Deduction 2 - [ video ]

[notquiteheartless]

[They'd agreed to a week. A week without incident, of rest and recovery. Then, the unspoken half of it went, they would go their separate ways.

But after ten whole days without another word said about moving or kicking out...

The video feed kicks on in the early afternoon, aimed at one of the plain white walls of 2-21.]

This is unacceptable.

[Sherlock Holmes is back on his feet and physically feeling much better.

Sorry, Luceti.]

I need paint, wallpaper, and glue. Lots of all of it. Where can I find it?

Also. Regarding the hideously plain excuses for furniture in this flat-- There are obviously no cabs here, so I'm going to assume there are no trucks. How am I supposed to realistically re-furnish a flat? Surely in a place where wings are mysteriously attached to people, there is something better than just carting furniture almost a kilometre.

On a final note: If a human skull shows up in the item shop, it is mine. Return it to me at Community House 2, Room 21.


(Two edits:
A. the Imperial measurement is gone. Bad Lynn. No miles. Kilometres!
B. I spaced about the "only a mile wide" thing and was looking at the scale to try and figure it out. That's fixed in the entry too, now. Sorry about that.)

Comments

[theoniongirl]

[she couldn't help but laugh at that. He was just so sure of himself.] I guess I do.

[and, then, the address registered. She really did know where to bring it...and not just because she'd been here long enough to memorize the map]

That's Dr. Watson's apartment...right?

[notquiteheartless]

[Is he surprised that a young female knows John's address?

...Not a bit.]

It is. We're flatmates.

Sherlock Holmes.

[theoniongirl]

[....wait.]

[The pause is a bit longer than someone simply processing the information. Considering how friendly her tone had been moments before, it was...well...probably a little odd, at least. Though maybe he could write it off as displeasure that John didn't live alone.

Except-]

...really?

[notquiteheartless]

Yes. We're flatmates.

[Because that seems to surprise people where they come from.

...Or did. When they were flatmates there...

But that's not being discussed.]

1/2

[theoniongirl]

No.

I mean-

[normally, she doesn't flounder with New Feathers. Not like this. But then, she'd never been caught so off guard by their names.

John Watson. On it's own, she hadn't thought a thing of it. Both names were common enough. But when you added Sherlock Holmes to it...well...

What she couldn't tell was whether he was being serious, or whether this was a ploy...some way to mask who he was.]

2/2

[theoniongirl]

[she's still in the middle of trying to decide whether to believe him or not when she realizes something.

It doesn't matter.

King Arthur was here...or some version of him. Military men from the 1800s. Vampire Slayers. Aliens, gods, and pirates had made their home within the confines of the barrier. Knowing that, there was no real reason why "Sherlock Holmes" should be any more impossible. And if he was lying-

"What's your name?"
"Jilly."
"Jilly what?"
"Uh..."

Either way, whether it was a given name or a chosen one, she was the last person to say what sort of names were "real."

She gives a laugh, a mask and yet somehow genuine at the same time.] Sorry, that was really rude of me. I was just surprised by your name. It's...not one you hear often. [outside of literature] Not that I've got any room to talk. My last name is Coppercorn.

[notquiteheartless]

Yes, yes. The first name's a bit old-fashioned. [He doesn't sound like he minds much. Neither is he amused.]

[theoniongirl]

[she does laugh at that] Well, you aren't alone, there. Old-fashioned kind of takes on a different meaning when you live alongside people from both your past and future.

[notquiteheartless]

[There is no rhyme or reason to this place.]

How do you know John?

[Not that he cares.]

[theoniongirl]

He had questions. I met with him and Detective Lestrade and Detective Donovan.

[notquiteheartless]

Detective Inspector Lestrade.

Sergeant Donovan.

[These are important distinctions.]

[theoniongirl]

Oh! Right...They'd mentioned that.

...I'm just used to saying "Officer."

[there's nothing defensive about it. Just a statement of a fact.]

[notquiteheartless]

Different grades. Similar to your "detective" and "captain."

[theoniongirl]

That makes sense. I know Sally called...[how had he said it?] the Detective Inspector her boss.

[a laugh]...that's a bit of a mouthful, isn't it?

[notquiteheartless]

[And thank God for it being that way 'round.]

You get used to it. [A pause, perhaps a bit grudgingly:] He's a good officer.

[And a better man.]

[theoniongirl]

He seemed like it. He reminds me of my friend Lou, back home. Best cop I know.

[a beat] I take it you're from the same place as them?

[notquiteheartless]

We've worked together.

[theoniongirl]

[working together was good. Hopefully that meant being all together was a good thing]

Are you a cop, too?

[notquiteheartless]

No.

I'm a consulting detective.

[theoniongirl]

Sherlock Holmes....a detective. Living with John Watson.

[really, this was either the worst attempt at a pseudonym...or the coolest thing ever]

[notquiteheartless]

Ah, so you can understand basic information. Good.

[...Sorry, Jilly.]

1/2

[theoniongirl]

[she's quiet a moment. It's not the sarcasm that catches her off-guard. It's the complete lack of...well...concern is the closest word she can think of. There's not even the slightest attempt to lessen the sting of his words.]

2/2

[theoniongirl]

[...and then she thinks about what she actually said...and what she's seen others saying here (those that hadn't blocked their conversations from sight) and she can't help it.

She laughs.

Considering all his other conversations, she wasn't exactly expecting polite consideration. And, really, he had a point]

It's a special talent of mine.