#theimpossibleeccentric

Ambulance lights created a certain type of atmosphere at night that was hard to recreate any other way. Ambulance lights felt sterile, familiar in a way that reminded her of her time as an intern, running herself ragged through ER hallways and forgetting what it was like to live without caffeine pumping dangerously through her veins.

It was the addition of police lights that made her spine straighten that much further as she approached. There was a different type of familiarity in those, and the memories were far less rosy.

“Ah, doctor.” There was a clipped dismissive edge to Sherlock Holmes’ voice that made him instantly recognizable, likely even to a complete stranger. Alice wasn’t one of those lucky ones. “Knew you’d get here eventually.”

“And lo, here I am,” Alice replied mildly, coming up beside him. Tall and statuesque behind one of the ambulances, collar turned up against the wind, the detective was quite at his ease on the scene, hands pressed deep into the pockets of his overcoat as he stared down the stretcher as it was wheeled by him. “John’s away at his sister’s, or so they tell me. More of that stuff with his sister, though she’s been back on the booze again so there’s really no telling why he…”

“I don’t actually care, Sherlock,” Alice cut him off wearily. Her bag felt too heavy against her shoulder, and there was a damp hint of rain in the air. She wanted to be there for as little time as possible, particularly now that it was clear what kind of call this was going to be. 

“Didn’t think they’d call you though, don’t they have other doctors at that hospital?” He turned to look at her as he spoke, and it was only then that the flashing lights illuminated the nasty gash across one of his cheeks. Her gaze lingered on it, while her thoughts remained steadfastly on, I don’t work at the hospital.

“Oh, I’m fine. Just a flesh wound, I’ll be okay.” There was an underlying smugness to his tone that deepened the tinge of annoyance that seemed to accompany every encounter she had with this man. “Keep your fussing brief and to the point, yes? I’ve got work to do.”

Another stretcher rolled by, and Alice’s gaze was drawn by a figure next to one of the police cars that was waving in her direction before he slipped into the driver’s side and started the engine. 

“Brynn, how can you actually turn me down for this?” Sherlock’s voice on the phone was walking a really strange border between disgusted disdain and outright pleading. Ulysses closed his eyes and leaned back against his kitchen counter. Three days before Christmas, two days before he was supposed to head home to spend the holiday with his family, one more day of work. And there was Sherlock Holmes begging him for a high, a little mood lift, something vaguely numbing so that he would survive his own holiday gatherings.

If Ulysses had to get through his parents’ dinner clean, then so did Sherlock Holmes.

“I can turn you down because you can’t get blitzed for Christmas with your family! They already know you’ve had…run-ins in the past, and you can’t like they won’t be looking for red flags.” Ulysses cradled his phone between his shoulder and chin awkwardly so he could kneel down in his closet and try to find the shoes he needed for the party tomorrow night. The party that Charley would be attending, likely with a date, even though it had only been a week since they’d broken up. Oh yes, Ulysses knew all about that hairy thing with the enormous…smile that Charley had been eying up for weeks before he decided to tell Ulysses, in these words exactly ‘I think it would be better for both of us if you spent Christmas alone.’

Who would even say something like that? Ulysses asked himself once again as he flung an oxblood trainer across the room in annoyance. A Bond villain?

“That’s one of the stupidest things you’ve said in recent memory,” came the crisp reply to Ulysses’ explanation. The chemist sighed and tossed another shoe, this one extremely shiny and attractive and missing a mate since late August. Bugger.

“I’m sure. Look, Sher–” The phone clattered to the floor when its precarious balance shifted; Ulysses could vaguely hear Sherlock listing off a few of the other apparently stupid things he had said, and he was glad he couldn’t make out most of the relevant words. He grabbed the phone and held it up to his ear again. “Sherlock? No, no…I dropped the phone.”

“I didn’t even notice a difference.” Sherlock’s voice was harsh but the desperation was growing.

“I should have seen that coming.” Ulysses sighed and sat back on his heels. “Look, Sherlock. I’m very busy. I have a lot to sort out right now.”

“You’re packing to head back to Cardiff, even though your parents will treat you poorly, you’ll spend most of your time checking your phone or cooking because it will keep you away from your father even as it reinforces his opinion that you have no real manly interests.” He spoke as though all of it bored him, or maybe as though it was the third time he’d told Ulysses this.

“That’s…” It was all true, which was always the problem when arguing with Sherlock. “Sherlock, don’t you want to be fresh-faced? On top of the conversation and stuff that your brother throws at you?”

“The only thing I need to be ready for is if Mycroft throws his great bulk at me. And since he’ll likely be parked in his preferred chair before I even arrive.” Sherlock paused and Ulysses took the moment to dig deeper into his closet, finally finding one of the shoes he wanted.  The pause continued and for a moment Ulysses wondered if he’d been put on hold.

“Okay, well, Sherlock–”

“Oh, I see. It isn’t the journey home causing this distress. It’s that holiday party at your acquaintance’s flat tomorrow night. The one that ex of yours will be attending, the one I told you a month ago was a mistake. Fine. Fine. It’s come to this.” Sherlock took an audibly deep breath. Ulysses felt that nervous twinge in his stomach that always accompanied that noise. He stood up and walked out of his bedroom.

“Sherlock, I don’t need it to come to anything. Or you don’t need it. Whatever.” He paused by his lab door, hand on the crystal knob. The chuckle that came through the phone was so smug, so self-satisfied. At that laugh, Ulysses knew Sherlock would get what he wanted. “What? Just talk to me.”

“You will provide me with the things I need. I know you have some of them already. My usual, then the black and blue ones, and oh, it’s Christmas, one of the green. Just one. As an emergency, holiday contingency.” He tsked as Ulysses started to argue. “Ah, ah, ah. Bryn. Let me finish.”

Ulysses walked over to the bed and picked up one of the shirts he’d set down as possible options for the party. He’d pack for Cardiff once he’d sorted his outfit out.

“I’ll be your man. Your boyfriend. Your ardent lover. Put whatever shirt you’re holding back. It’s not the one.”

The chemist put the shirt back down, annoyed with himself even as he laid it on the bed.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked, running a hand through his hair.

“For your party. I’ll make him jealous. Your ex. You provide me those drugs, and you will make him so jealous, you’ll might actually enjoy Christmas dinner just on leftover smugness. So I’ll be by tomorrow, let’s call it half nine. Don’t wear your second choice shirt either. Have my things ready, with a bow them. ‘Tis the season, after all.” He hung up and Ulysses was still standing by his bed, holding the phone to his ear.

So it looks like it’s just me for Christmas this year. Nathan’s heading off to Yorkshire like every year. Now that I’ve been there, it’s easy to picture him there, with his mum dourly serving a Christmas cake from the shop and him desperately trying to make her happy for five seconds strung together. I suppose his aunt will be there too, so I guess she’ll brighten up the place. It’s stupid, but I hate thinking of him lying alone in that narrow bed with the moor outside his window. It’s his home, I know, and it’s what made him, but still. It seems like anyone would need an ally in that place.

I got notices from a few of the clubs, but I’m not really in the mood this year. I’ll likely spend it quiet. Make some food, then take some of it over to Alice, since she probably won’t have made something for herself. 

Twiz, that’s a rude thing to think. She could have lots of plans already. Hell, she could have a plan that involves wearing a dress!

Anyway, I’ll drop off something.

@theimpossibleeccentric

It was funny, she thought, murders were taken so seriously outside of Japan. In honesty, it was foolish to have forgotten. Still, it was a source of amusement when Alice found herself to be hiding from a certain famed detective.

His name had travelled to Japan, and she was familiar with his accomplishments. But, she had never found herself too intrigued until now. Not even the CCG had been able to track her before, and here this man was, getting dangerously close. It simply wouldn't do.

Once again, purple hyacinth. SH

I know, I know. You think I do this much with plants and I don't know all that silliness?