milliways_bar | (no subject)

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.

"I have to go."

He stands quickly.

"And I hope you two keep talking. Watching you try to undertand eachother would have been amusing."

"Damn it," Holmes mutters, letting him go. Better than another public scene, at least. Slim salvation though that might be.

He drags out another cigarette, lighting it with a sharp hiss from the match before meeting Raven's gaze again. The gentleness of those eyes might unnerve him at another moment.

"Can I trust nothing, and no one?" he says, voice low and clipped, the question rhetorical.

Raven tilts his head, still watching.

"That is rather a question of will, I think."

"Of course it is," Holmes replies, sighing and straightening up again. "But just as much a matter of logic, I should say." The cigarette helps, of course. His thoughts can once again resolve into a single, directed path.

He leans back, smoke trailing upward, and eyes Raven. "Would you trust a man who had once betrayed you?"

Raven merely looks at him a moment, eyes dark and wide and old and very sad.

"Yes. There would be nothing left for me, if I did not."

Pausing, he holds Raven's gaze. He might call this deduction, but it might be intuition--something less or something more. He would never admit such a thing.

"How old are you, sir?"

Raven tilts his head, and considers.

"Almost as old as the oldest universe, I should imagine. I have been to many worlds, so."

He shrugs.