[ He raises an eyebrow, because of course it holds onto consulting detectives. Holds onto everyone. ]
Himself?
[ And then a great deal of things, but it basically all came down to that in the end. Not that John isn't guilty of it too. Their lifestyle. Bringing attention to themselves.
Well. That was mostly his doing. He's still a little angry at himself about it.
That first go, though, was most definitely just Sherlock. Possibly the cab egging him on - he doesn't know, he wasn't there - but Sherlock's an idiot. He needs looking after. ]
[ his answer makes her smile because himself rings true to her. oh if there were a watson there to keep sherlock from falling into drugs. but then there wasn't, the fall was necessary for the tale, wasn't it? but sherlock holmes is dangerous to himself and that is why he needs a watson. to not fall into drugs.
( to not fall into the likes of jamie moriarty, perhaps ) ]
Are you a doctor or a babysitter, John Watson?
[ she gets up, fluid and easygoing, takes a book from the shelf and browses through it ]
[ she lifts her eyes from the book and smiles, something crooked and charming and annoying as Jamie can be. She places a hand over her heart and it's all very dramatic. ]
John Watson, you wound me. Are you not one of finer manners than to ask that of a lady?
[ because, criminal mastermind or not, she does have her manners. she grins, moves back to the armchair. ]
Don't worry, I assure you, by the time Sherlock will come back, I'll be quite gone.
[ her look sharpens into something a bit scolding, as if it's even a question because Jamie is a creature of certainties and confidence. it's part of her allure and it's part of her many flaws. She doesn't address the question, half thinks he doesn't expect her to. ]
[ That gets a snort and he looks to the side. Most of them come down to differences between Jim and Jamie. He's not sure how to go about that. Answers probably come best from just watching. Maybe. He doesn't know.
He shakes his head. ]
Knowing one Sherlock Holmes doesn't mean you know them all.
[ for a moment she seems like she might laugh but it doesn't come ( jamie moriarty so rarely ever laughs and when she does, it is a frightening thing ) ]
[ look at her walking over to your kitchen to take a biscuit. look at her knowing exactly where everything is. she'll take a bite on the way back, still casually barefoot and you know john, everyone else would mistake it for a date!! ]
I waged you thought being off guard in my company would lend you in a less pleasant position?
[ she smiles. ]
I have no plans to hurt you, John Watson. Nor do I have any motivation to.
[ she slips into her shoes, high heeled and dark blue and steps past him, all perfume and red lips. a moment before she's gone she'll lean and press a kiss to his cheek. ]
I trust we shall meet again.
[ and then she's gone. the only proof of her being there is her empty cup of tea and a little drawing on the edge of the napkin she used; a well detailed peony in blue ink. ]
Oh god, he just got kissed on the cheek by a Moriarty. A Moriarty. Whatever she says about not intending to hurt him doesn't matter because that is just. Wrong. And uncomfortable. And awful and, god, why him.
As soon as she's out the door, he makes sure it's closed properly and then braces a hand against it, and takes a few deep breaths. Okay. Okay.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action;
Himself?
[ And then a great deal of things, but it basically all came down to that in the end. Not that John isn't guilty of it too. Their lifestyle. Bringing attention to themselves.
Well. That was mostly his doing. He's still a little angry at himself about it.
That first go, though, was most definitely just Sherlock. Possibly the cab egging him on - he doesn't know, he wasn't there - but Sherlock's an idiot. He needs looking after. ]
action;
( to not fall into the likes of jamie moriarty, perhaps ) ]
Are you a doctor or a babysitter, John Watson?
[ she gets up, fluid and easygoing, takes a book from the shelf and browses through it ]
action;
[ A frown. Enough talking about him. ]
How long were you planning to stay?
action;
John Watson, you wound me. Are you not one of finer manners than to ask that of a lady?
[ because, criminal mastermind or not, she does have her manners. she grins, moves back to the armchair. ]
Don't worry, I assure you, by the time Sherlock will come back, I'll be quite gone.
action;
Sure of that, are you?
action;
You have things you want to ask me.
[ not a question. ]
action;
He shakes his head. ]
Knowing one Sherlock Holmes doesn't mean you know them all.
[ Once again, it also comes down to why him? ]
action;
[ she frowns, as if the implication is worrisome. sherlock is one of her favorite art pieces, she has no doubt the other would be as interesting. ]
action;
And you wanted to talk to my why exactly? I'm still not following.
action;
[ as if it explains everything. her voice is soft around his name and she leans forward, as if to share a secret. ]
Sherlock may be different but he's still predictably similar. You and Joan however, I cannot see the pattern. Aside of Sherlock, naturally.
action;
Shrug. ]
All right, then. Feel free to share when you work it out.
action;
[ t h i s s m i l e ]
action;
Bugger. ]
It isn't.
action;
You do not seem so certain.
action;
action;
Wasn't it? I could swear.
action;
[ Her knowing she caught him off guard is better than her thinking he agrees.
Maybe.
On second thought, it probably doesn't make a difference to her either way. He is so rubbish at this. Where's Sherlock when you need him? ]
action;
[ she smiles. ]
I have no plans to hurt you, John Watson. Nor do I have any motivation to.
[ she slips into her shoes, high heeled and dark blue and steps past him, all perfume and red lips. a moment before she's gone she'll lean and press a kiss to his cheek. ]
I trust we shall meet again.
[ and then she's gone. the only proof of her being there is her empty cup of tea and a little drawing on the edge of the napkin she used; a well detailed peony in blue ink. ]
action;
Oh god, he just got kissed on the cheek by a Moriarty. A Moriarty. Whatever she says about not intending to hurt him doesn't matter because that is just. Wrong. And uncomfortable. And awful and, god, why him.
As soon as she's out the door, he makes sure it's closed properly and then braces a hand against it, and takes a few deep breaths. Okay. Okay.
Shit. ]