bakerstreet | ( stargazing )

( stargazing )

Vega, Altair and Deneb, The Summer Triangle and the Milky way

the stargazing meme

oo1. comment with your characters
make sure to put names, series, & preferences somewhere!
you can use < ! > sans the spaces to make the comment "blank"
oo2. reply to others in character
oo3. use the rng and enter 1-10
oo4. play out what happens—anything goes!
oo5. profit? oh yeah!

prompts

one → meteor shower you just saw a falling star! and another! make a wish!
two → aliens what was that? was that really? omg no way a ufo!
three → lunar eclipse you've been sitting out for hours, waiting for this. it's so cool!
four → comet does it move fast or slow? either way, it's amazing.
five → full moon the moon is so huge! just don't look too long, it's really bright too.
six → star dust anything can happen in space. make up your own plot!
seven → solar eclipse this might be happening in the middle of the day!
eight → planet sighting is that a new star? nope, just a neighbor in the solar system!
nine → constellations do you know the stories behind these odd patterns?

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At one time, the man could speak portions of ten languages, but he learned French nearly out of play school. He understands more than he speaks now. He catches bits and pieces of the conversation. He thinks he might say hello, she clearly doesn't know she's trespassing.

She hangs up the call and sighs. It wasn't terrible news, but it wasn't the best either. There was still heat on them and it was still going to be a while before things were ironed out. Luckily they all had a lot of money to buy their way out of some situations, but it was going to take time to settle things on both sides. She was going to have to continue to lay low.

He finally will stand up, walking up and saying a rather quiet "Lovely night, eh?" The data comes rushing at him, that she might be freelance or an agent of Mycroft's, but he's been trying to face his fears. "Sorry to disturb you." He's watching the stars, reminding himself he's fine outside and they're very pretty.

She's on his land, and he doesn't care as long as she doesn't mean him or his bees any harm.

She hears someone rustling in the grass behind her and she's immediately up and on her guard. Her first thought is that the Mark's people have found her. Or maybe their client's people. The silhouetted outline of the person is tall and slightly imposing, at least to her.

"It's...okay," she says, sounding distracted and nervous, her eyes darting around a bit to try to spot any backup. Or maybe this is just a random citizen, someone who doesn't mean her harm.

"I've disturbed you," he says quietly. "You can. Er. Stay. If you want. As long as you don't disturb the apiary." My bees. Get them disturbed. He doesn't like admitting he's more concerned about his bees than her.

"The apiary?" she says, looking confused. Her brain is still in paranoia mode and it takes her a moment to realize he's talking about bees. The house in the distance, it must be his. And this soft-spoken man certainly didn't seem like a contract killer. "Crap, am I on your property? I didn't realize...I'm really sorry. It just looked like an empty field and they said about the meteor shower....I just...thought it would be a good place to see it. I can definitely find another place..."

She's rambling and feeling foolish for being so freaked out at first. But also relieved that this man is some kind of bee farmer and not an assassin.

"You're afraid of someone," he rubs his arms, not really looking at her.

"Hmm? Oh...no....I'm fine," she says, trying to appear like nothing's wrong. "I just...didn't expect anyone to be out here."

He's a bit of an odd one she thinks, but perceptive.

"I'm Ari by the way."

She holds out her hand to shake his, figuring since she's trespassing on his land, she might as well introduce herself. She gives him her real (nick)name even. Not the fake one she's used on jobs since Arthur had created the alias for her after the Fischer job.

He frowns, and it takes him a minute to tentatively take her fingers and shake her hand. He's a lot better than he was but still not very socially adept. "Ari. I'm. Sherlock." It's his name, yes, but it still feels foreign. He knows she's lying, so he repeats what he's been told.

"Nobody's going to hurt you out here." He still doesn't always believe it. He blinks and will look up as the sky flickers a little. Here's just as good a spot as where he was to watch it.

She starts to feel awkward with her hand hanging out there, when he finally shakes it.

"Sherlock," she says in the way she's always done when she meets someone new because otherwise she'll forget their name two seconds later. Although, his name is one that's both hard to forget because of its uniqueness but also sounds familiar. She can't place it though.

"I...um...why would you say that to me?"

She looks up as she sees him do, her question hanging in the air as she sees a blip shoot across it.

He doesn't answer the question, even though he does think about it throughout the meteor shower. He doesn't know what to stay, and it's better to just watch the stars. He wishes for a lot of things, even though wishing on shooting stars and comets are pointless fairy tales.

Mostly he wants to go home even if noise unnerves him.

She gets lost in the shower of light, also making wishes in spite of her own general practicality. She's seen some impossible things that past few years and she can't discount anything at this point. Her hand, without her even realizing, has slipped into her pocket and has a death grip on her totem. Amazing things like falling stars and perfect night skies and gorgeous sunsets always have a tinge of unreality to them and it gives her a little bit of mental vertigo that only the cold metal of her chess piece against the sweaty palm of her hand can calm.

Her wishes mostly involve her getting to go home too. And figuring out what to do with her life next.

He wants to go back home to the bustling city, even if when he's there it gives him a headache. The meteor shower ends and he might get up to leave, looking a little stiff. Broken bones had healed, but - he'd rather not talk about it. He thinks maybe he'd like to invite her in, but... He's not easily about to trust strangers. He'll squint at her again, trying to be logical even in the very dim light.

She watches the sky for just a moment or two more even after the last light has fallen and then gets to her feet when she realizes he is already up on his.

"That was beautiful," she says as she brushes off her jeans, more something to do than actually removing dirt. He's sizing her up she thinks but she's not sure why. And she wishes the light were brighter because she can't get much of a handle on him at all. "Um...thanks for letting me stay to watch."

"Are they bad people?" He asks, ignoring her statement, and clearing his throat a little. "The ones who are chasing you." She's running from something, but he can't quite tell what she's trying to get away from.

He supposes he's maybe a bit mad, it feels like not all the pieces are there some of the time.

She sighs because he's clearly got a handle on her and isn't going to let it go. And because yes, they're bad people.

"They are," she says with a nod, looking suddenly a bit tired. It's tiring all this moving around. She always imagined a backpacking trip through Europe as a fun adventure with friends. This one has been trying and lonely, even though she has been doing her best to make the best of it and see some wonderful things along the way.

He blinks for awhile. "You could erm. Sleep, on...sofa if you want." He gestures to the cottage. "I'm not bad," he states, a bit earnest. He likes helping after all, and it's rare he feels comfortable around someone he doesn't know. Usually strangers make him nervous and shy.

The offer is somewhat surprising and it probably shows on her face. The one thing she still needed to work on in the business was her poker face. The kindness of strangers here is still surprising to her. She thinks she's spent too much time in big cities and with bad people.

"You don't seem bad," she assures him. And she thinks about the hostel she was going to walk back to and the prospect of drunken Irish teenagers waking her up in the middle of the night. The feeling of being even more lonely around more people. Her mother's voice in her head is warning her of the dangers of going back to a strange man's house alone, but her mother's voice forgets that she's done a lot worse and risky things lately.

"I...that would be...I mean...if you wouldn't mind. I can give you some money."

Something she's in no lack of even if she looks like a raggedy, poor uni student.

He shrugs. He doesn't really care about money a lot. His honey sells and he has enough for winter.

He just turns to lead the way. The cottage is small, white crates in the backyard and the hum of what is obviously bees, though it's quieter now because it's so late.

He's wary still, the cottage is a bit...disorganized, but there's books and science magazines on the sofa and he seems to scuffle to clean it up. There's a cane in the corner, but he doesn't use it that often. Only on 'bad days'.

She gathers up her things - blanket and her bag and the barely touched can of cider - and follows him to the cottage. He wasn't joking about the bees part, she thinks as they walk by the crates.

The inside of the cottage is cluttered but cozy feeling. A home. It makes her ache for her own. Her father was a bit of a clutter bug himself. An intellectual with no time to deal with things like organization and cleaning. Too many things to read about and research and discover.

She takes off her shoes at the door because it's what she's been taught (by her much more neat and organized mother) and watches as he tidies up a bit, just looking at the things around her, trying to figure him out at least a little.

He seems to have a rhythm - or perhaps a ritual - way of doing things. Clear off the sofa, set off a few blankets, clear the teacup on the coffee table, take it to the sink, then the dishwasher. He might seem to have an odd way of walking, sometimes limping, other strides fine.

He just seems to go about his tasks without noticing her much, then shifting to the kettle to warm some milk. Warm milk helps him sleep.

Soldier, she thinks. Maybe. The slight limp, the movements that look practiced or at least done the same way over and over. And the way he just leads her in and lets her be without indicating she should sit on the couch or tell her where the bathroom is. Those things actually remind her more of her father's university friends. Smartest people you could know, but a clear lack of social skills.

Soldier turned professor turned bee keeper?

She takes it upon herself to set her things down near the coffee table and take a seat on the couch. The table in front of her is piled with books and magazines of all kinds. Topics that don't seem to go together at all. He's certainly an interesting man whoever he is.

It's not until she spots the volume on Essential Forensic Biology that she puts his name into context, her head lifting up to watch him puttering in the kitchen.

No. It couldn't be. She'd read some of the stories of his detecting skills of the cases he'd solved. He was brilliant and famous. World famous even. But this couldn't be the same man.

He shifts,after the milk is warm, stirring in some honey into the cocoa and warm milk and handing her the one cup. He's used to making just one, for him. Brother never wants any. He then turns to make the other, tapping his foot a little.

He doesn't seem to care about her looking through his books, almost acting as though he hasn't noticed.

"Thank you," she says as she takes the cup from him and breathes in the smell of the cocoa, blowing on it a bit before taking a sip, still watching him. Maybe a little bit closer now. She was curious before but now she's intrigued. It's like when that one actor's name who played in that thing that time escapes your mind and you can't let it go until you come up with it. That's how Ari is when a piece of knowledge is just right out of her reach. It's a compulsion to know the thing for sure.

"This is very good. How long have you been keeping bees?"

"Year and a half," he stirs the honey, not clinking the spoon against the cup. Carefully. Doesn't like the sound of metal and ceramic.

He puts the spoon on the counter and sits in the chair, sipping hiss cup.

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