milliways_bar | (no subject)

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.

"For God's sake," Holmes mutters, with a glance flung at Random's limp form. "You knew it would out eventually." With a sigh, he turns back to Raven, giving him a leanly measuring gaze.

"I beg your pardon," he says at length, "that I cannot return that pleasure in full, just yet. Perhaps the situation may yet be salvaged."

"It may. I would know what I have done wrong, in your eyes, before we begin. If I may."

His eyes are a little cooler as he studies Holmes. And very old.

"My telling you about my concerns and feelings during his absence."

He looks up quickly at Holmes.

"And it's not a matter of 'outing.' It was one of the first things I told you yesterday. I admit my mistakes."

"You place me in the worst possible position," Holmes retorts, leaning back and crossing both arms over his chest.

Returning to Raven, he shakes his head, a tersely frustrated movement. "You have done nothing." An uneasy and uncomfortable admission, but is thoroughly out of his control, now.

"And neither have you." Raven's eyes are very gentle as he says this.

"And it is no business of mine, so."

He shrugs.