Don't Stray From The Light

Staring At Strangers

Mycroft arranged the carriage and groomed the horses while Sherlock went to pamper himself, donning his tall top hat and his spectacular circular sunglasses, tinted to such a shade that they were pitch black on the outside and gave a wonderful black hue to the rest of the world when looking through. These of course didn't help the vampire rumors, for it was said that crazy Sherlock Holmes couldn't tolerate to look at sunlight, however truth be told he just thought he looked beautiful. The world was always better when tinted black, it gave a telltale sort of gloominess to the misery of the common folks, a misery that never looked quite right in full color. A sun shining upon the dirtied streets and the starving children almost looked like mockery, in Sherlock's opinion, and when tinted in black it was most always easier to handle. It looked more like a sad photograph than real life, and photographs were much easier to cope with. Mycroft was outside with the carriage when Sherlock finally strolled up, the tails of his frock coat flapping in the soft breeze as he got into the carriage and settled his hands on his walking stick, his tight leather gloves straining around his bent knuckles as he leaned forward so as to look out the windows at the world going past. He could see the gate as he passed through, as well as the tall overhanging trees that lined the elegant cobblestone drive. This manor had been inherited for years now, it was as ancient as it was beautiful, and of course it was the perfect fit for Sherlock. Secluded enough so that he could get up to what he liked without fear of onlookers or snitches, however it was close enough to the cesspool of common folks that he could go fishing when he pleased. There were lovely symphonies and operas in the area, as well as local artists that could sooth his need for beautiful things besides his reflection. He always had a very expensive taste in entertainment, and a peculiar one at that. The carriage rolled up through the town towards Sherlock's favorite sidewalk café, the one in which he usually watched the men in the day, and there was a particular brothel for doing that at night. Now of course he was able to stay low radar, for the women who were for sale around there had never once been permitted to touch him or even look at him, he never paid and eventually they got the idea. He drank and he watched the men, for those who come to a brothel are either so desperate for a companion that they would fall into the arms of anyone or so done with their wives that they might be searching for the polar opposite of an annoying woman. And of course, in steps Sherlock to solve both of those particular problems. But that was the night life, the rather racy side of this old city, while in the daylight there were people all milling about, not a care in the world, not an eye for an attractive man...well all but one of course. Sherlock told Mycroft to go back home and pick him up at noon, as was his usual morning schedule, and so Mycroft and the carriage disappeared around the corner in the rush of carriage traffic. Victor Trevor, the reporter that Sherlock knew had been watching him for a while now, had started to get accustomed to Sherlock's schedule. He knew the exact time he would arrive for his morning Danish and coffee (despite his having breakfast not twenty minutes earlier) and Victor knew that suddenly he had to mimic Sherlock's schedule. That was always what the persistent ones did, the ones who felt it necessary to sneak around the ones they were attracted to as opposed to just coming up and talking. Of course Sherlock knew that he was a bit difficult to approach, especially with the sunglasses tinted so heavily on his face, however he thought he was relatively welcoming. He never scowled; in fact sometimes he set his eyes on Victor as well, smiling even, so as to let him know that the empty chair across from him needn't stay empty for long. This morning when Sherlock sat outside in the nice, sunny day the summer had brought him he noticed immediately that Victor was present. He was always nose deep in a newspaper at this time of day, pausing only to make notes with a little pencil or take a sip of his coffee. That man was presumably criticizing other's work, that or going over his own published articles. Either way Sherlock always believed a newspaper reporter had no need to read the paper at all, they were in the center of all the big stories, and so Victor must only be leafing through for vanity's sake. That or he was doing the cross word. Sherlock thanked the waitress, the ever pleasant Molly Hooper, when she arrived with his morning meal. After a while of Sherlock's morning menu she had gotten accustomed to bringing him his black coffee, two sugars, and strawberry Danish whenever he made his morning appearance, and so the food was always the first thing to appear, along with her pleasant smiling face. Molly Hooper was what Sherlock considered an outlier, simply because she was the one woman he liked to converse with. On the outside she was everything like all the other women in the world, with a pretty face, kind smile, and long brown hair tied into a ponytail with a single black ribbon. She always wore the same café uniform, a simple black dress with a white embroidered apron overtop, and she was always ever so happy to sit and talk with Sherlock for a while. Apparently she thought he was lonely, which in all honesty was the truth. Then again, he liked to be alone. Loneliness was where he could keep his best secrets; for the more you talk the more likely you are to let something slip. Oh and he had many secrets...those he needed to keep well-hidden for the sake of his freedom. Despite Molly's seemingly plain appearance, however, she proved to be a very well rounded, unpredictable woman. When he first met her she would never say one thing that wasn't cheery and happy go lucky, however after a couple of days of sincere conversation she had gotten to trust him a bit more to let him know her true feelings of the world. She now complained about her work, she complained about the customers, the weather, the carriage traffic...well the longer Sherlock talked to her the more she reminded him of himself. He always seemed to have the same grievances with the human kind, and he constantly caught himself wishing that Molly Hooper was only a man. He could never bring himself to love a woman, however if she had miraculously changed genders she would have made the perfect companion. Sherlock however could not trust her enough to let her too far into his life, and so they spent the majority of their conversations discussing her life and her annoyances, purely because it was easier for Sherlock to listen than to talk. She always felt bad, of course, trying to change the topic onto Sherlock so that he could get some words in, however his comments always ended up sparking her own related stories, and off she ranted again. It was a feature she had always claimed to be embarrassed of, however Sherlock continuously reminded her that it was charming. Today Molly was quite busy, however she left the cup and Danish out on Sherlock's table and bid him a pleasant good morning like she always did. Oh, he had forgotten of course that she was hopelessly in love with him. As most are.
"Good morning Mr. Holmes." Molly said with a little smile, to which Sherlock nodded and picked up his coffee cup with ease.
"Good morning Ms. Hooper, another sunny day for the books I presume." Sherlock decided, looking up at the sun as if accusing it of something.
"Oh it's just lovely, sitting outside on the sidewalk on a day like today really lightens the spirit." Molly agreed with a grin.
"Quite the contrary, Molly. I myself find it ridiculously inconvenient, for any sort of tan is sure to ruin my complexion." Sherlock insisted with a groan, patting his pale skin proudly while Molly laughed a bit nervously, as if not entirely sure if he was serious or not.
"Well you sit out here every day Mr. Holmes, surely the sun has been hotter than it is this morning, if you would've tanned it would've happened by now." Molly pointed out, to which Sherlock nodded with a bit of a sigh and blew the steam off of the top of the hot cup of coffee. He took an experimental sip before setting it down once more to put in the appropriate sugars, for now he was never sure if Molly had added some already or not. He always insisted that she didn't, for he had no way of knowing unless he tasted it and he never used to taste it before he added his own sugar cubes. That of course had produced an all too sweet cup of coffee, one that he usually swallowed just to be nice but warned against in the future.
"Yes Molly I suppose you're right." Sherlock agreed with a sigh.
"I've got to dash; the sun's brought some people out from the hotel, people from London I presume, judging on their attire." Molly muttered, looking across the sidewalk towards a man and a woman whom Sherlock had never seen before. The woman was facing him, and the man was turned away, however he couldn't help but feeling a bit of a spark of excitement. He loved people from outside, especially ones who were stupid enough to come here. Maybe that man would find himself desperately bored of the blonde woman in front of him; maybe he would find himself in Sherlock's choice of brothel, where he might be seduced by a whiskey and a pair of dark, dark sunglasses.
"Well then be on your way Molly, don't let me stall you." Sherlock assured with a nice wave of his hand, sending her away as pleasantly as he could.
"Yes Mr. Holmes, well enjoy your coffee, I'll be around if you need anything more." Molly said with a smile, and with that she did a little curtsey and scuttled away so as to take care of the Londoners who were sitting behind him. Sherlock watched Victor for a moment, seeing that while Victor's eyes would occasionally dart to Sherlock (and then away quickly, when he noticed him watching) but he would also look at the Londoners, almost as if they interested him just as much. What would Victor want with foreigners, unless they were here on something other than business? Well Sherlock was sure by now that Victor was a homosexual, despite his horrible wife of how many years, and so he couldn't be staring at that woman because he fancied her. So what then? Maybe they were of some importance, well that would certainly be interesting. All in all despite how many times Sherlock looked over at Victor the man seemed a bit too timid to come over, that and he seemed extremely preoccupied with the outsiders behind Sherlock. When finally Sherlock finished his breakfast he waited and watched, finally listening to the clamber and clatter of the outsiders putting down their money and leaving, noticing that a mere thirty seconds after they had made their departure Victor was off as well. He had miraculously finished at the same time as the couple, so that he could fold up his newspaper and dart of so as to overhear the destination of the hansom the man was taking now. Ah so then he was on a case...well that might be interesting as well. Sherlock then dropped his money on the table and started towards the sidewalk, lingering just about the same spot as Victor as he only just got a mere snippet of the words that left the man's lips as he yelled at the driver above. It wasn't much but it was enough...for Sherlock was sure he had heard him say "to the police station". Oh well this was getting more interesting by the minute! A detective!