boring_ryu: (pic#5762643)
Ryu Hoshi ([personal profile] boring_ryu) wrote in [community profile] bakerstreet2014-05-23 09:23 am

Fell asleep on meme;


sweet dreams.


Someone, whether it be a friend or a total stranger, has fallen asleep on you wherever you happen to be and you are a rather comfortable pillow to them. what do you do?
nothungry: (o)

Sherlock Holmes | Sherlock (BBC) | OTA

[personal profile] nothungry 2014-05-23 03:05 pm (UTC)(link)
theonewhocounted: (Sherlolly)

[personal profile] theonewhocounted 2014-05-23 03:18 pm (UTC)(link)
Molly definitely does not intend to fall asleep on this cab ride from St. Bart's to her flat. In fact, she hadn't intended to take a cab at all, but Sherlock had insisted (probably a way to make up for the fact that his presence in her morgue this morning meant her night shift was extended a whole 2 hours extra. Bad enough on its own, but even worse after having worked a double the day before).

And she certainly did not intend for her lolling head to come to rest on him. Unbeknownst to her, however, both of those things have occurred in succession.
nothungry: (c)

[personal profile] nothungry 2014-05-23 03:51 pm (UTC)(link)
That Molly is tired comes as no surprise - anyone could see the signs, even if simple arithmetic weren't enough to indicate there really aren't enough hours in the day - but, somehow, Sherlock hasn't anticipated impromptu naps. The weight on his shoulder is unexpected. Molly, in his experience, is more likely to keep primly to her own space, because unintended physical contact is just so very awkward, isn't it -

Without moving, he drops his eyes to what he can see of her face. He constrains his little sigh to a rush of breath from his nose; no need to be unduly disturbing.

For some definitions of unduly.

"This is what happens when you skip breakfast."
theonewhocounted: (serious)

[personal profile] theonewhocounted 2014-05-23 03:58 pm (UTC)(link)
His voice rumbling in her ear causes her to stir but not really awaken, her head in fact nuzzling against him a little instead. She would be terribly embarrassed if she knew what she was doing, but for now is blissfully unaware. Her body is just enjoying the respite and maybe the warmth of another person.
nothungry: (b)

[personal profile] nothungry 2014-05-23 04:29 pm (UTC)(link)
Typical. Sherlock rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue faintly. Well - it wasn't a terribly clever remark, in any case. He's not awfully distressed that she missed it.

He's not awfully distressed to be leaned on, either, truth be told. Touch, as nice as it may be, is too often all too fraught with other people's stupidity and the itch-inducing awareness that they're thinking about it; frankly, sharing it with someone virtually unconscious is probably ideal.

So he doesn't disturb her again. He simply looks out the window at the city's early-morning drudgery, and lets himself get comfortable enough with it that his elbow rests back against her arm.
theonewhocounted: (Side profile)

[personal profile] theonewhocounted 2014-05-23 04:45 pm (UTC)(link)
She does finally awaken when the cab slows to a stop and the driver announces their arrival. Opening her eyes, she's a bit confused for a moment and then looks up to see what (who) she's leaning against and straightens up immediately.

"A..apologies," she says to Sherlock as she puts adequate personal space between them again. "I didn't mean to...just so tired..."

She's blushing a bit, her head ducking as she goes back to the awkward stammering that hasn't plagued her around him in quite some time. It's amazing how quickly she can revert and she mentally kicks herself for it.
nothungry: (h)

[personal profile] nothungry 2014-05-26 08:00 pm (UTC)(link)
"Yes, somehow I was able to deduce as much."

His tone is dry, and his expression flat, but it's clear he's not truly bothered; there's a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. He's more amused than anything else. It's not that he's given to smirking at other people's misfortunes (although he's certainly been known to do so), but people make it so very obvious when they're embarrassed - and the reasons, often as not, are thoroughly ridiculous.

He leans over a bit to check to clock of the cab's dash. "And now it's - nine thirty in the morning. Goodness. Straight to bed with you."
theonewhocounted: (Side profile)

[personal profile] theonewhocounted 2014-05-27 12:14 am (UTC)(link)
She sees his slight smile and it puts her a bit at ease, taking away some of the embarrassment and quelling the awkwardness. She gives him her own small smile back, fighting down the urge to swat his arm at the dry joke he's making at her expense. They are friends at this point, but physical contact with him is still not something she's used to.

"No wonder I'm falling asleep in inappropriate places," she says, sounding as tired as she looks as she starts to fumble around trying to pull money out of her bag. "It is all your fault anyway. I suppose you deserve to be drooled on a bit."

She's not really cross with him, of course, but she is exhausted and knows she'll probably only make it as far as the couch before falling asleep in all her clothes, still smelling like morgue. It's her least favorite way to wake up and it happens more than she likes to remember.
nothungry: (Default)

[personal profile] nothungry 2014-05-27 01:00 am (UTC)(link)

Sherlock reaches down to wave her hand away. "Don't. I'll pay him - he's taking me on. There's been a break-in in Harley Street I want to see. Probably no dead bodies," he continues, glancing down at the shoulder of his coat just in case he has been drooled on, "so I may not even bother you for a few hours."

His smile doesn't look all that promising, though. How long has he ever gone between corpses? There's not much in the way of apology there, either - certainly this is his fault, and he'll do it again. Probably tomorrow.

"I'd rest up, if I were you."

theonewhocounted: (Default)

[personal profile] theonewhocounted 2014-05-27 01:13 am (UTC)(link)
"Sorry Sherlock, I'm not on again for another 24," she says as she zips her bag back up. His smiles aren't going to help him now. She's too tired and he's taken up enough of her extra time for the day. Even she has her limits. "Dr. Marcus will have to do in my stead and I'll be happy to help you starting 9 tomorrow morning."

She opens the cab door.
ignoringjohn: (Mental Vacation)

[personal profile] ignoringjohn 2014-05-24 06:45 am (UTC)(link)
Blackberry vibrating its security codes quietly against her ribs, it conveys what the CCTV cameras in their area see, telling her which routes are safe, where potential troubles are ahead, messages that are sent, translated, to the driver's earpiece. Anthea is a reader of patterns, a talented personal assistant become bodyguard, a knife, or in this case, a Sig Sauer in a velvet glove and a gatherer of the prices at which men and women in sensitive places can be purchased. Tonight she was Sherlock's way into a countryside estate where, at a private gathering, he located a poisoner prior to the death of their hostess, one who might very well succeed in knighting him this time.

Anthea has often suspected that 'retreating to my mind palace' was code for 'Sherlock is taking a nap' and this evening she is certain of it. Sherlock has made as much use of the rear seat as physically possible, including using her thigh as her pillow. In the fading light her eyes inspect the coat she kept safe for two years, seeing a small rent and that it needs cleaning, both of which she will see to. Anthea is the one who orders groceries for himself and Mrs. Hudson, who sees that his dry cleaning and laundry is picked up and delivered, who puzzled out the mysteries of his sock index, and pays his monthly bills from the monies earned from his trust fund.

Her fingers smooth out an unruly curl that droops over his forehead. He has not been sleeping well. She watched the surveillance cameras set up at the exterior of Baker Street and saw as he paced, sulked, or played the violin. Sleepless nights appear to have caught up with him, and as the drive is lengthy, she will not shift or wake him. It has been too long since he has trusted her with anything important.
nothungry: (l)

[personal profile] nothungry 2014-05-26 08:35 pm (UTC)(link)
The dream is the same as ever. A gun, a shattering sound, blood on concrete - and the pervasive, suffocating knowledge that he'd missed it. Missed the gun, missed the problem (the real problem, the final problem), missed the point. It's like drowning in bathwater, hot, and still, and, worst of all, embarrassingly shallow. He's been avoiding it for quite some time. It's easy enough not to sleep; he's practiced in that.

But eventually he must. The rumble of the engine and the velocity and the constant motion in the back of the car have lulled him faster than anything else has recently, and once he's out, he's characteristically expansive - in every space he can reach. He makes himself quite comfortable.

But the moment the motion stops, the first traffic light they come to, he's awake again. The dream lingers for a moment in his skull and then disappears, and, as always, the absence leaves him - sad. The feeling evaporates as the waking world fills in around him. His feet are jammed up between the window and the passenger's headrest; his shoulder blade is smarting from a seatbelt fastener jutting out; his head is on Anthea's leg. He snorts quietly, heaves himself up, and leans forward to stretch out his lower back, resting his forehead on the back of the seat in front of him.

"A woman with a house like that - she might have sprung for a helicopter." So might Mycroft, but he could be miserably stingy, sometimes. To think, he could be home by now.
ignoringjohn: (Serious)

[personal profile] ignoringjohn 2014-05-26 09:53 pm (UTC)(link)
The first light they stop for will also likely be the last. One of the programs she runs when in the car changes the lights to their favor. In this case, however, the emergency vehicle in the intersection takes precedence. She had created a world of safety and convenience for the Holmes boys, as she calls them in her mind. From street lights to elevators, she bypasses unnecessary stops and sees that mundane tasks are delegated and completed.

Humming a low note as she shifts, had not been uncomfortable either with the position or the familiarity, would have let him be for the rest of the journey

Nearly noting they could have also taken the train, but with her programs set, they make better time and are not sitting ducks. Their driver is an agent close to retirement, who has been giving her lessons in defensive driving to go along with the other training she accumulates when bored.

Her inhale before speaking contains a quiet breathless sound, a pair of gunshots to her upper right lung, an injury obtained when bringing Moriarty in. Contralto soothing, no need to pretend that she is inattentive or slow here, Sherlock knows her better than that, "There is a storm offshore." The remains of a hurricane. Had it arrived when expected, flying could have been precarious.

Her cheek quirks and she nearly teases, nearly says that he needed the time to spring clean his palace, but giving him time to put his feet back under him, does not. Believes that Mycroft's idea was to give Sherlock some uninterrupted time where there was nothing to do other than stare off into the darkness and perhaps sleep - Anthea wasn't the only one reviewing the security tapes.
nothungry: (Default)

[personal profile] nothungry 2014-05-26 10:52 pm (UTC)(link)
Sherlock turns to her with a flat expression, raising one eyebrow in deadpan incredulity. "And you couldn't do something about that?"

He's still not really accustomed to this level of accommodation - or, as he truly thinks of it, supervision. In his mind Anthea is still very much Mycroft's man, as it were, as she always has been. Since his little hiatus, Mycroft has been exceedingly protective. Sherlock tolerates it because a few years away have worn his resources down to the point where he needs all the help he can get, and there's no question that Mycroft means access. But he never forgets it comes at a price. There's nothing he does now his brother doesn't know about, isn't in some way responsible for.

It eats at him almost as badly as that dream.

"What ever are you paid for?"
ignoringjohn: (Laughing / Happy)

[personal profile] ignoringjohn 2014-05-26 11:14 pm (UTC)(link)
Unable to stop the sound that travels up clear up from her toes clad in their Jimmy Choo pumps, Anthea laughs, the wheeze more pronounced. "This and that, but not weather control, I assure you. I think it's mostly for not throwing a phone book at your brother's head and storming out years ago. There are still days he would utterly deserve it."

Warm Caribbean blue eyes blink back at him, positively flirtatious, a frequent cover she uses on the unaware, especially when combined with a purr, "Why? What would you pay me for?"
nothungry: (g)

[personal profile] nothungry 2014-05-27 12:07 am (UTC)(link)
Sherlock sighs and sets his chin in his hand, letting his head loll against the window. "Assassination? Nothing you'd ever deliver on." He doesn't actually want Mycroft murdered, in any case. Who would pay the bills? He's stuck with him for the duration - or at least until he gets fed up enough to go into hiding again. Considering the less than stellar conditions his last escape ended in, he's in no rush to leave the comforts of home.

Even if he is being constantly babysat.

He glances back at her. "But do feel free to tell him I asked. I hate to think he's sleeping peacefully."
ignoringjohn: (How interesting)

[personal profile] ignoringjohn 2014-05-27 05:47 am (UTC)(link)
"You could easily convince me to agree to assassinate a key governmental official. Putin is A-number-one on my list." Sherlock hadn't specified whom he wanted killed and Anthea had a list of ten to twenty at any one time, depending how many people had attempted to get in her way and prevent her from finishing what tasks had been assigned.

She knew who he meant though and smiled. Mycroft slept as much as Sherlock, truth be told, and she was aware of the situation because she was still working herself. It wasn't as if she wanted to go home to Aunt Agatha's house of curiosities.

"Sherlock? Would you like to come straight out and tell me why you're entertaining having your brother shot, strangled, poisoned...what have you? As much as I admire the mental leaps he takes and do my best to follow them, I have to confess that it's not an uncommon desire to want to smack him when he gives me that smirk and refuses to explain until I have worked out something useful." Not that Anthea was slow, but scrambling after Mycroft took every ounce of energy she had, which was why she had automated so much to actually have that additional time needed to follow his thoughts.