Royalty

Chapter Nine: Caring Is Not An Advantage

I made my way back to Baker Street, wincing from my ankle, but not really feeling the pain.

When I got back into the flat, I sighed happily, flopping down on the couch.

He was nice.

And he looked pretty good.

You didn't get those things together very often.

My phone buzzed, and I snapped myself out of Neverland. Reality, Astra, reality.

Don't call unless it's an emergency, trying to be quiet. - SH

That was all the information Sherlock was going to give me. Speaking of which, I should probably focus back on the case at hand. I sighed, putting both phones on the end table and once again picking up the magazine with the Lost Vermeer painting pictured.

What had the bomber said, what had he said ... you were close. I was close. To figuring out the painting. I glanced out the windows. It was starting to get dark, and judging by Sherlock's text, I couldn't expect him and John back anytime soon.

I flipped to the picture. What had I been looking at ... the building structure. But the second I had searched anything, the text had come through immediately. I needed more info ... maybe from the bomber? As much as I hated talking to him, he might have something that could help, if I could get it out of him.

I doubted he would comply if I started the conversation. But if I made him think he was instigating it ...

I hesitantly grabbed my phone, searching "17th century towns". The response only took a minute or two.

Alright, what do you want?

I smirked, typing an innocent reply. Who said I wanted anything?

Please. I told you you were looking in the wrong direction, and you immediately head in that direction again, and I know you're not stupid, nor do you have short-term memory loss. Now, what do you want?

All right, so he's pretentious and a murderous bastard, but he's smart and witty. I want a hint.

What makes you think you'll get one?

Worth a shot. I'll let you get back to press-ganging suicide bombers.

Well, hang on. What kind of hint?

Are you bored or something? You were more than happy to let me go before. The response takes a moment.

I'm playing this game, and you think I'm not bored?

Fine. Then give me a hint.

Well, I can't make it easy. I rolled my eyes.

What must I do to gain your oh-so-important-to-me favor?

Well, you could start by dropping just a little of your sarcasm.

What do I have to do to get a hint?

First of all, why don't you apologize for shouting at me earlier? I bit my tongue. It almost physically pained me to type my response.

I am sorry for shouting at you.

"and you didn't deserve it."

Are ... are you serious?

"and you didn't deserve it." Come on, you might get your hint if you do ... wouldn't that be worth it?

... I am sorry for shouting at you. And you didn't deserve it.