.・゜゜・｡･:*˚:✧｡ james moriarty
A new life. A new city. And a hell of a lot of trouble.
Renzo, otherwise known as Rens Drake, is a Scottish boy, recently moved to London for a fresh start. However, with a criminal lifestyle, will pickpocketing informat...
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"SO YOU AND SHERLOCK? Is that a thing?" John asks me, although I'm currently sat on the said detective's lap (out of stubborness of not wanting to sit half way across the room), as he sips his tea. Nevermind; he spat it out.
"I don't know, is it?" I ask Sherlock as he tries to recover from his momentary fit. His face is noticeably pink, has been every time he looks at me due to the kiss-but-not-kiss incident two days ago. I've been flirting with him ever since and using my charm around solving cases, James was right when he said the Holmes boy liked me.
His grip on my waist tightens, I can tell how he wants to answer, I can also tell he's trying to conceal his emotions; the ones he doesn't understand. An attempt at speech is made, however he stops himself and continues to drink his tea, refusing to answer the question.
"Guess not." I blandly answer the doctor, John being slightly disappointed to which I smirk. "Though I wouldn't be complaining if it was~"
There goes the tea. Again.
John and I are snickering as the young detective attempts to compose himself, suddenly there was a ping sound, the two men practically jump to John's phone, although I remain confused.
"Oh, before we came to you for help, we found out that the victims phone was missing, so we decided to text the killer, we ended up attempting to meet him at a cafe, that's what resulted in the cab incident." Sherlock replies to my unasked question, knowing that if he didn't then I would be pissed off at the pair. So the victim planted the phone on the killer? Smart; or a coincidence. Knowing James, it's probably the latter, and it was set up to seem that way.
I've come to realise how much I actually think of the raven haired Irish man. I don't want to be used though, besides I need to focus on pleasing Sherlock; though truth be told I only agreed to the game because of the interest I had taken in the consulting criminal.
"So anything?" I ask, not particularly interested, though I can tell by Sherlock's disappointment that it was nothing, getting back into a comfortable position on his chair with myself once again placed neatly on his lap.
"Nothing."
"Well not nothing, at least not for me." John whines from behind his phone, answering the text.
"Anyway, how long have you two known eachother?" I ask now more curious.
"Thought you knew everything?" John quips, to which I stick my tongue out at him, then turn to Sherlock, who is already on answering the question.
"Couple of hours before this case."
"Woah, really?"
"Yeah, crazy huh?" John answers, though his attention is taken back to his phone, before he is standing and leaving with the excuses of needing to do something. As he leaves the room is silent, I take the opportunity to give a very noticeable and knowing look at that detective, which he attempts to ignore.
"So, do you just like wasting good tea or are you gonna admit that you have a soft spot for me?" I slightly pry, knowing that Sherlock isn't really one to talk about these kinds of things, well especially not openly, or coherently.
"We're going out." He jumps up from the chair, maneuvering in a certain way that has me sliding from his lap and back into the comfortable leather chair.
"As in dating?" I ask, hopeful that I may have made an advance in my mission. Also feeling a little proud at the thought that this socially awkward man could be so forward about something so personal.
"As in a case." Well there goes that idea. He speaks without eye contact, rhythmically tieing his scarf, as I begrudgingly yank on my large brown boots. The differences in our mannerisms truly shining.
"At least get me dinner while we're out." Muttering as I follow the man out the door, him grabbing his signature coat and me throwing on a classic rustic looking brown leather jacket, also wearing a green scarf of my own.
"We'll see."
-- (time skip till they come back- lestrade at baker st getting the case and shit)
Arriving back to Baker's Street in a blissful silence, myself happily munching away on my popcorn chicken from KFC, which I had convinced Sherlock to buy for me. As he leads me through the door he swipes the small nugget I was about to eat, popping it into his mouth and laughing before I even realise what is going on.
All too soon, he stops.
I hear it, the shuffling of many feet upstairs. Racing up the stairs, Sherlie is ahead of me and already questioning Lestrade. I stay in my place by the doorway, near Mrs.Hudson, the said lady fumbling her apologies to the flat tenents as she swears that she tried to stop them.
Amongst the commotion, everyone still busy, questioning Sherl as to why he has the victims case in his apartment, Mrs.Hudson rushes to the sound of a knocking on the door.
I take a step or two into the room, everyone becoming even more hectic. Mrs.Hudson appears again, telling Sherlock that his cab is here, only for him to dismiss her and try and focus on what Lestrade is nagging about.
As though in slow motion, everything quietens down, or at least for me. My attention averted to a new presence, an aged man, climbing the creaking stairs; a cabbie.
Once at the top, he pulls out a pink phone, presses the screen, then proceeds back down the stairs. Simultaneously Sherlock receives a text, and tuning back into the conversation I realise they are dicussing the phone has been located through an app to this address.
Looking to his phone, he absently excused himself, myself following him close behind, although he doesn't seem to acknowledge my presence. We get out the door, standing in the archway like a pair of children eager for a movie to start.
Our curiosity coming face to face with our killer.
--$-- Ooooo I have plans for this And it's sorta a cliff hanger C'mon, you sherlockians have watched the show ;) How are you guys liking baby boi Renzo so far? Leave comments~
