Kairi stripped off her coat as she stepped inside her home after taking Toby for a walk. Thankfully, Terrence had called off their meeting today, as he was tending to his mother in the hospital after some sort of fit — something he felt comfortable sharing with Kairi it seemed, and it made her slightly uneasy. Though it tugged at her greatly that he was going through something so akin to her own torment, she did her best to remain positive and supportive, instead of delving into depression. She wanted to be there for him, but not over step boundaries. Terrence was horribly nice and it was almost painfully unfortunate how awfully pretty he was. She didn't want any more problems erupting in her personal life, but she also didn't want him to feel alone. He had lost a lot of his family already and she knew that sort of sadness. Befriending him was no sin, finding him aesthetically pleasing was also acceptable, being supportive and kind, these were all things that she could do, but betraying Sherlock's trust — especially emotionally — was something she was horrified of. As long as she remained amicable without being flirtatious she would be fine. It's not as if she has had a lot of experience in being remotely flirtatious, but she needed to be wary when being a decent human being so often became blurred with sexual invitation. She had decided to take Toby on a lengthy walk to clear her mind.
The last few days had been oppressive to say the least. She had been running around between Terrence's home and Plutus Inc. in the heart of London. Going back and forth between the two was difficult, but traveling so often, sometimes hours out of town each day, was starting to wear on her. At least she was traveling in style, either carpooling with Terrence and Henry in one of Terrence's magnanimous vehicles or hitching a ride with Mycroft in the city. She couldn't complain that life had its little comforts.
She let her thoughts stray for a moment when she thought of Mycroft. The man was as unyielding as stone — though she could barely make that metaphor since he seemed to be even more resilient than that. He always appeared unfazed by the chaos that shrouded his secret organization and being intimately involved in some of his day to day functions made Kairi appreciate that he was who he was. She admired him, but she'd never tell Sherlock that. Ever. He was a decent man and funny when he wanted to be — he had a way of arching an eye brow or staring at someone patronizingly that made him seem like he almost had a sense of humor. He appeared to have little time for personal attachment, but Kairi thought that he liked her. He hadn't killed her yet, so that had to mean something.
She got distracted from her tirade of Mycroft-centric thoughts by the absolutely chilling music that was coming from upstairs. She threw all non-essential belongings on her table and ran to her room to change into something more comfortable, a simple wrap around sweater dress with buttons down the side, plus her trusty slippers, before practically sprinting up the stairs taking two at a time, which was quite a stretch for her stumpy legs. If she had an opportunity to listen to Sherlock play the violin, she'd pounce on it like Gollum on The Ring.
There was nothing so beautiful as watching an artist at work. Even harried, disjointed talent had a sort of symphony to it. A good comparison would be watching Sherlock doing his deductive work. It was usually explosive, erratic, but somehow blending back into something uniquely beautiful and cohesive. It was surprising, difficult to really follow when you were an outsider, but in the end it all sort of ended up woven together in this lovely little tapestry of observations. He was blunt when he worked that way, always a little bit scathing and grumpy, but it was still amazing to behold. He had no time to waste, his untethered mind going at full speed while he was solving a case, almost like watching neural synapses connecting and forming cogent thoughts right in that exact second. It was jarring.
The opposite end of the spectrum was watching Sherlock play the violin. How that man was so mutable always seemed to amaze her! He could go from cold and distant, to warm and enlivening so quickly it could cause whiplash. She had known him a decent amount of time to understand how he was — that was an interesting fact about him: once he let a person in, they were in and had little choice in the matter unless one fucked it all up somehow. His changeability was one of the things that made him so great. He was diverse and different and always interesting.
