A/N; you cursed, you threatened. i listened. sorta. here at last is a new chapter. i warn in advance that this project is taking me a whole lot longer than i expected. hopefully we'll see a new chaper before the new year. *cross fingers*
Feliz Navidad! (or whatever)
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Chapter Seven
Good Morning Sunshine
Coffee. Must have coffee. One of the perks of living above a restaurant; there is always a pot of coffee going somewhere in the building. So I was sitting downstairs in the kitchen, sipping a mug of coffee in my pajamas and grimacing a the taste because I hadn't bothered to open my eyes when I was adding sugar and accidentally used those pink packets of nasty fake sugar.
And just in case you're wondering; no I did not sleep with Holmes. Yes I know, I was disappointed too. But Holmes was far too Victorian for anything more than a kiss. However this brought up one of the reoccurring themes in my relationships with men. Specifically the unattainable ones. This relationship was doomed from the start. While the whole opposites-attract theory held a certain aura of romance, it played merry hell with emotions. As a rather eccentric friendship it worked. But as more than that…
I yawned and shook myself, trying to knock such thoughts from my head. I heard movement in the pub.
"In the kitchen Holmes." I called out. The footsteps abruptly stopped then approached the swinging kitchen door. Holmes came, already dressed in a sweater and jeans, looking about as nondescript as it is possible to be at six foot. He glanced at my outfit. I pushed up the sleeves of my dressing gown, determined not to be embarrassed that I looked as I'd just rolled out of bed.
"How did you know it was me?" He asked, with only the faintest tinge of annoyance in his voice. I had to bite my tongue to keep from replying "Elementary."
"Mala always wears high heels, and the people who live on the top floor use the side entrance. Since the pub isn't open yet, there is only one possible candidate left. Those new sneakers of your squeak quite loudly." I said, and took a smug sip of coffee. I thought it was a pretty good deduction for this early in the morning.
"What is that?" He said, looking pointedly at my coffee cup.
"Coffee." He looked doubtful, but kept his comments to himself. I guess not too many people fix their morning coffee in a beer mug.
There was an awkward silence. Holmes began his own elaborate preparations of a cup of java (in a proper cup). I gathered up my thoughts and then tried to think of an opening. Aw, hell. Just go for it.
"Do you see this relationship going anywhere?" He very nearly dropped the cup.
"What do you mean?" Excellent deflection. Even Holmes wasn't so completely dense in interpersonal matters.
"Put it another way. Would you be willing to leave Baker Street and live here?" No reply. Just as I suspected.
"And I wouldn't want to leave the Clever Thief. My life is here, your life is there. I hate long distance relationships." Holmes' shoulders didn't actually slump in relief, but he visibly relaxed. No doubt he'd been afraid I'd develop into the girlfriend-from-hell and be utterly co-dependant.
"An excellent observation, I fear my interactions with the fairer sex tend toward the more unfortunate." He had a far off look in his eyes, and he made a visible effort to shake some thought out of his head. I really, really, really, really wanted to ask. I had to bite my tongue to stop from saying anything stupid, then I had to bite my tongue again to keep from saying 'Ow' from when I bit it the first time. Holmes, in the meantime, had returned his thoughts to the present.
"Comrades then?"
"Deal." And we shook on it. "Oh, you don't want those ones." I added, feeling the tension melting out of the room.
"What?" Holmes stopped in mid-reach.
"The pink ones. That's the fake sugar. Nasty." Holmes stared at the pink packet in his hand, as varying degrees of confusion and disbelief passed across his face.
"Fake sugar?" He finally managed to say. "What in the name of heaven possessed you people to make fake sugar?"
"I know; I don't understand it either." Holmes was still trying to wrap his mind around this concept (hell, it's been 20-something years and I'm still trying to puzzle it out) when my cell phone rang.
We both jumped, Holmes because the sound of "Good Riddance" coming from thin air was a new experience, and I because I had forgotten I had my cell phone in my pocket. I had developed something of a dependence on my Nokia in college, so I always picked it up out of habit, even if I was still wearing PJs and a dressing gown.
"Hello?"
"Aurora? It's Mala. Sorry to knock you up at this hour." I repressed a snigger. I would never get used to that Briticism.
"S'all good. I'm in the kitchen."
"The police are here. They want to speak with you."
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•.
Feliz Navidad! (or whatever)
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Chapter Seven
Good Morning Sunshine
Coffee. Must have coffee. One of the perks of living above a restaurant; there is always a pot of coffee going somewhere in the building. So I was sitting downstairs in the kitchen, sipping a mug of coffee in my pajamas and grimacing a the taste because I hadn't bothered to open my eyes when I was adding sugar and accidentally used those pink packets of nasty fake sugar.
And just in case you're wondering; no I did not sleep with Holmes. Yes I know, I was disappointed too. But Holmes was far too Victorian for anything more than a kiss. However this brought up one of the reoccurring themes in my relationships with men. Specifically the unattainable ones. This relationship was doomed from the start. While the whole opposites-attract theory held a certain aura of romance, it played merry hell with emotions. As a rather eccentric friendship it worked. But as more than that…
I yawned and shook myself, trying to knock such thoughts from my head. I heard movement in the pub.
"In the kitchen Holmes." I called out. The footsteps abruptly stopped then approached the swinging kitchen door. Holmes came, already dressed in a sweater and jeans, looking about as nondescript as it is possible to be at six foot. He glanced at my outfit. I pushed up the sleeves of my dressing gown, determined not to be embarrassed that I looked as I'd just rolled out of bed.
"How did you know it was me?" He asked, with only the faintest tinge of annoyance in his voice. I had to bite my tongue to keep from replying "Elementary."
"Mala always wears high heels, and the people who live on the top floor use the side entrance. Since the pub isn't open yet, there is only one possible candidate left. Those new sneakers of your squeak quite loudly." I said, and took a smug sip of coffee. I thought it was a pretty good deduction for this early in the morning.
"What is that?" He said, looking pointedly at my coffee cup.
"Coffee." He looked doubtful, but kept his comments to himself. I guess not too many people fix their morning coffee in a beer mug.
There was an awkward silence. Holmes began his own elaborate preparations of a cup of java (in a proper cup). I gathered up my thoughts and then tried to think of an opening. Aw, hell. Just go for it.
"Do you see this relationship going anywhere?" He very nearly dropped the cup.
"What do you mean?" Excellent deflection. Even Holmes wasn't so completely dense in interpersonal matters.
"Put it another way. Would you be willing to leave Baker Street and live here?" No reply. Just as I suspected.
"And I wouldn't want to leave the Clever Thief. My life is here, your life is there. I hate long distance relationships." Holmes' shoulders didn't actually slump in relief, but he visibly relaxed. No doubt he'd been afraid I'd develop into the girlfriend-from-hell and be utterly co-dependant.
"An excellent observation, I fear my interactions with the fairer sex tend toward the more unfortunate." He had a far off look in his eyes, and he made a visible effort to shake some thought out of his head. I really, really, really, really wanted to ask. I had to bite my tongue to stop from saying anything stupid, then I had to bite my tongue again to keep from saying 'Ow' from when I bit it the first time. Holmes, in the meantime, had returned his thoughts to the present.
"Comrades then?"
"Deal." And we shook on it. "Oh, you don't want those ones." I added, feeling the tension melting out of the room.
"What?" Holmes stopped in mid-reach.
"The pink ones. That's the fake sugar. Nasty." Holmes stared at the pink packet in his hand, as varying degrees of confusion and disbelief passed across his face.
"Fake sugar?" He finally managed to say. "What in the name of heaven possessed you people to make fake sugar?"
"I know; I don't understand it either." Holmes was still trying to wrap his mind around this concept (hell, it's been 20-something years and I'm still trying to puzzle it out) when my cell phone rang.
We both jumped, Holmes because the sound of "Good Riddance" coming from thin air was a new experience, and I because I had forgotten I had my cell phone in my pocket. I had developed something of a dependence on my Nokia in college, so I always picked it up out of habit, even if I was still wearing PJs and a dressing gown.
"Hello?"
"Aurora? It's Mala. Sorry to knock you up at this hour." I repressed a snigger. I would never get used to that Briticism.
"S'all good. I'm in the kitchen."
"The police are here. They want to speak with you."
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•.