dirigo

Less than an hour later, he returned, looking peeved. His jacket got thrown in the corner and his stick ended up in the fireplace. "Tomorrow. Their ship leaves tomorrow." Holmes flopped himself down in an overstuffed chair. "What am I meant to do until then?"

"I don't know," Watson drawled. "Perhaps you can contemplate the meaning of the universe." He went back to reading his newspaper.

( Holmes sent him a sharp look. )

"And you've left her room exactly as it was," Holmes asked as he shuffled through a rather large stack of papers, not really attempting to keep them in any order. Lord Bath watched suspiciously. Holmes, at least, was wearing clean clothing. His hair was combed, his hands stained with ink, but scrubbed. Holmes was clean like a cat, but had the hoarding habits of a crow. "You haven't touched anything since she disappeared, when was it-" He straightened suddenly, a small notebook in his hand.

"Yesterday afternoon," Lord Bath said, surprised out of his incredulous examination of the mess by Holmes snapping his fingers.

"And I'm assuming the Yard is on the case as well." He flipped the notebook open and began to scribble. Whether this was sincere or an act was anyone's guess.

"Well...no. I chose not to inform them. This is a rather...sensitive matter I would prefer to keep quiet."

( Holmes smirked, as if expecting this answer, and nodded. )

Co-written with

worlddescending to see if we could manage it

It had been nearly forty-eight hours since they'd last spoken and quite honestly, Watson didn't hold much optimism for the scene he would encounter.

And, as expected, Mrs. Hudson had once again foregone all hope, reporting that she'd knocked on the doors to his private rooms until her knuckles were quite raw, only to get no answer. She was, she informed him, prepared to proclaim Holmes quite dead.

( Dear Watson. He never failed to come around. )

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Ships are launching from my chest

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