A/N: God, I hope no one at work reads this...posting entries during hours...eek! Not the writing, thought. No, the writing requires an entirely separate environment. Gameson221b, you know the ones...one of those bolt-holes...
Disclaimer: Again, not mine. Again, weeping...
Monday, again.
We took a taxi to the crime scene. It isn't terribly far to Brixton from Baker Street, but it gave me enough uninterrupted time to get some answers from my new acquaintance.
The confined space of the cab kept the man still enough, but he continued to fidget and toy with his phone for most of the ride.
I had given up asking the questions... Twice now—first at Bart's, then back at the flat—I had tried to get him to tell me how he knew what he did, but he flew right past my queries. This time, with my silence, he managed to pick up on my need for answers.
What he said...the way he presented it... like it had been stoppered up inside, and he'd uncorked the bottle to let it all bubble out. Every detail of my person, from my haircut to my tan lines, from my limp to my therapist, from my phone to my drunk... Just as I thought, he'd been reading me.
"That...was amazing."
When he looked back at me, the expression on his face...he wasn't expecting praise. He wasn't expecting anything good at all. To be honest, when he finished speaking, he actually looked...concerned. Not doubting his deductions by any means, but he was doubting...himself, whether or not I could accept him for all his rambling revelations.
And again I was tossed into that dead space of air, the one where he knew everything about me and I knew nearly nothing of him.
A/N: I had this entry done last night, but I was too gawd-awful tired to see the keys anymore to post it up...so, this morning instead! I hope you like! We have a few more to go before "Monday" is complete-it's a busy day, and John is having a difficult time finding the opportunity to write... Still, please let me know your thoughts!