toblameforit | (no subject)

(no subject)

Tony stumbles into the kitchen wearing beat-up jeans, a white tank top, mismatched socks in scuffed old sneakers, and a triumphant grin. His hair is a mess and his clothing is covered in smudges of dirt and various colours of sawdust. Clearly, however, something is going right for him.

He makes a beeline for the coffee machine.

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"Neither do I, you may be assured." He grins. "Though I do wonder whether Riddle would take a reference to Reichenbach Falls as a compliment or a threat."

"He reads a lot. So maybe?"

She steps back, but doesn't let go of his hand quite yet.

"You should have your breakfast."

The waffle maker pings. He laughs. "Excellent timing," he says, and lets go of her hand to fetch himself a plate.

"What else can I tell you? Like I said when you were teaching me, I might not know what's important to look for."

He thinks about it while he extracts four thick, palm-sized waffles from the waffle maker. (They are kind of adorable.)

"You said that he likes to play with people. How?" he asks, pouring in the batter for a second batch and closing the machine. "I expect he does not usually start with summoning a demon."

Carrying plate and fork, he resumes his pacing.

She shifts from one foot to the other, and her eyes go back to the floor. This is the part that implicates her.

"He tests their weaknesses, makes them paranoid, worries them. With plain people, that's all we did. I mean, it's hardly worth the effort to summon a demon for plain people. There's no contest. It's too easy."

This will indicate to Sherlock that he has not been considered a "plain person". He's been a special case from the first.

"But tormenting stupid jocks with nightmare visions, stabbing pains, that sort of thing..." She uncuffs and then recuffs one sleeve. "That was fun."

Tom isn't the only one who enjoys power and control over others.

"If it was a magic user, though, we'd start with a demon. We'd summon it, send it on its errand, and then destroy it when it came back for payment. No one ever got away before. We used demons because so many people get killed by them here, and no one questions it. Except maybe the Slayer, and we've stayed way under her radar."

The implication that he is being treated on the same level as a magic user brings a dry little smile to his face. He eats quickly and neatly, always listening, always in motion.

"Hardly fair to the demons," he comments between bites. "I suppose I saved you a bit of trouble, then, killing the one you sent after me."

The bruise on his face is still quite visible, but he hardly seems to think about it, even now.

"Demons are brutal and not very smart," she sneers. "Or, at least, the ones we summoned were. We only tried summoning higher level ones a couple of times, but- it- it didn't go well."

Her eyes flicker to his face.

"I could take your bruise away. If you want me to. I can heal a little; Tom can't at all. I should have offered before."

If he runs into Tom, then Sherlock's healed wound would be her own snide message to Tom. 'I can do something you can't, and we're in league together whether you like it or not.' Plus, it would make her feel better to erase the proof of what she helped inflict upon him.

"Oh, I rather like it." He touches the edge of the bruise and grins. "A reminder of a more pleasant time. Thank you, but I think I shall keep it while it lasts."

(As he thought, then, Alec Carrow died in a demon attack. A summoning gone wrong, at that. He thinks of Tony's parents—of a drunken Howard Stark driving off a cliff with his wife in the passenger seat. Tragic.)

She nods. "Okay."

"It's just-"

It's hard for her to find the words to express what she wants to say. She was never good with talking. Alec did a lot of the talking for both of them.

"I'll help you however you need because I need to help you with this. It's not just for your sake alone, even though- I mean, I care about you. I do. A lot. But I stood up to Tom because I had to do it for me. You were my reason."

"Of course."

If anyone's going to understand being fiercely independent even while helping others, it's Sherlock.

She grins softly. Okay. Good. She's finally finding her voice, her determination, and herself. It only took eighteen years, the death of her twin, and meeting a real friend to help her find all three. It's hard - crazy hard - but she's not going back to being like she was.

"So... I don't suppose I could talk you into staying here today. With me. We could do some research into spells and more tests with the coat, and I could tell you more. Anything I can remember. I'll talk for days."

"Trying to keep me safe? A commendable effort. By all means, we can test the coat."

But he does not agree to stay home today.

The waffle maker pings again; he crosses the room to open it.

Ooh, Project Stall the Detective may be more of a success than she'd hoped. Even if he doesn't stay the whole day, she's bought a little more time to keep him here.

"Good. I tried some big stuff like lightning, but like I said, I want to make sure. Fire is one of Tom's favorite elements to call, like lightning is mine. I didn't try fire yet."

"After breakfast," he says serenely, loading more cute little waffles onto his plate. "Would you like one, by the way?"

"I had toast," she says. But those cute little waffles are awfully enticing.

"I could have one, if you don't mind sharing."

She remembers where he got his plate and takes one for herself. She hates poking through cupboards not knowing where things are. That's why she used a paper towel for the toast.

"By all means."

He takes three and leaves her the fourth.

This time, he sits at the table to eat. Right beside the coat.

She sits down, too, with her cute little waffle that is soon slathered in butter and syrup.

Oh, hey, look. This is the most normal thing that's happened to her in the past couple of days. Waffles for breakfast - yay!

"Mmm, delicious."

Sherlock smiles across the table at her. He likes it when people enjoy his cooking.

"Do you like making breakfast for all your house guests?"

She is still under the assumption that Sherlock has tons of friends who are all amazing and interesting people who just happen to be away on trips to, oh, Europe or the Canary Islands or other fascinating places.

"I like making breakfast for Tony, on the rare occasion when our schedules collide."

...That was not really an answer to her question.

Because the real answer to her question is 'what house guests?' or possibly 'Obadiah Stane can make his own bloody breakfast, thank you very much'.

She frowns slightly.

"So your friends don't come over? Even with the great guest rooms?"

The coven practically lived at Trixi's house at times.

He shrugs.

"I suppose they could, if I had any."

She blinks in surprise.

"Seriously? I thought you'd have- well, a lot of friends. You're such a good one to me."

"I believe I shall take that as a compliment, but no. By and large, they cannot get past the name."