if_inconvenient | (no subject)

Sherlock helpfully leads Cal into the other living room to pick up his DVDs.

"I've half a mind to go with you," he says quietly, when he is sure it won't be overheard.

Cal had completely forgotten about the DVDs. He finds that the tray of the DVD player has already slid out, reminding him to grab the disc and put it in its case. (Jarvis is helpful like that.)

As he does so, his movements are more stiffly controlled than they were a moment ago; the façade has fallen away again, unneeded with just Sherlock around, and the real Cal isn't so good at covering.

"You're more than welcome," he says, forgetting that that is, technically speaking, not true as far as his mother is concerned, "as long as you don't mind me smoking a bowl the size of my fucking head when we get there."

"No objections."

He also has half a mind to go a verbal round or two with Violet Chandler, just to work out his frustration, but he decides that would be an unproductive response and he might be better served by further stealth.

"Then it's a deal," Cal says. "We can say I needed help studying."

In case Sherlock feels the need to let Tony know he's leaving first.

"Perhaps not. Tony would no doubt make other assumptions."

In a better moment, that would no doubt serve to make Cal awkward for the next five minutes. But with worse on his mind, he just snorts and says,

"Okay, then let's go."

"Indeed."

Sherlock heads for the door.

Where Sherlock might like to take out his frustration in conversation, Cal vents his in his driving - jamming the key into the ignition, yanking at the controls, stepping hard on the gas pedal to speed out of the driveway. His hands are tight on the wheel and he has to force himself to ease up on the rest of it as they reach the road.

The farther they get from Obadiah Stane, the better he feels.

Cal will feel better once he's stoned.

And has maybe spent an hour or so in a good, hot shower.

He's beginning to think that he might, in fact, be very well served by a game of wits against the inestimable Peter Beardsley.

(Considering that Peter is perfectly aware of the fact that Cal is currently driving away from the Stark residence, Sherlock may well get his wish.)

"So I'm glad you liked the movie, anyway," Cal says eventually.

"Yes. We ought to watch the sequel sometime."

Whether that's now or later—well, Sherlock doesn't know if he's up to it, so he certainly doesn't know if Cal is.

"Yeah," Cal says. "Maybe next time."

He is far from being in the right mood to try to focus on a movie.

"Next time," Sherlock agrees.

"Shall I skip running the maternal gauntlet and just sneak in?"

- oh, right.

"Shit," Cal mutters, "I forgot. Yeah, that would . . . that would probably be best."

He doesn't want to deal with that right now. He figures Sherlock probably doesn't either, for that matter.

"I look forward to it."

He really does. Arguing with Violet would be much the same kind of stress relief as going out and getting into a drunken brawl; breaking into the house will be more akin to a nice, quiet, soothing game of chess.

A faint smile tugs at Cal's mouth as he glances at Sherlock.

"You know what," he says, "I believe that.

". . . it'll give me time a take a shower, anyway."

"Quite," he acknowledges.

"Just lemme know where to drop you off."

Cal's grip on the wheel is easing up just a little.

"I will."

He is quiet for a while, becoming less tense as time goes on.

Eventually: "Here will do."

"Okay."

Cal pulls over for Sherlock to get out.

"See you later."

He hopes. He has confidence in Sherlock, but the events of the day haven't done much for his sense of optimism.

"Indubitably."

Sherlock is confident. To hell with social skills; this is where he belongs. With a cheerful wave, he gets out of the car.

Cal drives off, thinking ahead to showering and scrubbing Obadiah Stane off his skin.

Sherlock will find that some improvements have been made since last time. There are a couple more cameras, a couple others have been shifted, and there are more (and more alert) guards.

And since it's edging toward night time, he may also want to keep an eye out for the dogs. Those could be released at any moment.

At no point during his thorough examination of the property is he ever clearly visible to any of those guards.

When he sees that Peter neglected to trim back any of the trees, he leans against someone's fence and has a good laugh. Perhaps there was a conflict with the gardener. In any case, that sturdy oak is going to serve him a second time.

Now. The schedule of the cameras is tighter, but still imperfect. The guards are more numerous, yes, and more alert, but unfortunately one of them does not seem to know his assigned area very well. Periodically, he passes behind a hedge that obscures his view of a fairly wide section of lawn. That section seems deceptively open, which must be why the fellow isn't worried about leaving it to its own devices, but it is the site of the most extensive gaps in the timing of the cameras. And that oak tree, his beloved oak tree, stands tall and leafy at the far side of it.

Right.

One breathless, silent sprint later, he is concealed among the branches of the tree. If someone happened to be passing by in the street, they could likely see him, but the guard who is supposed to be watching this position is only just emerging from behind that bloody hedge and there is a thick branch between them. As for the cameras, they rarely look so close to the house itself.

He takes a moment to catch his breath.