ғᴏᴜʀ

[confidente]

( the flat of COOL, DUN DUN DUUUUN )

[ Breakfast. Most important meal of the day and all that. John's sitting at the table in the sitting room with a piece of toast and what could probably pass as the morning paper (or the closet equivalent he could find in this place). Interesting stuff. Well, not exactly, but that isn't the point. ]

Did you get it back yet? [ Sherlock is around. He's pretty sure he is. Somewhere. So he just calls out as he reads up about some sort of town drama, hoping the detective hears. ] The housecoat, I mean.
----



[ A few hours later John slips into the clinic, journal in hand. Slow day, he hopes, wouldn't like to see anyone come in after having jumped off a building and slipped, breaking their ankle or something like that.

He sets himself up nearby the front door, flicking briefly through the journal. Hm. ]

The castle doesn't do that sort of thing all of the time does it? Locking people in rooms with tacky decorations? [ It was such a lovely reminder of how painfully single he is right now. :| ]


(ooc; LALA open for journal and in person shenanigans.)

Comments

[ FLAT OF COOOOOOL no one will take this filter away from me ]

[workaphilic]

[Sherlock is, in fact, around. Sweeping out of his room into the kitchen, actually, for all appearances looking for something. Probably not breakfast.

He pauses at the question, then starts stacking petri dishes from an experiment he finished the night before. He keeps his tone very even and disinterested.]

No.

[ FLAT OF COOOL FOREVER IT IS THE BEST FILTER EVER ]

[confidente]

[ There is bread in the toaster, waiting for the moment Sherlock stops whatever he is doing and decides to eat something. Though John doubts that will happen anytime soon. ]

Huh. [ He turns a page, taking another bite out of his toast. Strawberry jam is amazing. ]

She seemed rather intent to returning it.

[workaphilic]

Did she? [He goes to dump the dishes in the sink. What is proper disposal of chemicals.] I didn't notice.

[what a liar]

[confidente]

[ Om nom--oh no, he finished his toast. ): ] Too busy trying to escape Mycroft?

[ He looks up, frowning a little. What did you just dump into the sink? ]

What are you doing?

[workaphilic]

Cleaning.

[He turns on the tap. The solution was probably too basic for a normal septic system, but this is a goddamn magic castle. He can do what he wants.]

And I've had enough of Mycroft for the foreseeable future. Don't need you going on about him, too.

[confidente]

What? You never clean, why are you starting now? [ Paper now forgotten he shifts her attention to Sherlock, forehead furrowing into a frown. ]

[workaphilic]

They were in my way, so I'm moving them out of my way. It's a very simple concept, John.

[Definitely not because of all those Thoughts Mycroft made him stew over for three days.]

[confidente]

You still don't clean. [ Something has to be up, that's probably it. ]

Are you alright?

[workaphilic]

I'm fine. [He turns the tap higher so that the water rushes noisily in the sink.] But if you'd like to take over I certainly won't stop you.

[confidente]

Right. [ John's up and in the kitchen within moments, putting his plate down beside the sink and turning the tap down. Oh, yes, you're totally fine. ]

If you're fine than I'm a bloody genius. So what is it that's bothering you? Did you and Mycroft end up bonding?

[workaphilic]

[He scowls. This is what he gets when he decides to be helpful??? SEE IF HE EVER HELPS AGAIN GOSH.]

I told you, I don't want to talk about Mycroft.

[confidente]

[ HE'S ONLY HELPFUL WHEN SOMETHING IS CLEARLY WRONG. And it is making John concerned!! ]

Alright, fine, just continue to storm around the flat in a huff. Just ignore me, I'll stop being concerned in a while. [ Oh, did he just take over the sink? Yes, yes he did. ]

[workaphilic]

[He could just sulk for the rest of the afternoon. It'd definitely be easier. (All of this was easier when it was just him and his theories.) But this has already blown up (ha!) once before, and he'd really rather not have a repeat of that particular fight.

Doesn't mean he's going to fall over himself to talk about it, though.

Instead he just drifts to the side, lets John take over and watches quietly.]

What did she say to you? The woman.

[Never did tell him her name.]

[confidente]

[ The dishes needed to be done soon anyway, he might as well do them now. He focuses on them, for the most part, only sparing a few short glances at Sherlock. He's hovering. That's good right? At least he hasn't sulked off into his room. ]

She asked about the castle, where you were. Almost seemed like she was disappointed I didn't recognize her.

[workaphilic]

Hm.

[He reaches to pluck that last piece of toast from the toaster, almost absentmindedly. It's probably cold by now, but he doesn't seem to care. He doesn't even put anything on it -- just tears pieces off and eats them one by one.]

Neglected to say where she knew you from, I assume.

[confidente]

Yeah, only mentioned that we met. [ He starts lining the dish rack with the petri dishes, all in front of the plate he had been previously using. ] She's probably connected to a case, I think. [ A beat. ] It's either that or you started dating. [ Highly unlikely. ]

[workaphilic]

[Just. Face. Seriously, John?]

[confidente]

[ IT'S A POSSIBILITY. If only a very very far fetched one. ]

You don't have to say it, I know.

[workaphilic]

Should've kept it to yourself, then. Not the most enlightened theory you've ever had.

[confidente]

It was a joke, mostly.

[workaphilic]

[WE DON'T JOKE ABOUT THINGS LIKE THAT IN THIS FLAT, JOHN. B(

He doesn't answer, not really, just keeps eating his toast bit by bit. Because she's interesting, that woman. More so than a lot of the people he meets in the castle.

How about a non sequitur instead?]

Thought it would bother you.

[confidente]

[ He stops washing suddenly, hands hovering simply centimeters above the soap and water. ]

Why, would it bother me? [ ........ We're talking about the dating thing right? ]

[workaphilic]

[He rolls his eyes, like John's being particularly dense for not reading his mind and jumping topics appropriately. Sheesh.]

Not that. Her.

[confidente]

Oh. Her. [ He quickly goes back to washing, probably in a effort to hide how utterly stupid he feels. ]

She does bother me.

[workaphilic]

Why?

[It's not really a genuine question. It barely has the inflection of one. He just wants to hear the answer.]