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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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."

"Well, they're stupid, is what they are."

It's an unusual name, and maybe it's unusual for someone to be a fictional character. Alyce won't deny that it's a little hard to understand, but she also gets that he's not pretending. He is who he thinks he is.

And Alyce is okay with unusual.

She reaches across the table to squeeze his hand.

"You're my only friend outside the coven since elementary school. So we'll stick together, okay?

He clasps her hand in turn, smiling softly.

"I would like that."

"Should I- do you want me to go with you? When you go? I will. It's my fight, too."

Alyce doesn't know much beyond the Sherlock Holmes cultural icon of 'detective, pipe, and hat'. She doesn't even know who Watson is. She doesn't know that she's suggesting taking a similar place by Sherlock's side.

Sherlock hesitates.

But: "I am still hoping it may not come to a fight. For now, I think stealth is in order, and as I recall that is not your strong suit."

Oh, stealth! Stealth is good! Alyce approves of stealth.

(Even if she does, indeed, suck at being stealthy.)

"See? There's another thing you'll have to teach me. Later on."

"Later on," he agrees, reclaiming his hand to take the last few bites of his penultimate waffle.

Alyce finishes her waffle and then takes her plate to the sink. She can't stall him much longer, but stealthy reconnaissance is safer than seeking an outright confrontation. That makes her feel a little better.

While he's gone, she's going to do research. She never has before, but she knows which sites Evan always used. It's time for her to figure some things out, and she's fairly sure there's a computer hooked up to the Internet somewhere in this mansion.

"So, yeah, when you're done, we'll do those tests. I'm in the mood for some more magic."

The last waffle goes by quicker.

He collects his plate and Tony's abandoned coffee mug and remands them into the custody of the sink, then returns to the table to pick up the coat and shrug it on.

Tony really did make it for him—for him, and no one else. It looks, somehow, exactly right.

She rinses the syrup off of both of their plates. When she turns around, she sees Sherlock in the coat.

Just when she thinks he cannot possibly become more desirable in her eyes, he goes and puts on a badass coat that makes him look so hot she can barely stand it. She takes a little breath and dials down her hormones a notch or five.

"Wow. You look like an action-adventure hero from a black and white movie. That's a compliment, by the way."

Guh. Damn it. It is so not fair.

"Thank you," he says, glancing down at himself. "Tony does have an eye for this sort of thing."

When he fastens the buttons, they stop just short of constricting his range of motion. Of course Tony would have calculated that, expecting him to do anything and everything, up to and including fistfights with vampires, while wearing this. The front of the coat comes together almost seamlessly when he stands still; when he moves, the scales glide past each other with hardly a click.

"Shall we? He must have set up the downstairs workshop for testing."

Her eyes linger on him for a moment longer than a platonic friend's might. Then she snaps out of it.

"He does. And I'll try not to break anything this time, either."

He flashes a smile and leads her to the stairs.

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