A Transatlantic Conversation
Disclaimer - Just writing for fun, none of them belong to me.
Summary - Based on the preview for "Blood is Thicker", spoilers through "The Marchioness".
A/N - Another short one! Just the way I foresee this conversation going.
He walked into the room slowly, not a usual pace for him. She could tell by the cadence of his shoes on the floor that something was up. She looked up from her freshly poured mug of tea and saw him leaning against the doorway.
"What's up?" She asked, blowing into her mug and then taking a hesitant sip.
"I've heard from my father." He began, not looking up from his clasped, and ever fidgeting, hands.
"Oh?" She asked quietly, lowering her steaming mug.
"He wants me to go back to London; he feels that New York has been a mistake and a waste of my time." He practically spat out the last bit, unclasping his hands and clinching them into fists at his sides.
"I see." Her brow was furrowed, she was struggling to figure out how to respond. This was not something she had ever really considered; Sherlock was in New York, her life was in New York. London?
"I've been thinking it over," He stepped into the room, hands in his pockets, eyes everywhere but her face, "and, while part of me immediately you and I working alongside Scotland Yard. the other part quickly realized that my father hasn't always had my…best interests in mind. You, being the exception, of course." He extended an open palm towards her.
"So, you don't want to go?" She couldn't mask the relief in her tone, not that she really tried.
"Well, I mean, it was certainly something to consider. Momentarily. I just don't think it wise for me…for us, to pick up and follow his instructions. What would become of Clyde? The quarantine period for reptiles is not something I would want him to have to go through." He smiled slightly at the thought of packing a tiny suitcase for the tiny tortoise.
Sherlock turned to leave, hesitated, "Besides, Mycroft will more than likely be spending much more time in New York than London for the foreseeable future. And we both know how you feel about his proximity." He turned sharply on his heels and walked decidedly out of the room.
Watson was left to roll her eyes at the door way and continue drinking her, now lukewarm, tea. Even if he decided not to go, what would she have done if he had?
-fin
