Holmes tapped his fingers on his knee, what seemed to everyone else as impatience. I for one knew it was fear. "And this thing will just . . fly? Because of a hulk of metal?" I nodded.
"Yup." He grimaced.
"It's 'yes'." Almost everyone on the plane where staring at us. Holmes rested the edge of his nose on his fist, so that where I was sitting was the only person who could see what he was saying. "Why are they all staring at me?"
"Because you're you."
He sat back in the chair, fingers steapled. "What is on our list of thngs to do?"
"First," I eyed his clothing, it looked like he was in medical scrubs, "shopping spree for you."
"Oh, the joy." He said with sarcasm.
'Well, it's either that or people think you have problems, that you think medical uniforms are a fashion statement, or that you are always at the hospital."
He raised an eyebrow. "And they would be bad?"
"Well, you'd be labeled for the rest of your life before opening your mouth."
He shrugged, then looked up to inspect the buttons on the overhead console. He started to hit the assistance button.
A very familiar looking , tall girl started over. Her dark hair was a pendulum behind her as she quickly walked to our seats. She leaned over to ask Holmes what he wanted, but she looked at me from behind glasses. "Livie?"
"Hannah!" I stood up and hugged her. We had been pen palls when we were younger, then we went to college, she, Krys and I were inseparable. "Homes, this is Hannah Hampton. Hannah, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. What *are* you doing here?"
"I need some money for my art school. Plus, ya know, I get to see other countries. Even if it's only for a little while." Her expression changed to worry. "Are you all right? I heard about the accident-"
I shook my head. "I'm great, better than ever, in fact."
"Well, I have to go," she gestured toward another passenger.
"You seem to know people all over the place."
"I *live* all over the place."
He looked out he window, watching clouds as we flew, I fell asleep on our way. I couldn't remember how long I was out, but the next thing I knew, Holmes was tapping my arm. I lifted my head and blushed. For the second time, I had fallen asleep, by accident, with my head on his shoulder. "Goshen. Nani?"
"What's that down there?"
"That's New York."
"And where all those cranes are?"
"Oh," I sank back into the seat. "I'll tell you later, okay?"
He shrugged. "Fine."
I shook my head. It was like trying to explain it to a child, there were no words to describe what had happened only four months earlier. I didn't want to right then and I wasn' t going to.
We left the airport, choosing to walk to our apartment, only a few blocks away. Along the way, Holmes marveled at everything. When I say everything, I mean it. By the time we got back to our place, I was about to strangle him.
Krys opened the door to and yelled over the expected loud rock music. "Koo? Ya here? Koo!"
"'Koo'? What is that, other than the sound a dove makes?" Holmes asked me.
"Koo is Krys's little brother. It's short for Kooldridge." I explained.
"Odd name. And it matches Krysten's."
"That was the point."
"There's seven of us." Krys added from inspecting the fire ladder, obviously he wasn't there. "Koolridge, Krysten, Kandice, Karmen, Keladriey, Kamden-and Fred."
"Fred?" Holmes snorted.
"Pain killers, what can I say?" She shrugged. "Koo-oh! There you are! Koo, I want you to meet someone." She paraded aroud the corner her brother. Koolridge had come to the city in the spur-of-the-moment, finding-his-self adventure, or something like that. His brown hair had been high-lighted, courtosy of me, and now was a unatural yellow. His blue eyes, much like his sister's, showed through his sloppy bangs. He was in his usual baggy black pants with another hard-core rock tee-shirt. He now lazily observed Holmes.
"Who's that?" He asked, finally.
"This is Sherlock Holmes." Krys replied.
"Sure, you've gotta be kiddin' me."
"Koo, trust me, this *is* Sherlock Holmes."
"Well, he does look like him from the television reports."
"Does he mean that box with moving pictures?" Holmes asked curiously.
"Yes, he does. Koo, you, mean it go here already?" Krystens's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.
"Yeah, if you didn't notice, new travels fast these days," He rolled his eyes. "So, Mr. Holmes, are you a doctor or somethin?"
"No, this is what they gave me to wear and-" I cut him off.
"And we're going to the mall to get him some clothing. Koo, do you have your church clothing?"
"Yeah, you can have it. Why"
"Give it to Holmes, let him get changed out of that stupid outfit." He came out, looking out of place." I grabbed him by the arm. "Come on, let's go."
Twenty minutes, three hotdogs, and four music stores later, we were finally looking for clothing. Holmes sighed as I asked him what type of clothing he liked.
"Dark, and not like those people with that infernal hair were weaing, but dark."
"Well, there's Hot Topic, but that't not what you want."
"Why?"
I pointed to the store. "Oh," he said in a tiny voice.
"Here we go." We walked to the men's section of the department store. A young teenage girl, engossed in a book, was at the counter.
"Excuse me," I said quietly, she looked up. The book she was reading was-dear Lord, why?-Sherlock Holmes. "Um, this is my friend, S-"
"Sherlock Holmes!" She screached. "Oh my goodness! I saw you on television!" She glared at me. "You're that Watson, aren't you?"
"Guilty, yes." No little snot-nosed kid was going to give a better deathglare than me. "He needs some clothing, could ya help us a bit?"
She turned and smiled sweetly at him. "It would be a pleasure, Sherlock, let me help you. I think I know exactly what you want." She started to talk about the book and was piling shirts, pants, and things I couldn't even see, due to the hieght of the stack.
"Please excuse me," Holmes said politly. I could almost feel his muscles tighten in impatience."
"Yes, Sherlock, what is it?" This kid thought this was her boyfriend or something. The smile she gave him was peirced by braces.
"First, call me Mr. Holmes, and second, Oli-Watson, put the clothing down." I sighed in thanks and put them down. "Third, this is not the clothing I particularly like, so, please, I would like to shop on my own." He walked off, leaving the two of us girls. She marched icily up to me.
"What are you doing to him? I know his entire life my heart, and this is *not* the Sher-"
"You would know, if you were such a big fan, that no one *ever* called anyone by their given names. How could you know his entire life if he is only twenty-five?"
"Twenty-five? He can't be!"
"Yeah, he is. Doyle had a vivid imagination." I crossed my arms. I was not the debate captian for nothing.
"Well, why did he started to call you 'Oli' something?"
I shrugged. "Don't know, and neither are you." I started to walk off, then turned quickly. "And just for the record, Mary Russel wasn't real, so don't get your hopes up."
"Hello," Holmes said as he was looking through shirts. His greeting was in a clipped, discreet voice.
"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know she was a fan."
"Who's fan? Not mine," he held out a shirt, wasn't his size, anyway. I put it back when he turned. "She's Doyle's fan. Or, to be a little more specific, Edmond's."
"Please forgive me," I said softly. What had I done, anyway? Why did I worry so much if he *was* angry at me?
"Watson," he sighed. "I am not angry at you, I'm just agrivated that all these people expect-"
"Someone other than who you really are? They expect you to be perfect, to be allways right? Yes, those are reasons to be angry. You have every right."
He smiled at me, "What would I do without you?"
I looked down at the shirt in his hands-if he was a 500 pund man if would of fit. "You'd have been wearing a shirt the size of the Barnum and Baily Circus tent. I'll help." We proceeded to shop for correctly sized, correctly tasteful, clothing.
"Yup." He grimaced.
"It's 'yes'." Almost everyone on the plane where staring at us. Holmes rested the edge of his nose on his fist, so that where I was sitting was the only person who could see what he was saying. "Why are they all staring at me?"
"Because you're you."
He sat back in the chair, fingers steapled. "What is on our list of thngs to do?"
"First," I eyed his clothing, it looked like he was in medical scrubs, "shopping spree for you."
"Oh, the joy." He said with sarcasm.
'Well, it's either that or people think you have problems, that you think medical uniforms are a fashion statement, or that you are always at the hospital."
He raised an eyebrow. "And they would be bad?"
"Well, you'd be labeled for the rest of your life before opening your mouth."
He shrugged, then looked up to inspect the buttons on the overhead console. He started to hit the assistance button.
A very familiar looking , tall girl started over. Her dark hair was a pendulum behind her as she quickly walked to our seats. She leaned over to ask Holmes what he wanted, but she looked at me from behind glasses. "Livie?"
"Hannah!" I stood up and hugged her. We had been pen palls when we were younger, then we went to college, she, Krys and I were inseparable. "Homes, this is Hannah Hampton. Hannah, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. What *are* you doing here?"
"I need some money for my art school. Plus, ya know, I get to see other countries. Even if it's only for a little while." Her expression changed to worry. "Are you all right? I heard about the accident-"
I shook my head. "I'm great, better than ever, in fact."
"Well, I have to go," she gestured toward another passenger.
"You seem to know people all over the place."
"I *live* all over the place."
He looked out he window, watching clouds as we flew, I fell asleep on our way. I couldn't remember how long I was out, but the next thing I knew, Holmes was tapping my arm. I lifted my head and blushed. For the second time, I had fallen asleep, by accident, with my head on his shoulder. "Goshen. Nani?"
"What's that down there?"
"That's New York."
"And where all those cranes are?"
"Oh," I sank back into the seat. "I'll tell you later, okay?"
He shrugged. "Fine."
I shook my head. It was like trying to explain it to a child, there were no words to describe what had happened only four months earlier. I didn't want to right then and I wasn' t going to.
We left the airport, choosing to walk to our apartment, only a few blocks away. Along the way, Holmes marveled at everything. When I say everything, I mean it. By the time we got back to our place, I was about to strangle him.
Krys opened the door to and yelled over the expected loud rock music. "Koo? Ya here? Koo!"
"'Koo'? What is that, other than the sound a dove makes?" Holmes asked me.
"Koo is Krys's little brother. It's short for Kooldridge." I explained.
"Odd name. And it matches Krysten's."
"That was the point."
"There's seven of us." Krys added from inspecting the fire ladder, obviously he wasn't there. "Koolridge, Krysten, Kandice, Karmen, Keladriey, Kamden-and Fred."
"Fred?" Holmes snorted.
"Pain killers, what can I say?" She shrugged. "Koo-oh! There you are! Koo, I want you to meet someone." She paraded aroud the corner her brother. Koolridge had come to the city in the spur-of-the-moment, finding-his-self adventure, or something like that. His brown hair had been high-lighted, courtosy of me, and now was a unatural yellow. His blue eyes, much like his sister's, showed through his sloppy bangs. He was in his usual baggy black pants with another hard-core rock tee-shirt. He now lazily observed Holmes.
"Who's that?" He asked, finally.
"This is Sherlock Holmes." Krys replied.
"Sure, you've gotta be kiddin' me."
"Koo, trust me, this *is* Sherlock Holmes."
"Well, he does look like him from the television reports."
"Does he mean that box with moving pictures?" Holmes asked curiously.
"Yes, he does. Koo, you, mean it go here already?" Krystens's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.
"Yeah, if you didn't notice, new travels fast these days," He rolled his eyes. "So, Mr. Holmes, are you a doctor or somethin?"
"No, this is what they gave me to wear and-" I cut him off.
"And we're going to the mall to get him some clothing. Koo, do you have your church clothing?"
"Yeah, you can have it. Why"
"Give it to Holmes, let him get changed out of that stupid outfit." He came out, looking out of place." I grabbed him by the arm. "Come on, let's go."
Twenty minutes, three hotdogs, and four music stores later, we were finally looking for clothing. Holmes sighed as I asked him what type of clothing he liked.
"Dark, and not like those people with that infernal hair were weaing, but dark."
"Well, there's Hot Topic, but that't not what you want."
"Why?"
I pointed to the store. "Oh," he said in a tiny voice.
"Here we go." We walked to the men's section of the department store. A young teenage girl, engossed in a book, was at the counter.
"Excuse me," I said quietly, she looked up. The book she was reading was-dear Lord, why?-Sherlock Holmes. "Um, this is my friend, S-"
"Sherlock Holmes!" She screached. "Oh my goodness! I saw you on television!" She glared at me. "You're that Watson, aren't you?"
"Guilty, yes." No little snot-nosed kid was going to give a better deathglare than me. "He needs some clothing, could ya help us a bit?"
She turned and smiled sweetly at him. "It would be a pleasure, Sherlock, let me help you. I think I know exactly what you want." She started to talk about the book and was piling shirts, pants, and things I couldn't even see, due to the hieght of the stack.
"Please excuse me," Holmes said politly. I could almost feel his muscles tighten in impatience."
"Yes, Sherlock, what is it?" This kid thought this was her boyfriend or something. The smile she gave him was peirced by braces.
"First, call me Mr. Holmes, and second, Oli-Watson, put the clothing down." I sighed in thanks and put them down. "Third, this is not the clothing I particularly like, so, please, I would like to shop on my own." He walked off, leaving the two of us girls. She marched icily up to me.
"What are you doing to him? I know his entire life my heart, and this is *not* the Sher-"
"You would know, if you were such a big fan, that no one *ever* called anyone by their given names. How could you know his entire life if he is only twenty-five?"
"Twenty-five? He can't be!"
"Yeah, he is. Doyle had a vivid imagination." I crossed my arms. I was not the debate captian for nothing.
"Well, why did he started to call you 'Oli' something?"
I shrugged. "Don't know, and neither are you." I started to walk off, then turned quickly. "And just for the record, Mary Russel wasn't real, so don't get your hopes up."
"Hello," Holmes said as he was looking through shirts. His greeting was in a clipped, discreet voice.
"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know she was a fan."
"Who's fan? Not mine," he held out a shirt, wasn't his size, anyway. I put it back when he turned. "She's Doyle's fan. Or, to be a little more specific, Edmond's."
"Please forgive me," I said softly. What had I done, anyway? Why did I worry so much if he *was* angry at me?
"Watson," he sighed. "I am not angry at you, I'm just agrivated that all these people expect-"
"Someone other than who you really are? They expect you to be perfect, to be allways right? Yes, those are reasons to be angry. You have every right."
He smiled at me, "What would I do without you?"
I looked down at the shirt in his hands-if he was a 500 pund man if would of fit. "You'd have been wearing a shirt the size of the Barnum and Baily Circus tent. I'll help." We proceeded to shop for correctly sized, correctly tasteful, clothing.