Forgot to put this here on original posting (sorry), but for anyone interested, the cameo in the last chapter, Grace, is a really old OC from when I wrote Percy Jackson. You can find her story in my Life of a Demigod stories.
I wrestled my bag down the stairs, wishing I had not left my motorcar here. This would have been much simpler if I could have driven straight to the cottage, but my 'car had gotten a flat tire not a hundred feet from the door the previous weekend, and there had not been time to fix it before I was needed in London. Holmes had promised to have it fixed during the week, but I had been forced to take the train to finish the sale of my house and get the last of my belongings from London.
The conductor deposited my trunk on the platform, and I thanked him as I scanned the station for a familiar face. A few people milled here and there about the platform, greeting passengers, waiting for the next train, and gathering luggage, but I saw no sign of Holmes.
He had probably lost track of time studying his bees, I decided, and I leaned down to grab a couple of items from my trunk. I would not be able to carry it alone, but we could always come back for it later. I saw no reason to wait when I could quite easily walk to the cottage.
Closing the trunk and locking it, I glanced around the station once more before leaving, and this time I spotted Holmes on the far side, my motorcar near the platform behind him. He sat on a bench near the main exit, his gaze quickly flicking between faces. He checked every person that walked the platform, watching for me, but the station itself partially obscured my car. I grinned.
Quickly asking the stationmaster to take my trunk to the motorcar, I ducked behind the building and worked my way around to come up directly behind him. Stopping a few feet from the bench, I patiently waited for the other passengers to clear out, hoping they would not give me away. One or two recognized me from my many visits, but they did no more than cover a smirk before hurrying down the platform, thankfully avoiding tipping Holmes off that I was directly behind him.
His posture changed as the station emptied and the train began pulling away, and I knew he was frowning, wondering why I had missed my train. He turned his head to look at two men talking at the other end of the platform, and I edged forward, sitting next to him while his back was turned.
"Who are we waiting on?" I asked, desperately trying to kill my smirk that I had managed to creep up on him.
He tensed, closer to startling than I had seen him in years, and spun to stare at me. I could not restrain a laugh at the pure surprise in his gaze. That made three times in as many months that I had been able to surprise him—a definite record when one was so rare—and my laugh turned into a smirk as his surprise faded to irritation.
"Don't scowl so," I admonished him, still grinning as we stood. "You are the one that has been trying to convince me to move for so many years. After all those years in Baker Street, you ought to know what to expect."
He allowed the scowl to change into a twitched grin. "Where is your trunk?" he asked, glancing around the building at where I had stepped off the train.
"Holmes." He turned back towards me, and I gestured him a few steps to his left, pointing as he came within sight of where he had parked the motorcar behind the platform. My trunk rested in the back, and Holmes gave an irritated huff at my chuckle.
"I told you it was possible to pay too much attention."
He finally rolled his eyes at me. "I cannot pay too much attention when you are in a pawky mood," he replied, not quite hiding his amusement under irritation.
I smirked. "Apparently, you can, considering I was able to load my trunk and sit beside you without your notice."
He declined to answer, and we fell silent as we stepped off the platform. Claiming he wanted to practice his driving skills, he steadied me with a hand on my arm as I lowered myself into the passenger seat, and we soon left the station behind. Holmes started talking as we drove toward the cottage, telling me all about various things that had happened in the last week, and I leaned back in the seat as he began nearly rambling about his bees, allowing a faint grin to escape.
He did not have to say the words for me to know he was glad I was here.