we are invariably pleased to welcome tourism

[cross_and_bow]

Sherlock is usually very puncutal. He's only one minute late, but that's still not quite as punctual as usual. Bella peers out the window, not yet allowing herself outright concern.

Comments

[eversomuchfun]

Point of interest: Sherlock does not, in fact, need to breathe. It is a luxury he can do without, if he has reason.

[cross_and_bow]

Juliet has to breathe. But she's got a nose for that.

[eversomuchfun]

And a delightful nose it is.

[cross_and_bow]

It really is getting late. Bella eventually peels herself off of Sherlock. (In the process of so peeling a hand may just skim over the surface of a certain shirtless chest.) "I'd better get home," she says. "Or I won't be rested for my all-important English class."

[eversomuchfun]

"Perish the thought. Shall I walk you home?"

[cross_and_bow]

"I think so, yes. But you probably don't want to try to kiss me goodnight on the porch. That could be hazardous to your health in more ways than one." She stands up and offers him her hand.

[eversomuchfun]

He takes her hand and hauls himself to his feet, laughing, then wanders off to retrieve his shirt and coat.

"The one way being your porch lights, and the other being your father's excellent aim?"

[cross_and_bow]

"Aren't you clever?" she laughs, offering him her hand again once he's clothed and strolling out of the crypt.

[eversomuchfun]

Ooh, holding hands. Holding hands is delightful.

"The occasional bullet is a small price to pay, really."

[cross_and_bow]

"The occasional bullet is not the price of admission. Although I do appreciate the circumstances under which you took that first."

[eversomuchfun]

"All in a night's work," he says. "You would be upset if your father were mauled by demons; therefore so would I."

[cross_and_bow]

"You're sweet," Bella accuses.

[eversomuchfun]

"Never," he says indignantly, and then winks.

[cross_and_bow]

"I would know," she says loftily, "I tasted you. I declare you sweet."

[eversomuchfun]

He laughs.

"In that case, who am I to argue?"

[cross_and_bow]

"No one whatever," she says. "In fact, I think you might be fictional."

[eversomuchfun]

"Ouch," he deadpans, and then laughs again.

[cross_and_bow]

She grins at him. She likes him. She probably would've kissed him herself within a day or two.

There's her house.

"I don't know if Charlie's looking out the window, but - lemme find out some way to explain you to him before risking it, okay?" she says ruefully, letting go of Sherlock's hand. "It might take me a while to come up with something sufficiently likely to leave your next favorite coat intact."

[eversomuchfun]

"As you like," he says, smiling.

[cross_and_bow]

"G'night, Sherlock," she says, and she backs away a few steps before turning and heading into her house.

[eversomuchfun]

"Night, love."

Off he goes.

[cross_and_bow]

...That is an interesting thing for him to have called her.

She wonders if it's a Britishism, calling people "love" regardless of emotional content. (Giles doesn't do it, though.) (It could be regional, or just Sherlock, and still not mean -) (Or it could go right ahead and mean that, and would this be so bad? It wouldn't. He was unproblematic about liking her. He'll be unproblematic about loving her. All right then, so it doesn't matter beyond its being sweet. For now.)

She doesn't find Amariah, does find - and clean up - the note left in honey, and goes to bed.

She shows up at study hall the next day with only the progress made on her borrowed books that Mr. Giles saw her make at his house while Amariah did spellcasting.

[pythbox]

Mr. Giles makes no comment on this, just greets her with a friendly hello.

[cross_and_bow]

"Amariah went home," she tells him, picking up where she left off, and switching to Latin catch-up when she finishes the book she's partway through. "Found a door last night when I wasn't in shouting distance and went through."

[pythbox]

"I see," he says. "Well, that explains why she's not here."