bakerstreet | (no subject)

[ Dreams are effectively dull things he has little use for. Now, meditation, lucid unconsciousness, tapping into the sub with the same efficacy and precision that he normally used his conscious mind for, and taking the time to never stop thinking. It was one of the reasons that he tended to wake up quickly, having been thinking all night long in his sleep regardless.

Just before he woke up this morning, however, he was immediately hit with a wave of pain - cut, right arm, three inches, not gash; bullet hole, clear through, calibre unknown, intercostal muscles along left side - and the unusual notion that he didn't quite remember the evening before. That spoke to some sort of brain trauma, unless his would be adversaries had managed to knock him unconscious and then chose to give him very glancing wounds. Hardly.

So, not a full picture, and this was clearly not his room. He didn't know whose room this was - even unconsciously he registered movement nearby, so it must have been theirs. He assumed.

Pain in check and with a reasonably sure feeling as to what he was going to encounter upon waking up, he allowed his mind to do so, opening his eyes and squinting a little at the light. Some things there's not much you can do. ]

[Lately, he was used to sleeping alone, used seeing an empty bed when he entered his room. His line of work was never conductive to married life, despite his best efforts. He hadn't spent the night sleeping. No, he was working late in some manic wild goose case across London. Frankly, it was a relief to be home and have a chance of sleep. He had his jacket half off his shoulders when he realized his bed was not empty. It should be empty.]

Oi! How'd you get in here?!

[His gun is drawn on instinct. His door was locked when he came home. He steals a glance at the window. Not broken.]

[ Lovely. He levels the man with what can at best be described as a somewhat disinterested look - really, a gun? Even in the future, which this almost has to be, as much as a reasonable part of his mind is bucking that notion for all that it's worth, guns are so... boring. Unless you're using them creatively, and this, this is not creative.

At least he's clearly not also an abductor. ]

I could inquire of you the same thing: how did I get in here? Curious, isn't it? [ It would be less curious if there weren't so much to catalogue - the sheer difference in setting making it difficult to process things as quickly as he'd like. Oh, and the pain. ] Rest assured, it was not by my own doing. Or perhaps that's worse, since really there's nothing to fear from me. Would you care to put that down [ starting to get up ] as I'd wager you'd prefer I don't bleed all over your bedding.

[There is something eerily familiar about this man that puts him on edge. He does look just a little bit irritated he doesn't seem threatened by the gun. Fine, he'll lower it. He is right, he doesn't look all that threatening.]

You're in my flat. Door was locked when I-- are you bleeding?

[He hostlers his weapon and steps closer. He spies a bit of red on the man's arm. Why is there a strange bleeding man in his bed.]

[ Well at least the man is moderately sensible, if not entirely remarkable. ]

Doors are hardly impervious to entry. Quite the opposite, in fact, even when locked.

[ Your second question doesn't even deserve an acknowledgement didn't he just say -- no matter. He's levering himself off the bed now anyway, swinging his legs over the side and starting to rise up to a standing position. ]

You're saying somebody picked the lock. Brought you in here, dropped you in my bed then left. Locking the door on their way out?

[He just looks at him like he's insane. Not that different from how he looks at Sherlock. If only he realized.]

Why would anybody do that?

[He pulls out his mobile. Best report this anyway.]

It would hardly be polite to leave an unconscious, injured man lying on a bed in an unlocked room, now would it?

[ because this is the part to point out, of course

... what is that what are you doing ]

What are you doing?

[ no really ]

I'm calling this in.

[He hits speed dial then brings it up to his ear. He gives his name and address.]

[ He squints at you for a second, okay. Processing, processing - it's like watching a vaguely overloaded CPU prioritize what it wants to work on first. And then scan for lolcats or something - it's gone better.

wait that name okay definitely lolcats ]

That would be Detective Inspector Lestrade then, calling this in to Scotland Yard. And do tell, what is the infraction here? Bleeding and entering?

[Molly didn't mean to fall asleep in your bed, Greg. It was just that after her shift, she'd unfortunately crossed paths with a vomiting child in the lobby of St. Bart's. The child had been whisked away, leaving Molly to tensely travel back to the morgue and try to rinse her blouse. Enter one Detective Inspector with a heart of gold, who overheard her whining in frustration about the living. He offered her his suit jacket to wear, as well as a quick trip to his flat where she could make use of his washer, rather than risk the stain and smell if she waited to get back to her own.

She offered numerous thanks and even volunteered to buy him coffee after her blouse was put in the wash. Then, however, a call for a case came in and he had to dash off, on the agreement Molly could borrow a shirt (he needed his suit jacket back) and locked up as soon as she was done. She agreed earnestly, not wanting to be a burden.

Well, during the time Lestrade was gone, Molly decided to bake him some cookies as a thank you and leave them on his counter with a note. Somewhere between that task and the end of the laundry cycle, Molly had laid down on the very edge of the bed (just to rest her eyes!) and promptly passed out. So when Greg finally returns in the late evening, the door is locked like normal, there's cookies on the counter, and a sleeping pathologist on his bed.]

Edited 2012-08-04 05:18 (UTC)

[It takes him a second to realize what that smell is when he returns. His place rarely smells of any kind of cooking it seems so out of place. ]

Aw, you didn't have to do that.

[Which won't stop him from stealing one up and eating it. Barely had a chance to catch bite while he was working. Now, where was the culprit? It takes a few seconds to realize where she's got off to. He leans against the door frame to the bedroom. Well, there she is.]

Hm.

[He finishes off the cookie and brushes the crumbs off himself. He takes a step forward to pull the blanket over her. No sense waking her, middle of the bloody night and all.]

[Molly's half-in, half-out of sleeping at this point. But she definitely doesn't recall the fact that this bed isn't hers. So when she feels the warmth of the blanket upon her, she thinks it's her cat Toby coming in for a snuggle, as he usually does. So she makes a little happy sigh and reaches her arm to curl around her 'cat' - in fact it's Lestrade's hand on the blanket.]

[Lestrade is not a cat nor does he resemble a cat in any way. Or at least, that's his opinion. Just a brief moment of panic when she curls around his hand. He gingerly tries to remove his hand from her grasp.]

[~~Nope, 'cause Lestrade's foxy.~~

As careful as he is, Molly still feels the slow removal of his hand and she grumbles a little bit, trying to hold on.] ...Silly head. In or out, will you...

[Well, this is just a little awkward. He really doesn't want to wake her but she is making it difficult. Eventually he just sighs and sits on the edge of the bed. Giving up his hand to her cuddling.]

[Awwwyess. Molly's the cuddle queen, didn't you know? Well, no, of course Lestrade wouldn't, because the only one aware of her title is a feline. She quiets when 'Toby' stops resisting and settles in with a little smile on her face. She's conscious enough to think he's a sweet kitty who deserves a kiss.

Only that's totally not a furry head she's just brushed her lips against. That's skin. Cue awkward eye-opening...]

[She ~~wants~~ needs the video Lestrade took of drugged Sherlock on his phone, alright? And the fact that she's had to wait because the detective inspector keeps odd hours just means it's hardly her fault that she's fallen asleep in his bed.

Uh huh. Sure Irene.]

[Right. So, he almost throws his coat on his bed before he realizes someone is in it. Strange breed of buglers cropping up these days. The kind that sneak and steal your bed. He does a quick check around the rest of the place. Nothing stolen that he can see. Nothing broken. Nothing really pointing to who she was or what she was doing there.

Finally, he comes back to the bed and stands next to it. He lets out a sigh and puts his hands on his hips. Sure, finding a beautiful woman in your bed is the stuff fantasies are made of but he's a detective inspector and there is little time for fantasies in real life.]

Mind explaining to me what you're doing here?

[She'd woken up when he first walked in, nearly tossing his coat on the bed, but Irene kept feigning sleep until he's made his rounds. Only then does she pretend to wake up, blinking sleep out of her eyes. She stretches on the bed and gives him an archly amused look.]

Right now? Seems like I'm being rudely woken up by a man who could have skipped that last cup of coffee at the office, if your disposition is any indication.

Yeah? Think I'm in the right seeing as you are trespassing. I can have you arrested for that.

[This would be wonderful if not for the breaking and entering and having no idea who she is. Dream come true, Greg. It really seems to bother him that she isn't bothered by this. ]

You could. [She's distinctly unconcerned by the idea. She knows any charges of trespassing or breaking and entering won't stick. She props herself up on one arm and continues speaking. Hope you don't mind your bed smelling like expensive perfume, Lestrade.]

But I haven't stolen anything, nor do I plan to. And I didn't break or force any locks to get into this flat. You'd have an interesting case to argue, Detective Inspector Lestrade.

Right. Could have gotten my name off the telly.

[Or his mail. He'd rather not think she knows more about him than his name. He brings a hand up to rub over his eyes. His night just keeps getting longer and longer.]

Just what do you want here?

The buzzer outside the building, actually. [And somebody in his department but that's her little secret.]

Nothing you aren't willing to share, I expect. Just a video file off your mobile.

[Oh. He should have thought of that but wait that still--]

[He gives her a stare. A video file off his phone? What does he have on. Oh. That explains who she is.]

No.

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Greg Lestrade | Sherlock (bbc)

emergency temporal shift!

oh god

that's 'oh god this is the best idea ever why didn't i think of it', right?

good oh god!

EXCELLENT.

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sorryyyyyyy late late

Re: Greg Lestrade | Sherlock (bbc)

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Oh God what am I doing

haha oh god

I have no idea how this will work but I'M NOT SORRY :D

it's gonna be terrible or wonderful or both!

At the very least Sherlock should be scared.

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