could cut. The rest of his expression remains mild, nevertheless. "Mr. Raven. Yes, so I recall." He is hardly accustomed to being at a disadvantage, and the situation grates against his pride.

"Raven alone will do. I am not much for formality. I do not believe we have met."

He looks quizzical.

Exactly what Holmes is worried about clicks into place with a snap similar to the sound of a breaking bone.

He sighs, and closes his eyes.

Speaking through one's gritted teeth is not entirely comfortable. "No, we have not. Do forgive me, sir." He extends a very steady hand. "Sherlock Holmes."

Raven takes his hand, briefly.

"I am pleased to meet you, I think. I hope we prove well met."

"He's not upset with you, Raven. He's upset with me."

This said from between Random's arms, as he is now collapsed against the table, head down.