finalflight | OPEN POST; [ HERLOCK SHOLMES / TGAA ]

[ "I've been trying for so long to get to you," sounds so incredibly stupid now that she cannot allow herself to confess it. what could have stopped her, after all? nothing. here she is.

but the rawness of the journey it took to get here, that's still fresh. so is the sheer overwhelm of this city so like and so unlike her own. instead of saying anything at all, for now, she turns her body in the cramped quarters of the car, feet jostling the suitcases—cannot believe that he brought his own luggage just to complete the act—and tucks her face down against his sternum, beneath his chin. she could never do this in her own body. her horns would get in the way. cut. ]

[Oh.

She needn’t words at all, the gesture speaks for itself. He feels his stomach do a little somersault; his heart flutters. An arm wraps around her to keep her close, as though she might slip away otherwise.]

Oh, you are quite solid, quite warm. [A kiss atop her head, and he gets to scent her hair.] Very much real, empirically so. It isn’t a dream.

[ the faint acrid smell of a tiefling. the shampoo she tries to cover it up with. she turns her face deeper into his neck ]

I had so many dreams like this. Just like this. [ voice soft, especially for her ] I hold you and dote on you and decorate your bed and I wake so convinced I still see your indent in my coverlet.

[Precisely how he remembers. Fondness and nostalgia both intertwine in his bosom, so many memories unearthed from that scent alone. Even the way she nuzzles into him.]

For as long as you're here, the dream needn't end. You may hold and dote and decorate as much as you please. [Heh.] Though... you are a guest in London, and I must spoil you accordingly, as well.

[ the dream needn't end... ]

Tell me.

Oh, you may experience the finest to drink, the finest to smoke. Iris will want to speak to you about inventions while she serves you her tea. We might dance ceaselessly to my gramophone, or perhaps you'd like to listen to the serene ["serene"] notes of my violin in the latest hours of the night, when you cannot sleep?

And... most important of all...

[PAUSE FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT]

[ pipe tobacco, wine, tea, dancing, violin—it's all nearly enough to drive her once more to tears, the thought. it's true, she did miss his playing. it has become even more difficult to sleep without it, and the night empty when she wakes and there are no notes. ]

Most important...?

[With an enthusiasm all of its own-]

You and I will take to the streets and solve a murder together! Ha!

[ not sex? ]

I have walked into... murder?

[Don’t you know that solving cases is even better than sex!!]

Well. Not quite yet. I need this city to produce a murder for us first—one of interest, of course—but soon after that, we might make for an unstoppable team!

So this is man you are...

Hm? Whatever do you mean?

This is Herlock Sholmes, as he should be. [ in the flesh, in his home. not trapped in a prison, not mind-broken by his possession, or by the Warden. father. this is the man she loves, allowed to be the fullest sense of himself with no walls or barriers. she has never truly been allowed to see him before, and she loves him all the more now.

her hand comes up and gently secures on his shoulder, holding him close with her face still tucked beneath his chin. ] As I always imagined.

[A detective who operates on his whims, on his desire to stimulate the mind, to solve a puzzle, to keep the ennui of routine at bay. But to also know what matters even more than that: loved ones to keep close. If not by proximity, then near the heart.]

No. Now this is Herlock Sholmes, as he should be.

[Nuzzles in closer, breathes out a laugh against her hair.]

With his beloved by his side. No?

[ he will feel the squeeze of her fingers in response. yes: solid. real.

he has learned to love quite splendidly, hasn't he?

and so has she. ]

Solving crime together.

[Reverie was worth it for all the connections they wrought while they were there.]

An irreplaceable partner in more way than one!

[A squeeze in return. Real. Solid.]

But first, we must have you settled in. I have so many questions for you! Such as how you managed such a clever disguise of your own.

[ a laugh; she shifts in her seat to fight off the desire to hike her skirts a little and straddle him, but while the hansom driver would not see, the scandalized looks of everyone on the street who could would surely give them away in the end. but she does dare to take his free hand and brings the knuckles to her lips. ]

Almost like magic.

[Oh, it would nearly be worth it, scandalized looks or not. But it's okay, she'll have plenty of time to straddle him all she wants later.]

Aha, certainly more than just illusion, however.

[A little flutter in his chest as she kisses his knuckles, and only when she loosens her grip does he drift his hand a few inches above her head. No horns to even bump into.]

Quite effective, indeed. Mrs Minicle is jealous.

[ if it's the hand with his ring that she kisses, there is a slight... lipping at it before she straightens up and holds his hand in her lap. ]

Is she? She should be. This was very expensive.

[It is, indeed.]

Oh, and worth every penny, no doubt. Still, what an investment, and for me — yes, I’ll be sure to make it worth the effort. We shall spare no expense on our lovely Ms Vaux while she is in town!

[Brave words from Sholmes who is brokeass half the time.]

Herlock, I do not need expense. We could never leave your flat and I would be content.

[ this is not strictly true—she has in her the desire to roam. a new world! new discoveries to make.

but... knowing it is a world inherently without magic does quell the urge somewhat, and allows her to focus on the thought of laying in bed with Sholmes and watching the sunlight slowly move across the room. perhaps Iris laying between them. a book on their laps.

has she always felt so... domestic? she hasn't even met the girl yet. ]

[And since when has Herlock Sholmes been domestic, either? (Minus the whole adopting a daughter thing.) The life of a detective was never suited for it, and he never truly yearned for it, but if he knew the picture that she was painting in her own mind, he would so very much find himself wanting to indulge. To make it reality. They can, soon.]

Oh, I know. That isn’t quite how I meant it. That is to say…

[He looks out to the street, to the many people and their lives passing by.]

I assume I might not have to hide anything at all, should I visit your world. A change of clothes at most perhaps, but not a change of form. For you to be here, it is not so simple. So much preparation, and so much willingness to give up a shape you know so well. One that I very much love you for.

[So, it does feel a bit lopsided, hm?]

[ yes. he could visit all of Faerun without once requiring to disguise himself (though, knowing him, he still would find reason to). but even in the realm where they very definitively exist, tieflings are not always welcome. she has known that all her life, and in the days preceding that awful train detour, she had used this disguise at home and found it stark how much easier it was to just... be someone else. Waterdeep has no great love for the Vaux daughter.

quietly, she fans out her fingers with their perfectly curved, trimmed nails, and examines them. ]

But I love you. It was not difficult choice to make.

[He glances back at her, the way she looks at her hand—her nails, now so very human, not the sharp tips of a tiefling's—and gently takes that hand in his own, instead, squeezing fondly.]

A love that I return tenfold and will always be grateful for. Not one that I hope you think I ever take for granted, my dearest; in that vein, perhaps I am long overdue in paying your own Waterdeep a visit sometime soon?

[Meanwhile, after a turn down a long and bustling street, their cab begins to slow to a stop.]

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