From Michael JG Meathook: Costermonger

Costermonger: a street seller of fruit and vegetables in British towns. The term is derived from the words costard (a medieval variety of apple) and monger (seller), and later came to be used to describe hawkers in general. Some historians have pointed out that a hierarchy existed within the costermonger class and that while costermongers sold from a handcart or animal-drawn cart, mere hawkers carried their wares in a basket.

"A marriage in the royal family! Get the full story, only from the Times!"

"Produce! Guaranteed fresh! From harvest to table, getcher produce here!"

"Matches! Candles! Scented soaps! Try our newest varieties!"

Slow steps wandered aimlessly down the street, seeking diversion more than a purchase. I browsed through novels outside a bookshop. A toy shop's window display caught my eye. Several seconds debated purchasing an early luncheon.

I finally turned away. I had no reason to purchase a meal when I could go home soon enough.

Not quite yet, however, and the wonderfully warm sunshine kept my pace more strolling than purposeful. After that last grumble, Holmes would undoubtedly enjoy the extra silence, anyway. Better for me to enjoy the weather for a while.

The Baker Street Bazaar held far more shoppers than normal. Three children darted through the crowd, bumping into some people and playfully avoiding the rest. A young Irregular bartered with a leatherworker, her brother barely visible behind her.

"Discounted prices on formalwear! Today only!"

"Produce! Getcher produce here!"

The hawkers' cries faded as I left the main street, and the crowd diminished with them—slightly. A long row of houses finally opened to the park, where I followed one trail, then another, before finally leaning against a tree to watch a group of children playing some variant of tig.

An incredibly imaginative variant of tig. Two children ran as if "it," but those tagged did not all react the same. Some froze in place. Some continued running with a hand on one knee. Two tagged together joined hands and tried to run in step. Distance concealed the source of the differences, but I could not restrain a faint smile when one freed his mate only to get tagged himself. The playful grousing easily carried across the grass.

Reminding me strongly of Holmes' less joking complaints. My grin died as a young couple decided to linger not ten feet behind me, and I kept moving rather than find a different tree.

A young woman read a book next to the canal. A man and his son tossed a strangely shaped ball back and forth. Another man rather unnervingly resembled the gang leader Holmes sought. A long moment confirmed several inconsistencies before I took the long way around.

A family spread a picnic under a tree. Two men walked in step up the path. An elderly gentleman vacated a well-positioned bench. A detour through the Botanic Gardens killed nearly twenty minutes, then I strayed past the zoological center before starting to wind my way toward home. Even Holmes' irritable mood could only put luncheon off for so long.

Though it could prevent me from going home for a while longer. Did I want to purchase something after all?

No. If he still wanted quiet, I could always leave again, but I had given the last of this week's pocket money to that matchgirl yesterday. Holmes would never ask me to dip into savings simply because he had grown tired of company.

Monkeys' screeching echoed from the zoological center. Two children raced by in a game. A young mother rocked her baby on a nearby bench. Three students held a textbook between them, apparently studying the weed beneath a tree. The picnicking family had spread a veritable feast over a large blanket, and I quickened my pace. More noticeable symptoms said I should have turned for home sooner. Maybe I could—

A broken twig provided the barest warning. Breath tickled my ear, then a hand landed firmly on my shoulder. Urgency flared.

Danger!

My cane bounced off the dirt as my opposite hand grabbed their wrist. A sharp tug balanced them on my hip, and whoever had tried to take me unawares abruptly hit the ground hard enough to wind them. The move would let me pin them before they could stand, but a single detail prevented defense from transitioning to offense.

That hand had felt strangely familiar.

"Wat—"

Holmes' wheeze snapped me out of battle reflex. My attacker became my friend, flat on his back and shock clear on his face. I pointedly took a step back. He should know better than to creep up on me.

"Sorry."

"Do—not be." He coughed and rolled to his knees, something like respect joining the remaining shock, but less than a minute sufficed to get a full breath and reach his feet. A frowning scan announced something more important than impacting the ground bothered him.

"Why did you skip luncheon?"

Skip? All thoughts of further apologies faltered behind a wave of confusion. What did he mean "skip"? I had at least twenty minutes before Mrs. Hudson expected me back—plenty of time to reach the flat from here.

Or thirty. A reflexive glance at my watch found the minute hand still where it had been when I last checked. I looked up to find a fair amount of relief joining the frown still twitching his mouth.

"My watch stopped," I confirmed to make that relief strengthen. "What time is it?"

"Nearly one. Why did you leave?"

That explained why I was so hungry. I shoved the useless device in a pocket as a half shrug answered his question. He already knew most of the reason.

"Warm, sunny day, and I had nowhere else to be. Why not?"

A quiet hum suggested he did not fully believe me, but while that keen gaze still tried to deduce my thoughts, my pointed detour around the other side of a tree left the topic for another time. "Can you teach me how to do that?"

Of course I could, though I rather doubted I wanted to. Aside from the lesson requiring I flip him more than once, teaching him also required he practice on me until he got it right—or until I used the counter out of mischief. My deflection started a series of questions resembling an interrogation more than an argument, and I eventually stopped replying. The topic could wait until after I found a meal.

Hope you enjoyed this little scene. Thank you so much to those who have reviewed! :)

MHC1987: Oh, I'm sure Watson has a very good reason (chuckle)