Why Fireflies Flash
Chapter Eleven
"When Did You Decide?"
221B Baker Street
Hannah peered out into the sitting room from where she sat. The mid-morning sun peeked through the windows casting antic shadows across the room.
"Is this a usual thing? Breaking into the apartment above yours?"
Anabeth shrugged. "I have only lived here for roundabout two months. Besides, their fridge is bigger than mine."
Hannah shot her friend a death glare. "Full of body parts."
Anabeth rolled her eyes and pressed the lever down on the toaster. "In my defense, they were not there yesterday."
Hannah's greenish eyes lazed on Anabeth's stiff figure. It was hard these days to determine the difference between the Anabeth that tries to lock her feelings away and the one that was molded by the Corps. "Are you alright?"
A chair was pulled out across from the visitor. "Now, what makes you ask this time?"
Hannah shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe it's just the fact that it's been six months since you've been stateside and before that you were benched because of what happened in Brussels. You been working nonstop on this file; there isn't a check-in were the Company doesn't get any information. I guess I'm just worried you're overworking yourself. You've reverted back to Vulcan, and you're still undercover. It's starting to get, well, scary almost."
Quinn rolls her eyes again. "Hannah. I am fine. Do not worry over me."
"See, there you go. Anabeth Ryder would've said "Batsy, I'm fine. Don't worry." Something's bugging you."
"But I am not Anabeth Ryder. I am Anabeth Quinn."
"But you're undercover. You're supposed to act like Anabeth Ryder, the burlesque dancer who's pinning for her ex-fiance and gets laid like a hooker every night. You're supposed to feel, you're supposed to be human. Just pretend, will ya? For me? Pretend that you never met the likes of that bastard, pretend that your childhood wasn't lived in shadow of your parents! It's been sixteen-"
"I am not thirty-two, Wayne. I am only thirty, it has been fourteen years."
"Same difference."
"Look, Hannah, I love you. You know I do. But I do not feel like talking about this right now. Not with either denizens of this flat within hearing range."
"You never want to talk about it."
"Well, maybe there is a good reason for it."
"Oh?" Hannah raised a perfectly styled brow. "And what is that?"
"You would not understand."
"Try me."
Anabeth opened her mouth and shut it, looking like a fish. She racked her brain for anything that remotely made sense coming from Anabeth. But she couldn't. She really should have something by now. This isn't the first time this has happened. Hannah calls her out more often than not when they're on the same continent, let alone in the same room.
"Let me see your arm."
It catches Quinn off guard as she's still searching for an answer. "What? Why?"
"Let me see your arm."
Hesitantly, Quinn pulls both sleeves of her black robe up and holds out her arms, palm-side up, for Hannah's investigative gaze. The normally-black-haired girl zeros in on the round patch stuck in the crevice of her left elbow. It's ripped off instantly making Anabeth wince and shout out a loud "OW!"
"Just checking."
A light clicks on in Quinn's mind. "Ah." Her eyes close briefly. "Of course." Her now snide gaze levels with the green one across from her. "It is impossible to keep a smoking habit in London these days. Hence the patch. But I still can't believe you thought I would..."
Behind her the toaster pops and she jumps up immediately, popping open the jar of her grandmother's raspberry preserves, the one thing she enjoyed about having to move to Georgia.
"You're going to avoid me now aren't you? That's just great. Doesn't matter. I have things to do today. I have a meeting with Mycroft about something in Korea or another... We still have to finish this conversation Harls. I won't forget."
"If you are still in England by the time I get off work today, then maybe we will finish the conversation. But not until then."
"Oh I will be, you don't have to worry about that. We still have a movie marathon scheduled. And I'm bringing a special guest."
By the time Quinn turned back around with a piece of toast halfway to her mouth Hannah was gone. In her place, however, was Sherlock Holmes with quite a sullied look on his face.
"She has got to stop that."
"Who?" Sherlock asked.
"Hannah. Was she not just- nevermind," she says to the inquisitive look he gave her.
"You're in my kitchen."
"And now I'm leaving your kitchen, with my toast and my preserves." She passes by the man in nothing but a sheet, her robe blowing open ever so slightly. "See you around."
Text Messages Between John Watson and Anabeth Ryder
Where are you? JW
Late night. Stayed with a co-worker. AR
Have you seen the news? JW
Considering your text woke me up, no. AR
There's been an explosion on Baker St. Across the street from the flat. JW
What?! Everyone alright? AR
I don't know. JW
Just left Sarah's. JW
I'll meet you there. AR
221B Baker Street
"Sherlock? Sherlock?" John rushes up the stairs half expecting, well he's not sure what. Anabeth, maybe Mrs. Hudson, fussing over the savant, Sherlock himself still in his dressing gown from the night before certainly. The sight that greets him is confounding, just a little anyways.
Sherlock is sitting in his own chair, plucking his violin; Mycroft is resting in John's own chair, clutching his umbrella; and Anabeth is standing in the middle of the room, crossing her arms. They each spare him a glance.
"John," Sherlock and Anabeth say in greeting.
"I saw it on the telly. You okay?" he wonders.
Sherlock glances around a tad confused.
"What? Oh! Yeah. Fine," he replies. "Gas leak, apparently." He looks pointedly at his brother. "I can't."
"Can't?" Mycroft asks. John wanders over to the covered window, surveying the damage.
"Stuff I've got on is just too big," Sherlock elaborates. "I can't spare the time."
"Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance."
"How's the diet?" Sherlock questions of his brother in attempt to annoy him.
Quinn wanders over to the couch with a yawn and lies down on her back, fingers laced together and resting on her ample chest, eyes closed.
"Fine," the brother replies. "Perhaps you could get through to him John."
John glances over from the mess of broken glass and rubbish. "Hmm? What?"
"I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent."
"If you're so keen, why don't you investigate it?"
"No no no no no no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time. Not with the Korean elections–" John and Sherlock glance over to him as he pauses. "Well, you don't need to know about that, do you?"
"Is that what your meeting with Hannah was about?" Anabeth pipes up, her voice half sleepy.
Mycroft ignores the inquiry. "Besides a case like this requires," he winces, "leg work."
Sherlock plucks the violin again. "And Anabeth can't do this?"
"I could," the person in question says as she sits up properly. "However, after six months of being in London, I finally have an in."
"You found an in weeks ago," he complains. "You're already sleeping with your mark."
"I was sleeping with him before he was my mark." She stands and leaves the room. Sherlock watches her as she does, analyzing her every move.
Texts between Sherlock Holmes and Anabeth Quinn
I have a case. SH
Ooo. Good for you. AR
Sarcasm is not flattering on you. SH
I would have to be flattering in the first place. AR
Are you going to join? SH
Could be dangerous. SH
With you, everything is dangerous. AR
Take that as a no then. Breaking into your flat. SH
Why the hell are you breaking into my flat? AR
It's for the case. SH
Oh? Breaking into my flat is okay as long as it is for a case? AR
Mrs. Hudson has a key. AR
Too late. SH
You break into my flat all the time. SH
It does not count. There is no breaking involved. I simply walk up the stairs. AR
And I simply picked the lock and walked down the stairs. SH
Love what you've done with the place. SH
Yeah... the whole drab, half ruined basement look wasn't me. AR
Meet me at Bart's when you're finished. SH
I told you I am busy. AR
You are not going to reply, are you? AR
Fine. See you there. AR