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

[confidente]

What? How is that solid evidence?

[workaphilic]

Love to explain, but it gets a bit complicated. Imagine the castle won't let me talk about it. You understand.

[he is the lyingest lying liar that ever lied.]

[confidente]

[ John laughs, shaking his head. ]

That's a bloody cop out. You don't have any evidence.

[workaphilic]

Can't know that for sure, can you? So the conclusion stands.

[confidente]

[ God, Sherlock. You're such a dick when you're right about things. ]

Stop that.

[workaphilic]

[He prefers "self-confident."]

Stop what?

[confidente]

[ Smug dick is a better description. ]

Stop that, the thing you're doing with your cheekbones. All smug and...

[workaphilic]

No idea what you're talking about. I can't help my bone structure, John.

[confidente]

It's a look and it's annoying, stop it.

[workaphilic]

I'm not making a look.

[yes he is]

[confidente]

Yes, you are.

[workaphilic]

Can't exactly stop if I don't feel it, can I?

[confidente]

Yes, you bloody well can.

[workaphilic]

Could be your imagination. Wouldn't be the first time you've perceived something that wasn't there.

[confidente]

What? No, I'm not imagining it, Sherlock. I've got no reason to imagine that damn look of yours.

[workaphilic]

Don't see any other viable explanation.

[confidente]

The only other viable explanation is that you're being an annoying dick.