#frightfulls

                   RESERVED -- composure is paramount for the Holmes men. But then again Sherlock has always been the emotional one... like a duck with its feet paddling underwater. Outwardly calm. Though around Crystal he does tend to find this difficult which is why his lips quirk into a slight smile when he rounds the corner and sees her and her car waiting. No school. Half term. No Morland or Mycroft either. 

                      “good morning. What’s on the agenda today then?” 

she’s a right little shit, he’ll give her that.

the bam! bam! bam! of metal against flesh loud in the dark, and he’s smelling the blood in the air, drawn to it like a moth to the flame. just the mere THOUGHT of red hitting the pavement perks him up.

girl, wild, girl in the dark, eyes that he thinks he’s seen at so many different places at once.

                          HE NEEDS HIS COFFEE. 

                  Tiredness has started to creep in at the edges -- but he has a case to finish and he won’t rest until he does so. The coffee at the precinct is absolutely vile and though he dislikes parting with cash with inadvertently supports evil conglomerates... desperate times call for desperate measures, and so he’s in like at STARBUCKS or all places. He knows what he wants... normal coffee, black, which is why he’s ( impatiently ) lifting his eyes to the ceiling and bouncing on his heels as he waits. He glances around, looks back to the front before doing a double take. He recognises her. That’s... no, surely not. 

                    After tapping the floor with his foot for the best part of a minute he turns and, impulsively, leaves the line and steps to where she is about three people behind him. He didn’t notice that she was with a man, though, or else he wouldn't have come over. Too late now. He stops near her and parts his lips, wondering what to say, 

                       “uhm -- Crystal?” he’s quiet for a moment, “it’s Sherlock.”