Sherlock Holmes

“That’s not very nice.” Olaf huffed. “Are you grumpy because you can’t dance? Or are you normally Mr. Frowny Face?”

“Did you not hear me? I said I don’t dance, not that I can’t. There is a huge difference between the two. I’d also suggest advancing your vocabulary if you intend on speaking to me next time ‘Mr Frowny face’ is frankly deplorable English.” 

“Pfff, no way, I’m an expert.” Olaf laughed as he continued to groove. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

“That. Is not what I would call an expert.” At the question however, Sherlock scoffed. “Because I’m no fool. I don’t dance.”

“Have you write this for me? Absolutely not,” she scoffed. “It wouldn’t be my work then. I can do this on my own,” Peggy insisted. “I was looking for a proofreader, not a ghost writer. It seems you misunderstood.”

“That was not me offering. All I have done is proof read it... and maybe edited it somewhat.” Still, it was all practically her own work. “Some things I couldn’t possibly leave though.” He stated with a shake of his head. 

He wasn’t actually going to do it himself. Probably. He suspected they both knew he’d rather avoid the paperwork of having to call the police, though. “That’s a good decision, son, up you get.” Rude people were a daily occurrence on the buses, but that one got on his nerves a bit. The bloke wasn’t to know about Grace’s - about how he’d lost Grace after they’d planned on retiring here. Although that was another reason why he shouldn’t be making that kind of comments. “I can cook and I’ve got to call me grandson in Britain. Off the bus. Now.”

“You can cook but why would you when there is only one person to cook for.” Sherlock answered as he shuffled down the bus. “Also, probably the wrong time to be calling him given the time it is round now so you don’t have that to do. At least not straight away.”

“You– never mind,” Flynn waved it away. He had met a James Bond once at a bar but he had learned to believe a lot of people are were assuming different identities just to remain anonymous with strangers. That’s how he was explaining it to himself at least. “Well you’d make a lot more friends if you weren’t.”

An eyebrow raised as if to challenge the man to finish his sentence. Unsurprisingly and probably in the others best interests, he stopped. “Maybe I would but I don’t need friends. If anything they prove a distraction.”

“Oh,” Peggy pouted slightly, seeming disappointed that the other hadn’t been too impressed with her work. “Do you always insist that you know better than everyone else? Everyone has room for improvement, you know.”

“Yes. Because I do.” Sherlock spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And while we all have areas with which to improve on, this is not one of my areas. Either take my help or leave it. You will receive a better mark if you take it on board though. Guaranteed.” 

“We’re at the conclusion now,” she replied. “Do you just want to read it over?” Peggy added, before dialing herself back. She could be a bit excessive at times. “I mean, if you have the time of course. I totally understand if you don’t have the time.”

There was a moments pause before Sherlock motioned for the woman to pass him her work. He picked up a pen that was on the table, immediately beginning to scribble all over the piece, scratching bits out in between making huffing and scoffed sounds, muttering under his breath seemingly negative comments before he slid the piece back over to her. “Not perfect but then for it to be perfect I would have had to write it but now it is definitely less disastrous.”

“Like the character from the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle books?” he blinked. “Not that I read them all– pfft… of course not,” Flynn added quickly. “Explains why you’re such a smart-ass then,” he added under his breath, well aware the other could still hear him.

“The who?” He murmured after a moment, looking a little perplexed. There were more important things than some piece of fiction to read. Still, he smirked a little at that. “I am.” He wasn’t even slightly ashamed to admit that.

“I don’t wanna have to chuck you off the bus, pal, so let’s do this the easy way.”

A hand was put up as if to silence the man, in a surprisingly authoritative manner for someone so young in comparison to the driver. He glanced the grey haired male over for a moment. He was fairly certain that if necessary he could gain the upper hand should he be attempted to be manhandled but the truth was that there was no benefit to be had from it and therefore Sherlock was inclined to move. Not because he’d been told of course, but simply because he’d decided to of his own accord. “Other than a microwave meal to go home to I don’t know why you would be in such a rush.” He muttered, eventually climbing up off the seat.

“Excuse you I–” he began but was cut off by the man going off on an eerily specific rambling. “I have no idea what you’re–” Flynn huffed, puffing out his chest but was once again cut off. How did this man know these things? He felt threatened, not only because the man knew so much about him out of nowhere, but also because he felt like a subpar P.I. in comparison. He tried his best to keep his jaw from dropping as the man began to recite Flynn’s day as if he had been there shadowing him through it. “Who the hell are you?” he finally said, still struggling to process the invasive analysis that had just happened.

Someone trying to get a word in had never stopped Sherlock from continuing his rambling. If he had a point to make, he would do anything to make it. It was only when he finally stopped and the other male asked that question that a smirk of triumph slipped across his lips. “I mean, I would expect that you should be able to find that out but given how much time it would take you I’ll acquiesce. Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes.”

“Well, I don’t see your brother anywhere nearby, so maybe on another occasion.”

“Indeed. I’d be more than happy if you saved your boring and terrible excuse for an intervention for another day when my brother is around.” Sherlock told him before brushing the other off.

“Right, I’m happy for you and your thought process, but you’re gonna have to find some new inspiration at the bus stop.” 

“You are... absolutely irritating right now and no help whatsoever but then few are...” Though Sherlock appeared to be talking to himself more than to anyone else.