I laughed as we walked down the street. Holmes was watching a strret band, consisting of garbage cans, and raised an eyebrow. "Thats . .music?"
"Yeah."
"Alright then, now, moving on." Two more blocks and we were home.
"May I ask you something?" It was worth a try.
"Should I get out paper and pen or will it be short?"
"Ha ha, very funny. I just want to know why you call me by name?"
"Well, would you rather I call you 'you'? I thought calling you 'Watson' is better than 'you'."
"No, Holmes, why do you call me 'Olivia' all of the sudden? You never did before."
"Well, um-"
"Watson!" I swirled around. The Black Box if Life was solved; Lestrade *did* go outside sometimes. "Why are you out here with this guy? You *know* you're wanted back at the office!" He took a moment and surveyed Holmes. "Is this that Holmes guy?"
"Yes, I am. Infact, I'm the one that said I'd give you a right hook for treating Watson in such a manner that is unrespectful-"
"Yeah, it's him. Getting doughnuts for the shift, are we?" I asked sarcastically. "My, Lestrade you *have* got yourself *quite* the job there."
He opened his mouth, then shut it and walked off. I slapped Holmes on the back of the head. "What were you thinking?"
"I was standing up for a injustice."
"Wufie, I tell you, that's who you are!" I rolled my eyes as we walked inside. "And I have got to stop watching that show because each time I do, I find myself wanting to dress in pink, get a long blonde wig on and be Queen of the World. I never gave you the grand tour of this place yet, did I?"
"No, you didn't."
"Okay," I walked towards our kitchenette. 'The kitchen, the living room." I walked over to the black painted door. "Koo's, Krys's, mine." My room is my pride and joy, always clean, and my little sanctuary.
Holmes made a quick glance. "It looks like something of your's."
"Well, purple's my favorite color, and I like Gothic style decorating. Gothic as in Midevial."
He smiled. "It reminds me of you quite a bit. It rather different than what I've seen, old-fashioned, and elegant."
"Holmes, you *are* a ladies man."
"What?"
"Nevermind. This is your room. Sorry, we kinda rent two apartments, a bigger one and a smaller one, at the same time. Apartments aren'y usually this large." I opened the door to the guest room. It looked like his from Baker Street. Mahoganny and leather. It looked more like a study than a room, but I knew he would feel at home in there.
"Exelent taste, who ever did this room." Good, I worked hard on it.
The phone rang in the other room, but I missed it. Silently groaning, my mother's shrill voice started to talk. "Oliva Oni Mosi Akila Urbi Jamila Watson, why did you not call me?!? You go careening of the side of a bridge and don't even give me any way of knowing! I only found out when I saw you on the television! Call me, now!!!"
"Great, just great, damnit. I knew I forgot something." I slammed my head on the doorway. "Sorry you had to hear that."
"What was that? What she called you?" I colored.
"My parents had a fight about my name. My father wouldn't allow any other name than Olivia, and that my mother could pick out my middle name, so she picked several."
"What do they mean?"
"Umm, they're Egyptian. Oni- desired; Mosi- born first, well, I'm the only one, anyway. Akila means inteligent, Urbi means princess, and Jamila means beautiful. Basically, my Mum wanted to make sure I was a well-rounded person in every department. And your name-which I don't get-means blonde, of all things."
"Well, my mother thought I would be blonde." The way he said it was dissmissive, I took it as a sign.
"I better go call her. You look tired," I comented as I watched his eyelids droop.
"No, I'm fine." He shook his head.
"No, you are not. Go to bed. I'll bring you some tea, or something, okay?"
"Fine."
FOR A CHANGE OF PACE . . . THIRD PERSON!!!!
Holmes sighed as he slipped into the bed. It felt like his, too. "Watson did a good job." He said with satisfaction.
In the other room, Watson was fighting with her mother via the phone. "Yes, I know-No, you're right." She sighed. "No Mum, I *was* going to call you, but I-Yes, that's where I was." She started to tap her fingernails on counter. "I didn't bring you back a sovinier . . .I was a little busy with getting him revived-I'm going to hang up now, you clearly have Ethal over. I know because your doing this to prove that something went wrong and I *do* care and I was going to call. Listen, I hit my head sort of hard-English accent? What in Hell's name are you-good bye, Mum." The phone hit the reciever with a sharp clang.
Holmes heard sound of rustling in the kitchenette, and cursing as wood hit skin. He chuckled soflty to himself, now *that* was not something you heard from Mrs. Watson, or any other woman in the nineteenth century.
Watson came in the room with tea, and sat on the edge of the bed. She let a small smirk escape as his face turned crimson. "I can't stand all day, you know. I made you some tea. Mind you, I only had a few packets left from the last time Koo was sick. I made him drink it. It's rasberry."
"Thank you."
"Anytime."
"Watson?"
"Sou?"
"Nevermind."
She looked at him, incredulous. "Okay, if you need anything . ."
She closed his door, swearing she heard him say something like 'bonne nuit, mon amour' . . .
'Good night, my love.'
"Yeah."
"Alright then, now, moving on." Two more blocks and we were home.
"May I ask you something?" It was worth a try.
"Should I get out paper and pen or will it be short?"
"Ha ha, very funny. I just want to know why you call me by name?"
"Well, would you rather I call you 'you'? I thought calling you 'Watson' is better than 'you'."
"No, Holmes, why do you call me 'Olivia' all of the sudden? You never did before."
"Well, um-"
"Watson!" I swirled around. The Black Box if Life was solved; Lestrade *did* go outside sometimes. "Why are you out here with this guy? You *know* you're wanted back at the office!" He took a moment and surveyed Holmes. "Is this that Holmes guy?"
"Yes, I am. Infact, I'm the one that said I'd give you a right hook for treating Watson in such a manner that is unrespectful-"
"Yeah, it's him. Getting doughnuts for the shift, are we?" I asked sarcastically. "My, Lestrade you *have* got yourself *quite* the job there."
He opened his mouth, then shut it and walked off. I slapped Holmes on the back of the head. "What were you thinking?"
"I was standing up for a injustice."
"Wufie, I tell you, that's who you are!" I rolled my eyes as we walked inside. "And I have got to stop watching that show because each time I do, I find myself wanting to dress in pink, get a long blonde wig on and be Queen of the World. I never gave you the grand tour of this place yet, did I?"
"No, you didn't."
"Okay," I walked towards our kitchenette. 'The kitchen, the living room." I walked over to the black painted door. "Koo's, Krys's, mine." My room is my pride and joy, always clean, and my little sanctuary.
Holmes made a quick glance. "It looks like something of your's."
"Well, purple's my favorite color, and I like Gothic style decorating. Gothic as in Midevial."
He smiled. "It reminds me of you quite a bit. It rather different than what I've seen, old-fashioned, and elegant."
"Holmes, you *are* a ladies man."
"What?"
"Nevermind. This is your room. Sorry, we kinda rent two apartments, a bigger one and a smaller one, at the same time. Apartments aren'y usually this large." I opened the door to the guest room. It looked like his from Baker Street. Mahoganny and leather. It looked more like a study than a room, but I knew he would feel at home in there.
"Exelent taste, who ever did this room." Good, I worked hard on it.
The phone rang in the other room, but I missed it. Silently groaning, my mother's shrill voice started to talk. "Oliva Oni Mosi Akila Urbi Jamila Watson, why did you not call me?!? You go careening of the side of a bridge and don't even give me any way of knowing! I only found out when I saw you on the television! Call me, now!!!"
"Great, just great, damnit. I knew I forgot something." I slammed my head on the doorway. "Sorry you had to hear that."
"What was that? What she called you?" I colored.
"My parents had a fight about my name. My father wouldn't allow any other name than Olivia, and that my mother could pick out my middle name, so she picked several."
"What do they mean?"
"Umm, they're Egyptian. Oni- desired; Mosi- born first, well, I'm the only one, anyway. Akila means inteligent, Urbi means princess, and Jamila means beautiful. Basically, my Mum wanted to make sure I was a well-rounded person in every department. And your name-which I don't get-means blonde, of all things."
"Well, my mother thought I would be blonde." The way he said it was dissmissive, I took it as a sign.
"I better go call her. You look tired," I comented as I watched his eyelids droop.
"No, I'm fine." He shook his head.
"No, you are not. Go to bed. I'll bring you some tea, or something, okay?"
"Fine."
FOR A CHANGE OF PACE . . . THIRD PERSON!!!!
Holmes sighed as he slipped into the bed. It felt like his, too. "Watson did a good job." He said with satisfaction.
In the other room, Watson was fighting with her mother via the phone. "Yes, I know-No, you're right." She sighed. "No Mum, I *was* going to call you, but I-Yes, that's where I was." She started to tap her fingernails on counter. "I didn't bring you back a sovinier . . .I was a little busy with getting him revived-I'm going to hang up now, you clearly have Ethal over. I know because your doing this to prove that something went wrong and I *do* care and I was going to call. Listen, I hit my head sort of hard-English accent? What in Hell's name are you-good bye, Mum." The phone hit the reciever with a sharp clang.
Holmes heard sound of rustling in the kitchenette, and cursing as wood hit skin. He chuckled soflty to himself, now *that* was not something you heard from Mrs. Watson, or any other woman in the nineteenth century.
Watson came in the room with tea, and sat on the edge of the bed. She let a small smirk escape as his face turned crimson. "I can't stand all day, you know. I made you some tea. Mind you, I only had a few packets left from the last time Koo was sick. I made him drink it. It's rasberry."
"Thank you."
"Anytime."
"Watson?"
"Sou?"
"Nevermind."
She looked at him, incredulous. "Okay, if you need anything . ."
She closed his door, swearing she heard him say something like 'bonne nuit, mon amour' . . .
'Good night, my love.'