OPEN POST; [ HERLOCK SHOLMES / TGAA ]

[retroductions]

(( hold you in my dreams ))

Comments

[spelljam]

[ she gazes at her for a few moments, smiles thinly, takes the suitcase. it's true; she hefts it with little trouble. ]

My husband. We have been apart for very long time.

[retroductions]

[No trouble at all! What a very strong woman.

"Mrs. Minicle" gives a light chuckle and adjusts her spectacles again, looking out among the crowd. No one pays either of them any heed, too caught up in their own forward-marching schedules to spare attention to anything else. Just another typical day in this city.]

Oh, your husband! Then I can't imagine how eager you must be. Is he short? Tall? A gentleman? Working class? Dark-haired or pale?

[spelljam]

You want to hear woman swoon? [ she laughs, sort of ] He is tall and pale, and slender, with beautiful smile. Good-for-nothing rapscallion. I am told he is not romantically-inclined man. No, he is renowned detective, and that is all that is holding his eye before me, and all that will be holding his eye after me, as well. Perhaps I have been so long in my arrival that he has forgotten there was ever any other.

[retroductions]

[Mrs. Minicle listens, smiling all the while. She doesn't seem to have a reply immediately after, as though turning this description over in her mind as they try to wend through the crowd — taking it slow to look for this rather interesting specimen she's just described.]

He sounds like quite a fellow. A renowned detective... Oh, I think I've heard tell of one of those scrambling about now and again. Or read something in the paper? A very handsome fellow, perhaps...

[Trails off, considering, then-]

But such a lovely woman like yourself? Romantic or otherwise, how can you not be a constant in his mind with each passing day? Hm? Surely a great, consulting detective is no fool, and misses you dearly.

[spelljam]

You are thinking so?

[ maybe. maybe. and maybe he would think differently, if he knew why she was so long coming. the thought it nearly laughable—Herlock has been so considerate of her from the very beginning—but London is so overwhelmingly different and unfamiliar that Sprezzatura's logic has muddied. gone to reconvene elsewhere.

she starts to cross the street towards the hansom with a bag—the old woman's and her own bag—beneath each arm. ]

I did not get your name.

1/4

[retroductions]

[The driver of the hansom, an older fellow with a greying beard, seems a jovial sort. Once they both near, he smiles congenially at them both, tipping his hat.

Mrs. Minicle just titters an assured laugh in reply.]

Oh, I'm certain of it. This city offers so much, it's easy to get lost within the flow, even the humdrum... But! That means the people truly precious to us are what add color to the grey and the drab; all the more missed when they have been departed for so long.

[The reach the cab.]

Anyhow, dearie, my name is Mrs—

[retroductions]

[The cab driver, oblivious to all else, interrupts amusedly.]

"Mr Sholmes! What in heaven's name are you wearing? Leave as a detective, come back looking like a withered old mam, what are you on about? Is this one of your... ah, cases?"

[retroductions]

[hrk]

[retroductions]

[MRS MINICLE LAUGHS LOUDLY AND REPLIES QUICKLY, PUSHING UP HER GLASSES-]

O-oh, is the great consulting detective Herlock Sholmes here?! We must ask for an autograph posthaste, I hear they go for at least three hundred pounds apiece on the, err, black market!

[spelljam]

[ WELL! a shocked glance at the driver becomes a far keener, assessing stare aimed directly at this "little" old lady. her heart is a drum in her throat, painful and fast ]

I am sorry. [ doesn't sound sorry ] With your driver interrupting, I did not catch your name.

[retroductions]

[Gesticulates wildly.]

M-Mrs Minicle! That's my name, dear, I'm merely an elderly woman who lives in Middlesex! I collect tea cups and Bibles! I have three cats and a boa constrictor! And-

"Mrs Minicle? The one you said was too tall to pull off as a proper old lady? You giving it another spin for improvement or something—"

[SPEAKS LOUDER-] -I AM, INDEED, YOUR BELOVED HUSBAND HERLOCK SHOLMES COME TO SURPRISE YOU UPON YOUR ARRIVAL TO LONDON.

[spelljam]

Oh.

[spelljam]

[ BASHES HIM WITH HER LUGGAGE ]

Bastard! Hooligan! Ne'er-do-well! You are thinking yourself so funny? So clever? I am away from you for longer than we were ever together and this is how you think to greet me? Pretending to be someone else so I get off train and feel—

[ her voice cracks. feel forgotten. ]

[retroductions]

[STRUCK BODILY BY HER LUGGAGE

The way he wheels backward and lands on his ass is probably not all that performative, given her strength. Indeed, he got what was coming to him, but he's up in the next moment with surprising vigor, though with a welting red mark on the side of his face to show for it. Not to mention skewed glasses and a wig that is only half clinging on.

The cab driver sure gets a show.]

My love, I didn't— You are construing it as a prank when it was well meant to be a surprise! A grand surprise, indeed, for if my own wife could not recognize me as Mrs Minicle, then who might! [The way Sprezzatura's voice cracks, though, means there is something he must mend posthaste.] You would never be a lapse in my memory, far too important for it. What Mrs Minicle said was true!

[spelljam]

[ in her heart of hearts, she feels some grief for the sight of that welt on his face, and the glasses askew, and his frantic explanation that only makes her cheeks burn hotter with shame. my love, those words she has longed to hear in his voice for so long, and now that it's come, she's nearly in tears. ]

I do not care what Mrs Minicle say! Do you know how long I have been longing to see you? I wished to run across platform and throw myself into your arms, but instead I am bludgeoning you in street and people are staring!

[ they are. not many, but a few. ]

[retroductions]

[It is a dawning realization, indeed, that perhaps trying to surprise-his-wife-and-also-(re)test-the-efficacy-of-an-old-disguise instead of meeting her normally at the station, arms wide open and bright smiles, was a mistake.

Ah, but what else is new for Herlock Sholmes, operating on impulse and oft making a mess of things? Yes, the cab driver and other passerbys are certainly getting a show, but Sholmes hardly cares; instead, he reaches out to take her free hand — the one that isn’t white-knuckled gripping the luggage.]

Sprezzatura, you must forgive me. It was a rare but dire miscalculation on my part, and I would only ever wish for a joyful reunion between us.

You might throw yourself into my arms right now, instead, if you like!

[spelljam]

[ this feels so dumb. it's so dumb. she's hot-faced and teary-eyed and overwhelmed, overstimulated, and Sholmes is dressed as an old lady whose hair is falling off. her eyes—in this form a dark blue—darts down and back up.

thickly, ] You look ridiculous.

[retroductions]

[Sholmes chortles out a laugh, as though that might forcibly change the mood into something with more levity.]

This state is not optimal Mrs Minicle, I'm afraid!

[And in the same gesture, he grips the wig atop his head and pulls it off, to reveal a tousled head of blonde hair that she should be well familiar with. And with his other, he peels off the layer of wrinkles around his forehead and eyes that gave him the more weathered appearance of an elderly lady.

The glasses remain for now, but at least he looks a bit more like Sholmes. Sholmes in an old woman's gown.]

Better?

[spelljam]

Is it?

[ yes. she does in fact throw herself at him. goodbye, luggage. who gives a fuck? he's here, he's almost himself—himself enough that she can forgive the gown if it means she can bury her face against him and breathe in and—there.

it's him.

she feels herself begin to cry, a little. ]

[retroductions]

[The luggage doesn't matter, the cab driver not knowing where to look doesn't matter, the busy street doesn't matter; all that matters is Sprezzatura in his arms again after so long, and making her feel as though he missed the warm presentness of her. And oh, how he did.

His long arms wrap around her, holding her close, chest heaving with low laughter.]

Oh, my love, how I missed you. [And because a consulting detective always senses all, the micro-changes in body language even with her pressed so close-] No need for tears, now.

[spelljam]

Do not tell me what to do.

[ the definite hitch, her voice hard and hoarse. he smells like him. all his clothes she'd kept had long since stopped, and she's nearly forgotten it—what sweet heartache to be reminded again. ]

Why did you dress like this! Stupid man.

[retroductions]

[He smells like shag tobacco and books and newspaper and a chemistry set that's brewed so many questionable things.]

Aha... well, if my own wife could not recognize me in Mrs Minicle's disguise, is that not proof of how astounding of a disguise it is?

[The implication being that it wasn't always. That way.]

[spelljam]

This is bad priority!

[ she gives his chest another thump, and yes, there's the glisten of teartracks on cheeks. only slightly, mercilessly smothered ]

[retroductions]

[He deserves every single thump, and even if this one does not jostle him as bodily as the luggage did, he sways.]

The timing, perhaps, could use a bit more adjusting.

[Ah, he's sorry. And Sholmes is so rarely apologetic for the things he does, even if right now? He's still so happy to see her; this elation overrides aught else.

Bends down to kiss at one of those glistening tracks of tears, gentle.]

Forgive me, my dearest.

[spelljam]

[ how she has ached to hear his voice calling her these things—his dearest, his love. so much so that his kiss nearly prompts a flinch. her fingers twist in his stupid old-woman garb. ]

Take me to your home that I might tear these ridiculous garments from your body.

[ sorry to the hansom driver in particular ]