OPEN POST; [ HERLOCK SHOLMES / TGAA ]

[retroductions]

(( hold you in my dreams ))

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[retroductions]

[A devil. In all but demeanor.]

A chance, but a smaller one if you follow my directions.

[He begins to shuffle off his coat. It's not the one she's used to seeing, of course, but it's still long, dark, and of thick material; some preferences have not changed over time. It even still smells like him, the same clinging scent of shag tobacco. And even now, it's far too big for her form — which works to their advantage.]

Firstly, cover yourself up. [He hands it over to her.] Though I doubt you planned to scurry along the streets in your nightclothes, a lady so barely-dressed might be more of a scandal than your horns.

[velluminous]

[ it smells like the Sholmes she knows. difficult not to bury her face in it rather than pull it on, but her frayed nerves have a way of centering her. right now, she has to listen; there is no room for sentiment. ]

I was... in bed...

[ it doesn't matter. once it's around her, the sleeves fall well past her hands. his warmth becomes her warmth. ]

[retroductions]

[It truly does engulf her. The more blue skin covered up, the better — though her horns are still an issue.]

In bed?

[And then suddenly tossed onto the street, unaware? A strange situation, indeed, but it implies something more compelling than before.]

Didn't you just say you had nowhere to go?

[But she had been asleep, cozied up in her nightgown, before now?]

/2

[velluminous]

[ FUCK ]

[velluminous]

I don't. If I did, I would not be here, hm? This morning, situations is different to last night.

[retroductions]

[Aha! GOTTEM]

And where were you last night? How is the situation any different, other than a stark change of locale?

[velluminous]

[ fuck! fuck! fuck! what can she say that won't conjure further questions? ]

I was—staying with someone. No longer welcome.

[retroductions]

[WHAT INDEED]

And you’ll not share with me the address, or the name of the person? Are you truly so unwelcome that you’d be thrown out on the street this cruelly?

[Hm. Sus.]

What is your name, madam?

[velluminous]

[ let him labour under false assumptions if he must. she cannot give him the truth. it may splinter everything. simply the way he looks at her now nearly does it to her. ]

Sapione. And no, this is not some mystery for you to solve—anything I might say, what are you thinking you might do about it? [ storm into 221B, and...? no story she spins, no alternative names or addresses, will hold water. so she doesn't even try, and instead begins to shuffle out of his coat again. ] I should let you get on. Nothing good will come of this.

[retroductions]

[Plainly-]

Help find a place, or a person, you might feel safe with. And after that? Well. Learn of your tale, of course.

[He exhales, slightly exasperated.]

You’re as vacillating as the tide, Ms Sapione. [What an odd name.] First you want to flee from me, then you want my help, and now you say nothing good will come of it? Don’t be so fickle.

[Offers his hand.]

Come along. You’ve already donned my coat. A waste to not see it through to the end.

[velluminous]

[ fickle? a wretched scoff passes her lips before she can stop it, a feeling of twisted longing that carves out a place in her chest. she can almost see the man she loves in him, a thousand miles out of reach. calling her fickle. reflections of one another. ]

You will regret this.

[ to herself. to him. rather than take his hand, she rakes her own up her face and into her hair, pulled free of its sleeping plait. deep breath, then, in and out—shaky on the exhale.

if she goes with him, reaches 221B, perhaps then her ring. perhaps, then, her key with which she can escape this frayed London and return home. she has to chance it.

her voice is low and level and dull: ] If we are to go, let us go.

[retroductions]

[She doesn’t take his hand, and instead of this being a cut against his heart like it would’ve been for a future him, the current Sholmes only views it as a trait of her character: stubbornness.

Still. He feels a small pang of disappointment as he drops his hand.]

Very well.

[And turns on his heel towards the townhouse’s facade, a brisk walk.]

We are to commandeer that carriage. My brother’s guests should be indoors by now, fussing over their own pleasantries.

[velluminous]

[ stubborn to the grave, my dear Herlock. he's already striding away from her, and she frozen to the spot for a terrible moment, thinking—she can't move. and he will leave her. and someone else will find her. and she'll tear this entire city down.

but then her mind clicks, and she's following, though her head craned low, one hand grasping helplessly at a horn. ]

Driver?

[retroductions]

[Sholmes doesn’t leave her; he listens for her footfalls to verify that she’s following him, even if he doesn’t glance back. But she’ll easily catch up to him, because he pauses to peer around the corner of the building once he’s there.

A large black carriage awaits, “parked” on the side of the street. The horses also wait patiently, and as for the driver…]

That coachman is not nearly patient enough to sit about and wait for hours on end outside while they natter on about politics and “governmental openings for your little brother” inside. [His voice is hushed but tinged acerbic.] And can you blame him? No, he’ll at least make himself comfortable in one of the sitting rooms until called upon again…

[And, not a few seconds later, the coachman is indeed leaving the carriage briefly unattended, and they merely need to wait a minute more to watch him disappear inside.]

I’ll drive. You get inside. [oh no] Come on! [Hurrying to the carriage!]

[velluminous]

[ governmental openings—her head spins. and a brother? a wealthy one? everything a step to the left of what she thought she knew.

she's silent, watching the coachman dismount and saunter up to the townhouse door. then—

well, he may be surprised to find her hot on his heels. though her hands do tremble some as she ducks into the street and unlatches the carriage door. hurry. hurry. hurry— ]

[retroductions]

[Oh, yes, Mycroft Sholmes—seven whole years older than Herlock—loves an indulgent lifestyle. And the government pays a mind like his well. BUT THIS AIN’T ABOUT HIM

Rather, Sholmes does find himself surprised to learn she’s lost all hesitance as soon as they’re hurrying to the carriage. The door swings open for her with ease, and he waits for her to pile in. It’s a bit exciting, really.]

Stay low, Ms Sapione.

[Closed carriage it may be, it still has windows.

Sholmes scurries up to the driver’s seat. He speaks hopefully with enough projection for her to hear.]

Now, then, I’ll take us slow and steady as to not draw attention. Act natural!

[velluminous]

[ this feels no less harrowing than one of the Warden's killing trials. once inside, she does indeed sink all but to the floor, and listing her head back on the seat, allows herself a singular moment to blink the tears from her eyes.

nothing more. stiff upper lip, Vaux. bleary gaze on the ceiling; ragged exhale he hopefully cannot hear.

no immediate answer—better to not. this is not riding with one hand upon Sholmes' thigh, in perfect disguise. she can't act natural, and instead must act invisible. ]

Just drive.

[retroductions]

[The bad news is that, yes, this is a more harrowing situation than she’d ever want to normally be in.]

Yes, yes, I just need to remember how to-

[Sholmes grabs the reins. Gives them a tug and pulls to lead the horses into the street.]

There, now- Hyah!

[A snap of the reins.

The good news is: they’ll get there quickly.

The horses whinny and start GALLOPING down the street at a worrisome speed.]

Ah… ha! [whoops]

[velluminous]

[ who up getting concussed in they carriages ]

Aytch-ch-ch...!

[retroductions]

[HE’S DOING HIS BEST

HIS BEST IS LACKING

Maybe he knocks over a street vendor’s wares on the way. Maybe he takes a corner too fast. Maybe some poor soul has to dive and tuck and roll to avoid being flattened by a pair of speeding horses.]

We’re doing fine! No one will suspect a thing!

[Maybe be can manifest these statements into truth as they careen towards Baker Street, a very bumpy ride the entire journey.

…and yet, by way of some miracle, they pull up to a stop next to the building, and Sholmes hops down to unlatch the door. His hair is… a mess.]

Out, out— no time!

[His free hand is already in his pocket, fishing for his key. YOU DOING OKAY IN HERE, MADAM]

[velluminous]

[ doing great, feeling fine. she's in the corner when he opens the door, looking for all the world like a feral cat. aches and bruises. ]

I hear screaming. We hit something?

[retroductions]

[Ah, she looks… worse for wear. Sholmes actually feels a little bad for her, despite himself; he should have tried harder to be more careful.]

We did not. The man leapt out of the way just in time.

[Hopefully that’s reassuring.]

…Are you all right, Ms Sapione? I’ll make you a cuppa once we’re indoors to soothe your nerves.

[velluminous]

[ she levers up, begins to fragilely disembark. her fears, that Sholmes' driving will lead a crowd right to them, is less extreme than the need to get indoors before someone spots her. ]

Unlock door.

[retroductions]

[Well, she can walk, in any case. Sholmes straightens both his posture and demeanor as she gets out, closing the door behind her. Then it's a quick-step to the front door, easily unlocked. Baker Street, at this hour, is the perfect amount of busy — enough to where the flow of the street continues at its own pace as soon as the runaway carriage had come to a stop, all attention turning inward to everyone's personal routines by default. He doubts her horns will be noticed, and the rest is taken care of by her borrowed, oversized coat.

He ushers her inside; the layout is the same as she remembers, even if the decor has changed. Lower floor, and stairs leading up to 221B.]

You're safe now.

[velluminous]

[ she shoulders inside with little grace. there, faced with the entry, the stairwell—familiar, but different. still "home".

her feet suddenly root to the floor, just inside, and only for a moment. that's all she allows herself before she instinctively forces herself towards the stairwell. ]