if_inconvenient | (no subject)

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So. Alec Carrow.

Sherlock is aware that social boundaries apply to this situation, and that he is currently breaking them all. He doesn't much care. He is wholly capable of discretion, but he is not at all capable of remaining ignorant in the first place.

Start with finding the obituary. Work from there. How did he die? When?

(Tony doesn't know about the conversation with Alyce. Tony doesn't know about a lot of things. Tony has been spending more time than usual ensconced in his workshop with the door locked, hacking Stark Industries records like he doesn't remember that Jarvis won't keep secrets between the two of them. Sherlock is a little surprised that it seems Tony was on the level about arming him more formidably.)

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"And what did what I was wearing tell you about me?"

She laughs, because she expects the obvious. "A witch sent to do no good."

She was in a black flowing dress, much like this one, much like the one from the night at The Bronze. What he might have noticed, even with the fleeting glimpse and the shadows, was the how dark the circles under her eyes were. She hadn't slept well the night before, or during the day. And though she smiled and sparkled, she was sad that night, deeply sad.

The peril of asking Sherlock Holmes questions is that he usually answers them.

"Yes, your fashion choices do exhibit a certain theme," he agrees with a faint smile. "And your dresses are well enough cared for; I could not see any obvious damage. The other main point of interest was that it seemed you had not been sleeping well."

She looks up, surprised. "You do notice the details."

She hides a lot, she thinks. Trixi can pick up emotions. She knows when people are lying, and she knows when they have magical gifts. It's hard hiding much from her, but Alyce has had a lot of practice. She's cheerful and pleasant and nothing bothers her.

Except when they do.

"I don't hide what I am. With the clothes, I mean. I want to be a witch. I want everyone to know."

"Yes," he agrees, "I do."

He tilts his head thoughtfully to one side. "Why?"

(If you were paying attention, you might think that question implied he has something to hide.)

(She is paying attention, but she's not on his wavelength quite yet. Give her a little time to get to know him.)

"Because it's amazing. I can do things other people can't - things they can't even dream about. I can call on the elements and the lower powers and make them do what I say, because I have that power. I can make things happen, and I can stay safe, and I can hurt those who would hurt me."

"I can see how that would be something to be proud of."

In a sense, he supposes—

"A little like me and my deductions, in fact, although in my case the effects are much more humble."

"You have to be proud of your talents. What else do you investigate? Aside from evil teenagers who send demons after you."

"Very little," Sherlock admits. "Sunnydale can be astonishingly dull. That demon assassin was the most exciting thing that has happened to me all year."

Which means he probably wasn't there for the demon prom.

"Then you must have missed prom," she says, her eyebrows raised high.

Exactly!

"I did, yes. And by the time I could inspect the area, most of the evidence had been obliterated by the demon assault itself and at least two subsequent coverup efforts."

"That was insane. I'm glad you missed it. I left early, and I missed all the-"

She was going to say fun.

She stops just in time.

"-danger. Oh, that wasn't our fault. We just showed up to prom."

"All the danger," he repeats, quirking a smile. "Indeed. Yes, I'm aware you and your fellow ducklings were not responsible."

Sherlock pats the table fondly.

"I believe we have learned all we can from this noble item of furniture. Shall we go looking for other things to examine?"

She snickers. Ducklings will never not be funny.

"Yeah. Let's do. Maybe we can find a mystery to solve."

She stands up, smoothing her skirts out.

"After you, Mr. Holmes."

He stands, too, and flashes her a smile as he turns towards the door.

"It is an honour to lead you, Miss Carrow."

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