if_inconvenient | (no subject)

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Sherlock is perfectly confident in his ability to take on a vampire in hand-to-hand combat and survive, unless the vampire in question has significant training. That's one vampire.

He is also perfectly confident in his ability to take on any number of them at a distance with his laser in hand, at a distance being the operative phrase.

The situation he finds himself in, when he tracks down the lair of the conspirators at last, transpires to be somewhat chancier. There is little margin for error, and at the end of what is unquestionably the most violent fifteen minutes of his life, he is lying on a richly carpeted floor surrounded by clouds of dust and wishing there were two of him so he could delegate the job of calling Peter Beardsley to the other one. Surely Tony could have cooked up an extra while he was at it.

No, that is not a productive train of thought. Coughing hoarsely, he drags himself to his feet and finds a telephone.

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If he has any further injuries, they're subtle enough to remain unnoticed as Sherlock gets into the car. He's even starting to smile.

Connolly makes certain Sherlock is safely in the car before getting in himself.

"An entire nest by yourself?" he asks as he eases out of the driveway. "Really?"

He sounds like he can't decide whether to disapprove or high five.

"The ultraviolet laser is a powerful tool, but I believe I have just discovered its limitations." He lifts a hand to touch the bandage at his neck.

"Looks like."

Connolly flips on his radio to let Peter know that he's gotten Sherlock out safely. "- and it doesn't look like the hospital trip will be necessary, sir, I'll be taking him straight home."

"Good," Peter says (a bit dry, since he knows Sherlock will be listening, too), "makes life easier for everyone. Take yourself home after."

"Yes, sir."

"Sorry to drag you out of bed," says Sherlock, shortly thereafter.

(He decided not to give Peter any trouble about that putative hospital trip. It made perfect sense, after all.)

"Don't worry about it," Connolly says easily. "We're all on call right now. I wasn't even off-duty long enough to wind down from my shift."

"Hmm." He looks more closely. "Ah, yes, so I see."

Damn, he really is off his game. There was no evidence to directly contradict the reasonable assumption that Connolly was trying to sleep when Peter called him, but Sherlock should have noticed that there was no evidence in support of it, either. And an interrupted nap leaves traces.

Connolly glances at him. He knows from conversation with Mr Beardsley to take the Sherlock Holmes thing seriously, but he hadn't experienced it for himself yet.

He refrains from asking, though. Just because the kid doesn't need the hospital doesn't mean he's in good shape.

"I hope your partner is aware you are allergic to their cat," he adds. His light, even tone suggests he is showing off.

This time when he glances over, he's suppressing a smile.

Hey, he knows a bid to save face when he sees one. It's kind of cute. Definitely cuter than Hannah's spoiled-ass Persian.

"When the time comes," he says, "I don't think she's gonna choose me."

"Pity. I am sure you are much better company than any variety of domestic longhair." He quirks a smile. "If the cat is purebred, on the other hand, you may have some competition."

"She's got the papers framed on her wall."

No, really. She does.

"Guess I'm livin' on borrowed time, huh?"

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news."

"Damn," Connolly says regretfully.

Then,

"Oh well, at least I won't have to pretend to like vegan restaurants anymore. It's like eating Chinese, you're hungry again an hour later."

"Good heavens," he says dryly. "Now there is a metaphor one doesn't want describing one's relationship."

Connolly laughs.

He's starting to see why Sherlock is so popular around the Chandler home.

A faint smile curves his lips. He settles back in his seat, pleased.

A couple minutes later, Connolly's driving up the long driveway to the Stark residence.

"I'm going to walk you to the door and make sure you get in all right," he says. "Anything you need before I head home?"

"No, thank you." He smiles again.

Connolly nods and pulls up near the front door, settling more firmly back into security mindset. He gets out and goes around to open Sherlock's door for him.

Under the circumstances, he decides not to protest.

Those circumstances include him being out of the car and scanning the treeline already, of course. Nothing but wildlife. He doesn't need to check the house; Jarvis checks himself just fine.

Yeah, Connolly probably should've expected that.

He's looking too, keeping close to Sherlock. The area appears secure, so he says,

"Ready?"

"Quite."

It's not far to the door. He walks steadily—a little stiffly, but steadily.

The front door unlocks itself when he's still a few steps away.

Handy.

Connolly steps forward to open the door, keeping Sherlock in his line of sight while he also scans the interior automatically; he knows his employer trusts the security here, and that a vampire breaking in is pretty unlikely unless the brother was stupid enough to issue an invite, but still. He checks.

Then he steps aside so Sherlock can go in.