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 Close Encounters in an Elevator

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The Improbable One
helping Molly in the lab
helping Molly in the lab
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Posts : 56
Join date : 2011-01-04
Age : 22
Location : America

PostSubject: Close Encounters in an Elevator   Sun Jan 09, 2011 3:09 pm

Sherlock Holmes waited impatiently for the elevator to open. He hates these trips, the ones that take him outside the comfort of his flat, but they are necessary to the case. The door dings open and he lets out a large sigh. Three people already occupy the small compartment. He waltzes in and immediately heads for the corner so he wouldn't have to look at anyone else. A teenage girl is scribbling away madly in a notebook, much like his own, only slightly bigger. She pushes her square glasses up her nose before sliding him a smile decorated in braces and then continues to write. She looks up at the ceiling a moment, mouthing something before writing again. A writer then. Most likely a novelist. She looks up and studies Sherlock a moment. She tugs on a strand of her hair, straightened her skinny jeans and fiddled with a ring on her hand before asking,
“Does this sound right to you?”
“What?” Startled Sherlock backs into the corner again. What is she doing? Asking me if something sounds right apparently,
“Does this sound okay? She stares at the sea, quiet and calm, hoping and dreaming the waves will bring back, something she lost on the sea's long ago, something so precious and pure.” Sherlock runs the verse over in his mind,
“Yeah. Actually. That sounds... Good.” She looks him over a minute,
“Really?”
“Yes. Very... Poetic.” She beams,
“Thanks!”
“You're an author then I take it?”
“Is it that obvious? What tipped you off?” Sherlock thinks a moment, funny how you can strike up a conversation with someone in an elevator.
“Do you want the whole story, or about half?”
“The whole if you don't mind.” The others in the elevator get off as it comes to a stop, “I'll be on here a while, going all the way to the top. Good experience you know?” Sherlock smiles, this girl is funny,
“Well first of all it was the callus.”
“What?”
“You have a callus on the side of your index finger where your pencil or, in this case, pen, rests. You prefer pen. I can tell because you have ink all over your hands. You carry that book with you wherever you go and it's nearly filled suggesting that you are creative. You obviously don't care what people think about you considering that you haven't brushed your hair today, and your clothes are slightly wrinkled. You didn't eat breakfast either. Your stomach is making funny noises. Your nail polish is chipped meaning that you don't really care about it either and that you painted them as a courtesy.” The girls jaw has dropped, but she clicked it shut again before motioning him to go on, “You still live with your parents, no surprise there, you can't be more then what? Fifteen? Your hair has been dyed recently, nice colour by the way, the auburn brings out your eyes, and you also had it cut saying that you might care a bit more then you're letting on. You type more then you write on paper, and are prone to sitting in the dark, I can tell that because of your poor eyesight as well as the slightly flattened tips of your fingers. Your nails can't be too long or you wouldn't be able to type, yet they are longer then you feel comfortable with but you can't do anything because you are used to biting them. You do well in school, but don't consider yourself a nerd, not that it's a problem if you did. You watch a lot of telly, don't listen to much music, and are some what of a dork when it comes to Doctor Who and reading. The TARDIS on your key chain suggests that you watch loads of Doctor Who and you probably even,” he reaches over and plucks up a key chain around her neck with a key on it, “yes, you have a key on a necklace saying that you want the Doctor to take you somewhere fantastic. You read a lot, your glasses say as much. Your t-shirt says the name of a band that I'm somewhat familiar with, Muse is it? But it also suggests that you don't listen to very much music at all because they aren't mainstream. You don't have many friends or else you would have brought one with you, and you talk to yourself. That says that you are probably an outcast and stand around outside of main society. I would say hipster, but obviously you aren't. Too creative for that kind of thing. You have a cat too.”
“Did I really talk to myself?” Sherlock smiles again,
“Yes, but don't worry about it. I do that too. Did I get anything wrong?” She nods, and Sherlock's face falls,
“But I can't blame you for that, I don't have a cat. I used to but mummy took her away from me. That was fairly recent so I'll give you that. That was amazing.”
“Really?”
“Of course! It was brilliant!” Sherlock smiles, maybe people could actually appreciate him. The doors ding again,
“This is my stop, it was a pleasure.” He holds out his hand, “Sherlock Holmes.” She takes his hand and shakes it once,
“Hannah. Pleasure. Mind if I use this?” she gestures to the notebook,
“Not at all.” The doors close, blocking her from view. Sherlock smiles again, she was an odd sort of girl. Friendly enough, but still.... Odd. Not a last name either. Maybe elevators weren't so bad, at least not with people like her on them.
Later
“John, I'm telling you, it was extraordinary!” John hasn't looked up from his book since Sherlock got home, or the entire time Sherlock was relating the experience.
“I'm sure it was Sherlock, too bad I wasn't there to see your new muse.”
“My what?” Now John looks up, a slight smile playing across his face,
“You are obviously obsessed with her. You haven't stopped talking about her since you got home. Twenty minutes ago.” Sherlock sighs before sitting on the couch again,
“I'm not obsessed, just interested. She took everything very well. Like you.” John stares at Sherlock for a minute,
“You mean people don't usual congratulate you on getting almost everything about their life correct?”
“Now you're teasing.”
“She wanted to know what you observed, if you had just set her life's story out on a platter without her asking, I'm pretty sure she would have slapped you.”
“Punched.”
“What?”
“She would have punched me, slapping is too girly for her. She has brothers.”
“How did you know that?!” Sherlock looked up,
“She was tired looking.” John sighed, time to contradict Sherlock, again,
“Maybe she stays up late, writing. She is a writer you know.”
“Not that kind of tired. Weary, like she's sick of her brothers.”
“More then one?”
“Obviously, one brother is too easy. They don't wear you out as much. Unless it's Mycroft, then it's a whole other story.” John laughs, he never could understand the rivalry between the two, it's one of the only things that convinces John that Sherlock's even human.
“Right. Okay. I'll let you think about her till you wear yourself out.”
“Thank you.” The two men sit in silence, one that doesn't last long. “OH!” John nearly jumps out of his chair,
“What?”
“I've solved it!”
“Solved what?! Who this Hannah girl is?!”
“NO! THE CASE STUPID! I've solved the case! What did you think I'd solved?”
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