if_inconvenient | (no subject)

"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.

. . . meanwhile, Cal got upstairs to find Peter waiting outside his room. One look at the expression on Cal's face was enough to confirm Peter's suspicions that he'd brought a particular guest with him.

"If your friend makes it through," he said, "I won't sound the alarm."

So now, Peter waits. Going in through Cal's window is too exposed, and the hallway is the only other access point. And Peter's not going to insult Sherlock or himself by waiting in the spare bedroom again. He made his point last time.

Sherlock peeks in the window—a little farther away from Cal's room than the skylight he used last time.

He catches sight of Peter's sleeve and immediately deduces much of what occurred between him and Cal. A grin breaks across his face, and he almost laughs—which would draw unwanted attention and get him likely arrested, at best banished from the property, at worst shot.

And if he doesn't get inside in the next four and a half seconds (four point four, four point three), he is going to be visible on camera.

He drops neatly into the hallway, shuts the window behind him, and slides gently down the wall until he is sitting on the floor having an almost noiseless fit of giggles.

That fucking tree. Maybe this is the evidence Peter needs to convince Mrs Chandler to have it cut down. Sure, it's so close into the property that it shouldn't be a problem anyway, and it hasn't since he started this job, but he's never liked having it there.

And the demonstration of why appears to be caught up in a giggle fit.

"Whenever you're ready," he says after a moment.

Still grinning, Sherlock gets to his feet and sketches a bow.

"Well played, sir. I commend you on the improvements to your security. Tell whoever was supposed to be watching that section," he gestures, "to stay farther away from the hedge, but please don't fire him. I can see he has only had the job for three days and he was quite reasonable to expect no one could cross the lawn as fast as I did without making a sound."

Peter almost looks amused at Sherlock's display. Not quite, but almost.

"He'll still be there when you go back."

He makes no promises after that.

"As for your cameras, you are quite right to concentrate their attention on the likelier routes. It was a near thing. If you add any more I shall have to cheat."

Perhaps that was an indiscretion. He should be more careful of what he reveals. But, oh, it's glorious to be taken seriously and know without doubt that he deserves it.

"That would be unfortunate."

Or not. It's not as though someone breaking in for real would be playing fair, after all.

"There are wards all around the property, magic wouldn't do you any good."

Indiscretion for indiscretion. Either that, or Peter doesn't want him wasting either of their time.

"I never use magic," he says cheerfully. "We'll see, I suppose."

Jarvis is cheating because he is a unique resource, so breaking into the house with his help would not help expose any meaningful security flaws. Also because Sherlock doesn't want to reveal his existence.

"Good evening, Mr Beardsley." He starts for the door of Cal's room.

They will indeed see. And this arrangement will continue for as long as Sherlock's efforts make him useful. Peter gives him a nod and heads downstairs.

Inside, Cal has lost track of time somewhat, or maybe Sherlock was quicker than Cal thought he'd be. He's still in the shower when Sherlock enters, but it's a couple minutes' wait before he emerges from the adjoining bathroom. He's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt; judging from the flush to his skin and the amount of steam that billows out along with him, he was running the water as hot as he could stand it. Maybe even a bit hotter.

He looks calmer than he did when he dropped Sherlock off. Less frayed around the edges.

"That was quick."

"If I cannot find work as a consulting detective, a lucrative career in housebreaking awaits me. Your Mr Beardsley appreciates my efforts, at least, or he would no doubt have thrown me out."

"As long as you can give him something to work with, there shouldn't be a problem." Cal has figured out the arrangement.

He crosses the room to open his windows, then lights a cone of vanilla incense.

"I'll have to choose a more difficult route next time. I would hate to see him cut down that lovely old oak tree, as convenient as it is."

Cal laughs.

"He hates that tree. He was so pissed when I moved my room up here because it's so close to the window there."

He gets out the Indy box case as he talks and drops onto the end of his bed as he opens it. Along with pot and papers, it contains a couple (http://i28.photobucket.com/albums/c205/catslash/pipe.jpg) of small glass pipes (http://www.ioffer.com/i/5-inch-double-color-glass-sherlock-151119483?source=eisi).

"No one's ever gotten in on it before, but he doesn't care about that."

His lips quirk.

"Perhaps I will avoid it in future, then. I am sure I can find another point of entry."

Cal selects the blue stained-glass pipe and opens the bag of pot to fill it.

"I'm starting to think I'd be surprised if you couldn't."

"Every security system has flaws." Even Jarvis, whose main flaw is his inability to extend outside the house. "Mr Beardsley is very good at his work, however, and I expect I will have to step up my game."

"He's the best," Cal agrees. The Chandlers only hire the best, after all.

He finishes packing the pipe and lights up, covering the little vent on the side of the bowl with his thumb as he inhales deeply. The tension that had been lingering despite the shower falls away, and he relaxes completely in blissful anticipation of the high.

Sherlock does not get it. He really, really doesn't.

But, he reflects, he is hardly one to talk about strange coping mechanisms. Smoking pot is arguably more normal than breaking into houses.

Cal exhales slowly, blowing the smoke in the general direction of the window and away from Sherlock.

"Still don't want any?" He feels obliged to check. It seems only polite.

He grins. "I still don't," he affirms. "You have your hobbies and I have mine."