fear_the_squee: We solve crimes, I blog about it, and he forgets his pants. (Default)
[personal profile] fear_the_squee
Chapter 4 of Pull the Stars from the Sky has gone to beta, all 6,600+ words of it! I realized I don't do nearly enough stuff with this journal, so behind the cut is the first scene of chapter 4 for your sneaky viewing pleasure. :)


Chapter 4: Devil Sleeping in My Bed

TOUCH HIM AGAIN AND I WILL SKIN YOU.

Sherlock looked at the words, then looked at the mess in Irene’s room. Molly stood with her arm around Irene, who looked stunned. Greg was pacing, leaving Sherlock to try to piece together what happened. The first thing John did was to knock the bathroom door open wide—had it been closed, no doubt he would have kicked it open. Then he checked the small closet by the bathroom. John even looked under the bed to make certain there was no room for a person under there. He was clearing the room, Sherlock realised. If he squinted, he could half-see the rifle in John’s hands. There was no logical reason for the sudden beat of Sherlock’s pulse in his temples.

Instead of a rifle, John had his cheap mobile out, provided for the sole purpose of keeping them all in touch with each other in the States. Before dialling, he looked at Greg, “So you just left them alone to come and find me? What were you thinking?” He didn’t give Greg a chance to answer, instead dialled and headed back towards the room door. As he passed Irene and Molly, he laid a hand on Irene’s shoulder briefly, then his call connected. “Harry. Yeah, I know what time it is. Listen. We have a problem.” He passed into the hall and closed the door behind him.

On an initial glance, it looked as if the room had been vandalised. As Sherlock looked closer, however, it was apparent that—aside from the writing on the mirror—no actual hotel property was damaged. The destruction was limited to Irene’s belongings—clothing, shoes, toiletries, nothing had been left untouched. How long would it take to be so targeted and thorough? He looked back to the writing on the mirror. Difficult to tell, as mirror writing wasn’t precisely the same as writing on paper… he’d need to compare with the originals to be certain. He headed for the door.

“Right,” John was saying, “I should have guessed you’d have a plan for everything. Hang on.” He reached out and snagged Sherlock by the sleeve. “Where the hell are you going?”

“Back to the room. I need something there.”

“Not by yourself, you’re not. Take Greg. I’ll stay here with the girls.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but ducked back into the room. “I’m not to go anywhere without an escort, according to the Captain,” he said.

“Bloody hell,” said Greg. “I’ll come. Let me ring Sally and Donovan.”

“Call on the way. I have something you need to see.”

+++

“Jesus, Sherlock. Were you planning on telling anybody about this?” Greg looked at the two notes, side by side on the dresser. The first, the request to wear the cutaway coat, the second, found after that night at the club:

Is that how you want to play? I can be unexpected as well, love. We’ll talk soon.
-J


Sherlock looked at the notes. In hindsight… well, everything was clearer there, wasn’t it? “It didn’t seem important,” he said.

“Not important. Someone sends you notes telling you how to dress and you don’t thi—” Greg took a closer look, then laughed. “Oh you cagey bastard.” Sherlock moved to pick up the notes, and Greg caught his hand. “You thought they were from him.”

Sherlock pulled his hand away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do.” Greg grinned. “Did I interrupt something earlier?”

“Shut up.” Sherlock scooped up the notes. “Come on. Let’s get back.”

“Christ,” Greg shook his head. “It’s the same person who trashed Irene’s room, isn’t it?”

“It might be.”

“I never thought I’d miss the days when your creepy fan mail came via the post.”
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fear_the_squee: We solve crimes, I blog about it, and he forgets his pants. (Default)
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