lock and key, for betonit

[barter_system]

Sherlock plucked away at the strings of his violin, not in contemplation, but in frustration. His morning spent assuring their landlady, Mrs. Hudson, would have her rent by the next day, and then spent sending a telegraph to his brother to ask for assistance, he was in far from a decent mood to say the very least of it.

Ruminations aside, he should have been pleased, he had a thrilling new case that could prove to be most adventurous, and his mind could use the respite from the monotony of late. Still, his eyes remained fixed out the window of their flat, on the dreary, gray world outside, and the people milling about and going on with their daily tasks.

Flour on cuff. Baker. Grease on cheek and sleeves. Factory worker. Blood specks on sleeve and collar, pattern indicates other cloth was covering the area, so a butcher. Difficult to tell what sort of animal it was from this distance.

Pluck. Governess. Pluck. Teacher. Pluck. Doctor. Pluck. Mother of eight. Pluck--

Footsteps told him of his freshly roused companion, and he continued to pluck at the strings of his violin as he waited for Watson to come to his eventual conclusions. As he entered his room, he did not look up at him, still far too annoyed to offer more than a scathing glance.

"I've taken it upon myself to relieve you of your checkbook and what small amount of coin you had on your person after last night. It's locked safely in my drawer, and I expect you'll ask me for it when you find yourself in need of it."

Comments

[barter_system]

"And I will allow you to handle it as you see fit, without the presence of your checkbook on your person," he said, facing him still.

His fingers itched with his agitation, and he wanted to pick up his violin and play something that might relieve him of foreign and unpleasant feeling. His face remained stoic, impassive, unwilling to betray the turmoil surging through him. Those feelings would do him little good, and it was not his way to give into them.

WOW if i ever forget about this like that again you have full permission to smack me

[betonit]

Watson scowled. "I can't," he insisted through gritted teeth, "Without the checkbook."

He was losing this argument and fast. There was but little ammunition left for him to use against Holmes and whatever remained was reaching, but he was still determined to fight on.

"Most of what you do is disagreeable. You're a terrible tenant and flatmate," he went on. "You... you shoot the walls, you never clean... But when, when have I ever confiscated anything of yours?"

No, never. <3

[barter_system]

And so Watson has seen fit to attempt to turn the argument on its head. He knew very well that this would happen, and yet it still took him somewhat by surprise.

"What do you propose to do with your checkbook, should I deem it necessary to relinquish it?"

He reminded himself to keep his voice calm, and tried to silence the sudden flood of emotion-fueled thoughts that threatened to burst forth from his mouth. He imagined, especially considering what the good doctor had just tried to use as ammunition, that this must be the exact sort of feeling he must feel when dealing with himself.

It was a loathsome feeling which curled through his being entirely, and he found he could not dislodge it by simply refusing to acknowledge it. He clasped his hands in front of him, as if it would dispel the itching to do that seemed to have rooted itself in his fingers.

"Yes, I am, but you-you have counselled me on my errant behavior on more than one occasion. You have confiscated my experiments. You have found ways to force me out into the world, which I have very little use of unless I find myself with a case, so do not try and tell me that you have never done anything similar as to what I am doing to you now."

He had not yet realized that his voice had risen, threatening to break his calm facade.

"And while I am a terrible tenant and flatmate, according to your observations over the past months, none of my vices have threatened to cost us our home."