Apologies for the ridiculously late updating and the ridiculously short chapter but I'm working on it and should hopefully have a new chapter up within a week *fingers crossed*
Despite the varying weather it so often faced, it seemed that London would never be ready for the force of winter. Three years previously, the entirety of the Underground had been halted, snow having breached the external barriers and melted upon the tracks. The year before this had seen a three day interruption in air travel both in and out of the capital. And this year, much to the annoyance of one John Hamish Watson, it appeared that taxis were the transport to meet their downfall. Forty-seven minutes after beginning his wait on the usually thriving street, he finally conceded defeat, moving a few feet up the road to a near empty bus stop; the only people in the area, himself and a woman in nothing more than a skimpy evening dress, quite possibly making the walk of shame, or whatever the bus version of that was. Her shivers were clearly warranted, as the gently drifting snow rested upon her skin, equally as pale as the ice that chilled her.
It is an unwritten law with British public transport that passengers do not talk to each other unless their conversation should consist of either a) the weather, b) the delay in that form of transport, or c) directions to your destination. The ex-army doctor found himself able to include all three of these in what would be considered an appropriate conversation.
"I was planning to get a taxi, but none have come by," acceptable topic b, "it must be something to do with this weather," acceptable topic a, and rounding it off with, "I don't suppose you know how I could get to Baker Street?" a perfect example of acceptable topic c. Smug as he was, the woman had now turned her attention to him and so he would save his victory dance, at this astounding display of London social skills, until later.
Surprisingly enough, it seemed like his dance may have been appreciated, her smirk matching his, "You're really glad you got all that in, aren't you?" That smirk had become audible as she spoke, the sound giving away her age, probably slightly younger than him, older than her appearance suggested.
"I had to get your attention somehow, without being that creepy man who seems to haunt public transport." She tilted her head and scrunched her face, a clear sign that he was losing her and so he hurried out his next words, stumbling over them, "I just wanted to know whether you wanted my coat." He shrugged softly in an attempt to emphasise the jacket on his shoulders.
"And I thought chivalry was dead." Her smirk returned and she nodded for him to place it over her shoulders.
The fabric swamped her delicate form, falling to way beneath her knees, showing how impossibly short she was, even in comparison to the doctor. While it was bittersweet, her heat causing his chill, something in him found it worthwhile.
"So," she snapped him out of his shivering, "Now that we've deviated from social conventions, would it be too much for me to ask for your number?" The pause was palpable, "Or let me give you mine?"
The cold must have been getting to him because, to him, it sounded like she'd just asked for his number. The only proof he had of this, upon arriving at his front door, was his lack of coat and the feminine scrawl of Mary – 07855751690 x
So let me know what you think; I'm trying reintroduce myself to this whole writing lark and it's taking some time...but I am trying! I promise!
Charlotte x