cop_an_attitude | 02 | [Written/Voice/Action]

Entry tags:

02 | [Written/Voice/Action]

[Early enough in the morning that it's clear someone couldn't get back to sleep, a series of doodles appear on the page: they're Sally's best estimate of the floor plan of her apartment, with little rudimentary sketches of furniture in various placements. Over the span of a half hour, several are drawn with different configurations and crossed out before one ends up circled. A check mark is drawn next to it for good measure.

She was too lazy to get out of bed and find real scrap paper, but she figured no one would care.

Much later in the morning, at a reasonable hour, Sally makes a voice recording.]

Right. I've got a question, much as I hate to ask it: since I've been a bit of a dosser when it comes to actually talking to people since I've come here, what with the rampant madness of...everything, and being busy with a few things, I've run short of friends who're willing to do me favors. That being said, I've several articles of heavy furniture that need to be moved up seven flights of stairs.

My usual find-help-moving-house tactic of offering free beer and crisps is moot here, but if there's anyone who can help me out, I'd be happy to negotiate some sort of payment. A favor in return, or something. As I said, I wouldn't ask, but...well. Some of you lot have magic and super strength, and I'm just a regular copper with one very slightly weak ankle. [A self-deprecating laugh that's a little more rueful than she intended. Sally really hates asking for help, but she also really wants her flat not to look like a room in a mental institution, so something had to give.] Thanks, everyone.

[In the afternoon, Sally can be found poking around the item shop, looking for home decorating items and some things she's hoping will show up from her world, and in the evening she'll be at the library doing some cursory research of other worlds and waiting for something interesting to jump out at her.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He looked over at her, something sparking behind those pale eyes. His lips twitched once, as did the fingers at his side.

When he speaks, his voice is still cold, but there's an edge to it.]

I suppose Lestrade invited the Chief Superintendent to my flat, then. All very social?

Oh for god's sake, you utter bastard. He didn't want to, but I didn't go over his head! We convinced him it had to be done and he did it.

[And yes, it had occurred to her that maybe it was out of concern that they would go over his head, but she likes to hope Lestrade knows better than to doubt that she trusts his integrity as a policeman to do the right thing.]

I know this may be inconceivable to you, but I go out of my way to avoid taking people I respect and shattering their trust in me.

And what would you have done if he hadn't? If he'd wanted something a bit more conclusive than the fact that a traumatised girl screamed?

What would you have done?

It can't be called a fair decision if there are no other options. [Like if the only options are to commit (or fake) a suicide or lose everyone who matters.

It's not a choice, then.]

[She leans forward, just slightly in his personal space, because listen.]

That didn't happen, did it? That wouldn't have happened, because evidence pointed to you being a possible suspect, and DI Lestrade is a good cop who does his job.

[She leans back and looks away, because...honestly, she hadn't even thought about it, but...]

And if it had - if he'd wanted something more conclusive, I'd have found it for him. But it was the best decision at the time to make sure you didn't have the chance to flee if you were the perpetrator, and I believed he'd see that and make that decision. It's just that everyone needs a bit of convincing when they need to bring their own friend in for questioning.

[It doesn't really matter. She won't convince him; he won't convince her.

But she's brought up a thought now. A question he never got to ask.]

What did you hear? [Too vague.

Now he's leaning in. He isn't bothered by invasions of his personal space or invading someone else's. Not in this manner, at least. Irene Adler... Well, she's a different story for a lot of things.

But Sally Donovan, he is comfortable enough to be this close.]

It might have been days before. Probably not even about me. Or at least it didn't sound like it.

But you heard something. On the street, at the water cooler. Something.

And looking at that evidence, you heard it again. In your head. Just a hint. A whisper of an idea. And it took hold.

What was it?

What? What are you-- [She's taken aback at first, defensive, but she finds herself thinking back to that day, poring over the evidence at New Scotland Yard after Sherlock's departure. Everything that had gone through her head at the time comes back to her.

All he had was one footprint. Solved the whole case with nothing but a footprint, a smartphone, and a gaggle of homeless people.

Our boys could never have done it. Never like that, not all of them put together.

And the girl screamed...

But then something else, something entirely unrelated, jumps to the front of her mind.]

It was in the canteen. One of the rookies, a new lad...he brought me a coffee like they do, trying to get on the superiors' good sides, and we got to talking and after a bit he brought up that case awhile back about the stolen painting, The Reichenbach Fall. He said it was amazing that this one high profile case came up and then suddenly all these others poured in, high stakes crimes with impossible circumstances getting all this news coverage, and he had a theory that all these cases were connected, that there had to be one mastermind behind them all.

I thought there was absolutely no way this conspiracy theorist would make it six months on the force that they'll let anyone on these days, and wrote him off entirely. But then...I don't know. All this evidence about the Bruhl kidnapping was laid out in front of me and somewhere in the back of my head I remembered that daft kid and I thought back to all those cases he listed and I realized they all had exactly one thing in common.

[Sherlock Holmes.]

Rookie.

[He only half listens to the rest of what she's saying. He's sorting through Scotland Yard's personnel files in his head. Names, faces, time of service...

It's the look he has when he leans over Lestrade's desk, taking in classified information and processing it all in a heartbeat, set on his case and not caring what rules he bends or outright breaks to get the results he lives on.]

Which?

One of the ones on the kidnapping? Sits just outside Lestrade's office? Him? Or someone else?

What are you so worked up a...bout...

[An odd thought occurs.]

...Actually - yeah, him. He does sit just outside Lestrade's office. How did you...?

Brilliant.

[It's whispered, something of a mix between horrified and delighted.]

I knew there was someone, but right under my nose. Yes. Always there. Watching. Staring. Not unusual at Scotland Yard. [It's not even arrogance. It's simple fact. Most of the officers there stare at him when he's around.]

Quiet, unassuming, currying favour without being too much.

Oh, he is brilliant.

[At this point, Sally is beyond perplexed.]

Is he? Because I thought he was barmy. Look, for the benefit of those of us not included in this conversation, what are you on about?

[For a moment, he seems surprised that it isn't perfectly obvious.

There's the usual Sherlock.]

Moriarty.

I told you-- he planted that idea in your head.

[Still bordering on almost gleeful here, even if there's a drive to his words.]

I was looking for someone experienced passing information to him. Even unknowingly. But a rookie--

[He almost smiles. It's a relief, in a way. To know.]

Best way to keep him close to Lestrade. Ready to strike. He'd keep an eye on anyone new. Especially who needed that sort of influence.

Once again, the planning is absolutely elegant. [...Probably not good to sound almost like you have a crush, Sherlock.]

[She takes a step back, as if trying to get a better view of the situation.]

I - I'm sorry, are you overjoyed that someone infiltrated Scotland Yard to convince us that you were a criminal? Because you know what this sounds like, right? It sounds like you're in love with your own genius again and you're trying to show off without admitting what you've done. It really isn't helping your case at all.

[He looks at her, as if surprised by the idea that it sounds anything like that.

Then:] Why would I ask? If it was my doing, why reveal my own insider?

[The rate at which this man can switch gears is capable of giving a person whiplash.]

What? No, not - you're not telling me your methods, you're making something clever up to cover for the clever thing you actually did - hypothetically. Cocky perps do it all the time. They have to prove how sharp they are, but they don't want to end up behind bars. You've seen it; I know you have.

[Give him a moment... Give him a moment...

...Nope. Not worthy of a reply. Instead, he takes a step closer to her, somehow seeming drawn up and leaned in at the same time. Close. Dangerously so? Hard to say with him.]

Watch him. When you get back, watch him.

A good man's life may depend on it.

[So simple. So ingenious. Lestrade would think nothing of being alone with a rookie, would turn his back to the man...]

Watch him. And hope that you catch him before I do.

[That? There is no hinting, no questions. That is a threat against the man.]

[Hmm. Backing down? Moving away? How about no. Not only does Sally hold her ground, she makes an effort to invade his personal space right back. See how you like being loomed at (although Sally may be at a slight height disadvantage).]

I plan to. And if anyone catches him for anything at all, it won't be you. Because if it is, and you assault him like you did that man at the clinic, you will find out first hand at least two of the ways I know to incapacitate a grown man without care to his personal safety.

You claim not to be a criminal? Stop giving me reason to treat you like one.

If I get to him first, Sally, [now he's calm again, dead serious] then you'll be able to make a case to charge me with murder.

[Even if the man had never pulled a gun on Lestrade, he'd only been waiting for the call to do so. That was guilt enough where Sherlock was concerned.]

[Sally rolls her eyes, turns away, and puts her hands up in surrender.]

You are a madman. I know it's obvious, but sometimes it bears repeating. You're a madman, and if you're trying to frighten me it really isn't working.

[Then a horrible realization occurs and she puts her face in her hands.]

I hope you're just trying to frighten me, because this place doesn't have a bloody jail.

No jail. No police force. No law of any kind.

[He pauses. And he sounds almost cocky as he hits upon the word she said before that he hated.]

Here, you're as useless as I am.

[She glares. Just a little.]

I'm not useless. I could break your wrist and I contribute to community fitness by not being a berk.

Don't think that would look good, breaking a man's wrist with no physical provocation.

And that is what matters, isn't it? [He hasn't forgotten your "real people" remark, Sally.] Appearances. Looking like you're doing the right thing. Playing nice. That's what normal people care about, isn't it?

Could. I could, if you make me, which I would not for a second put past you.

[This again. She crosses her arms and looks as unimpressed as possible.] It's not about lying, it's about caring. Not looking like you're doing the right thing, but actually doing it. Being nice, not playing nice. That is what matters to most people.

[A pause.

Then, simply:]

No, it's not.

I... [Phrased that completely wrong. She's never had to teach someone morals from the ground up before, and she suspects toddlers don't throw many curveballs.]

No, it's not. It's what's supposed to matter. It's what matters to good people.

There aren't many of those.

[It isn't that he doesn't know about morals. It's that he learned an entirely different set. He'd rather, as she put it, be "an obnoxious, arrogant prat who speaks his mind" than couch his responses to people and be better liked.

"Honesty" over "acceptability."]

[action]

Re: [action]

[action]

Re: [action]

[action]

Re: [action]

[action]

Re: [action]

[action]

Re: [action]

[action]

Re: [action]

[action]

Re: [action]

[action]

Re: [action]

[action]

Re: [action]

[action]

Re: [action]

[action]

Re: [action]

[action]

Re: [action]

[action]