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

[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.