sorry for the long wait, aaaaaugh. i've been busy with real life things. here's another semi-short chapter.
lol it doesn't look like this story's going to get done for a long time, even though it was supposed to be a christmas fic. i hope you guys don't mind -sighs-
December 22
They got off the train to the accompaniment of a thunder of footsteps, calls and whistles and yells and waving hands and the plastic wheel of a careless suitcase that ran over Sherlock's toe. Joan's hair was a little mussed from the time she had spent dozing on the train; Sherlock thought it looked sweet. What he did find odd was that she had showed no signs of distress when she had woken up with her head resting against his shoulder. True, she had blushed a little and muttered an apology, but she hadn't seemed to be upset, or surprised at all. Sherlock wasn't sure if that was good or bad.
He had prearranged for their stay in a little hotel, since the train had arrived rather late. Instead of working, he simply sat on his bed all evening, playing cat's cradle and waiting for Joan to say something. She seemed rather preoccupied, though; she went to bed early, and Sherlock noticed the defensive posture that she assumed, snuggled tightly under the covers. When she acted like this, she was usually thinking hard about something. The case?
Sherlock wondered if it was something else that she was thinking about.
December 23
He woke her up at 5:30 A.M. Grumbling, she got dressed more slowly than he would have liked, and he wondered whether she had stayed up late last night. They checked out of the hotel; it was a gorgeous clear morning, with the pure blue sky that was so rare in the winter-covered city.
Together, they walked through the unfamiliar streets, Sherlock shooting out random deductions for Joan's amusement. They dodged passersby and cigarette butts and sleek bikes, propped up against buildings, that reminded Sherlock forcibly of London.
"There's the place," said Joan suddenly, pointing to a nondescript door marked with the number 4982.
"Ah, good eyes, Watson," said Sherlock, veering off their straight course to head towards the door. He knocked immediately as Joan trotted up the step to stand beside him, one hand running through her hair absently as she tied it into a ponytail. Sherlock didn't fail to notice this detail - puts her hair up when she wants to look her best, still, even after I told her it makes no difference in her general attractiveness- but before he could think on it further, the door opened.
"Hello," said a young woman, looking a little puzzled to see the two standing there. "M-may I help you?"
Sherlock raised an eyebrow and concealed his grin. The chase starts now.
"Do you know if a Theodore Bonaphile lives here?" Joan asked, smoothing one hand over her ponytail again- seemingly unconsciously. The young woman tilted her head.
"He went to the library downtown about an hour ago," she informed them. "Why, is it important?"
"Not really," Sherlock cut in. "Actually, we were on our way there anyways; we can probably catch him."
"All right," said the woman, giving them a small smile. "You might want to hurry, though, the library closes early on Sunday. Actually, d'you want me to give you a ride?"
"That would be great," said Sherlock.
"All right. My car's parked in the back." The young woman stepped out the door.
Sherlock and Joan piled into the back seat of the SUV as the woman started it up. It complained through the snowbank piled around the edge of the road, then set off, the windshield wipers sweeping a layer of light snowflakes off of the front window- hasn't been driven for… two days? maybe, not surprising, rented and made to look owned, clever you.
There was a little traffic, but not too much; even so, by the time the car pulled up in front of the impressive library building, a librarian was putting up the "closed" sign on the door.
"Ah, sorry," said the woman, wincing. "We got here too late."
"That's all right," said Joan, looking a little frustrated.
"Do you need a ride back?" asked the woman fake-anxiously.
"No, we're good," Sherlock said, gesturing Joan out of the car. "Thank you," he added, helping Joan jump out into the snowy road and slamming the car door. The SUV rumbled away, and Sherlock turned back to the stairs leading up to the library.
"What's that?" Joan asked suddenly, walking forward a few paces to where Sherlock could see something glinting in the snow. Right, right, right- the cell phone. He let Joan walk over to it and pick it up, dusting the snow off of it.
"It's a cell phone," she said. "Probably somebody just dropped it…" She turned it on, flicking the unlock bar, and Sherlock watched her pretty brown eyes widen. "Sherlock-!"
"Hmm?" He walked over to her casually, peering at the iPhone. It wasn't password-locked, so the screen had opened right onto somebody's text messages. At the top, the words Theo Bonaphile were printed.
"This guy was texting Bonaphile!" said Joan, skimming up to the top of the texts rapidly.
At 3:57 P.M.
[ready yet?]
[almost]
[be patient]
[be careful!]
[we don't have much time]
[I know]
[Ive got the files]
[o k, good]
Joan's eyes widened even more as they flicked to Sherlock, questioning. He forced his face to look calm, mildly interested, and not to stare at her face because that's not the point right now, Sherlock, focus so it won't all fall apart…
[Ive got them downloaded onto my spare phone]
[o k.]
[u are heading to the nypd station arnt u]
[rite, Im on my way]
last message delivered
[take care]
At 4:34 P.M.
[hello?]
[theo]
[THEO]
[oh god did u turn ur phone off]
[idiot]
Sherlock chuckled slightly at how clever his homeless network had been. For people that didn't own expensive phones, they sure knew how to mimic a realistic text conversation.
Joan, however, was not laughing.
"We're in the wrong place!" she said, horrified. "We should be back where we started!"
"...Right." Sherlock pretended to smack his forehead. He looked down at the screen and then back up at Joan. "Well, I guess there's nothing for it. Back on the train?"
Joan groaned.