Harriet Watson
Teacher of languages and general trainwreck.
Posts: 787
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Post by Harriet Watson on Mar 4, 2012 23:30:39 GMT
*Harry steps outside the hotel, ignoring the biting wind, and goes to hail a taxi when a wave of nausea hits her. She stumbles, falling against a bench, before vomiting both the remains of her steak and a spattering of blood.*
Oh sh*t... oh, no, no please no...
*She heaves herself to standing on the bench, but by now a stranger has noticed her - about twenty, male with jet black hair and the soft features only a Parisian could wear*
J'ai besoin de votre aide... s'il vous plait Monsier... je suis enceinte... I need your help... please Monsieur... I'm pregnant
*The man nods and holds her up*
"Vous avez besoin d'un docteur madame!" You need a doctor ma'am!
Non! C'est mon hôtel là! J'ai besoin de dormir... Aidez-moi... Non - that's my hotel there. I need sleep... help me
*With the man's strong arm around her waist, Harry half-limps to the concierge's desk. She shoos her hero away with her gratitude, and promptly vomits again*
Je suis pas ivre! Je suis malade - j'ai besoin d'aller au chambre! I'm not drunk! I'm ill - I need to go to my room!
*The rather bewildered concierge helps her upstairs. She unlocks her bedroom door, insists on being left alone and vomits again, all over the shower curtain. There are more than just flecks of blood this time, and the strain on her legs has caused her ankle injury to re-open. Before she can do anything, there is blood everywhere.
She vomits again, her head hazy.*
Well, pregnancy's a drag.
*And with that, she slumps to the floor*
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Sherlock Holmes
Consulting Detective
The world's only consulting detective
Posts: 1,230
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Post by Sherlock Holmes on Mar 5, 2012 1:58:45 GMT
*the next morning, Quinn is knocking on Harry's door. Sherlock is in his chair, impatient, not much stronger than the previous day, but now he has at least gotten rid of his fever*Just break down the door. *Quinn raises his eyebrow at Sherlock*
*Sherlock takes out his phone. He's too weak to hold it to his ear, so he sends a text*We'll be late. SH
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Harriet Watson
Teacher of languages and general trainwreck.
Posts: 787
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Post by Harriet Watson on Mar 5, 2012 2:13:07 GMT
*Harry's phone vibrates next to her ear. She came to around four am, and is struggling to recollect last nights events. With difficulty, she hauls herself out of bed and has already opened the door when she remembers she's in jeans and a bra, having removed her vomit-covered shirt.*
*Rubbing her head, she yawns*
I, I collapsed. I didn't drink, did I? I don't remember drinking...?
*panic ensues before she recalls the night's events. The blood, the hours spend sobbing in the dawn as she feared for her baby, before a few phone calls and some googling reassured her it was nothing to worry about*
Smoke damage. In my throat. I was coughing up blood.
*She shudders and gestures for Sherlock to come in, grabbing a shirt and pulling it round her*
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Sherlock Holmes
Consulting Detective
The world's only consulting detective
Posts: 1,230
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Post by Sherlock Holmes on Mar 5, 2012 3:25:09 GMT
*Sherlock raises an eyebrow*
Fortunately, we have a medical professional in our presence.
*rolls himself to the window to look outside, trying to avoid getting caught in anything too sentimental or emotional*
*Quinn looks at Harry*
"Shall I look you over, see if you're okay?"
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Harriet Watson
Teacher of languages and general trainwreck.
Posts: 787
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Post by Harriet Watson on Mar 5, 2012 9:48:15 GMT
*Harry doesn't say anything, then gives a reluctant nod and allows Quinn to shine a torch down her throat*
"A slight reddening of the oesophagus. It'll heal. Keep off solids for a few days and drink a lot of fluids."
Don't worry, I'm good at that.
*Quinn goes to her ankle, but Harry moves it away*
I can sort that out
"It needs cleaning and re-bandaging. I've got fresh bandages."
I can sort it!
*Without waiting for a response, she limps to the bathroom, peels her jeans off, throwing the bloodied denim on her bed, before stepping in the shower*
I'll meet you downstairs Sherlock.
*Her voice is rather higher than usual*
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Sherlock Holmes
Consulting Detective
The world's only consulting detective
Posts: 1,230
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Post by Sherlock Holmes on Mar 5, 2012 12:45:21 GMT
Potentially disastrous lack of self-preservation.
*he is still staring out of the window, distantly. He feels no need to speak, so he doesn't*
*Quinn takes Sherlock's temperature to make sure he is fit for their meeting later*
"You're a little cool today, Mr. Holmes, but only just."
Mm.
*suddenly he swivels around, examining all the details of Harry's room but can only deduce what he already knew*
*drums his fingers along the arms of his wheelchair, restless*
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Harriet Watson
Teacher of languages and general trainwreck.
Posts: 787
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Post by Harriet Watson on Mar 5, 2012 13:43:25 GMT
*Harry steps back into the room, her leg freshly bandaged, zipping up a black knee-length skirt and running a brush through her hair*
I told you I'd meet you downstairs.
*She grabs a clean shirt out of her suitcase and puts it on, before finding a camel-brown jacket and slipping on some shoes*
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Sherlock Holmes
Consulting Detective
The world's only consulting detective
Posts: 1,230
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Post by Sherlock Holmes on Mar 5, 2012 14:52:14 GMT
Didn't hear you.
*he was too absorbed in his own thoughts to hear what she said*
*he rolls to the door and stares irritatedly as he waits for Quinn to open the door--he cannot do it himself*
*they go downstairs to the lobby, where Quinn gets Sherlock a coffee to stave off the abnormal tiredness beginning to come over him. He cannot hold the cup, so Quinn puts it on a table in front of Sherlock to where he can easily reach the straw*
*frowns*
You forgot the sugar.
*Quinn remedies this, and while he does, Sherlock's head droops forward.*
"Mr. Holmes?"
*Sherlock sits up, fighting the betrayal of his body.*
I'm fine.
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Harriet Watson
Teacher of languages and general trainwreck.
Posts: 787
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Post by Harriet Watson on Mar 5, 2012 14:58:10 GMT
*Harry orders a double espresso and a copy of Le Monde, both which appear almost instantly.*
*She drinks in silence, frowning as she flicks through the paper, before murmuring to no one in particular:*
Alors, c'est impossible. La haine attire la haine. It's impossible... Hatred breeds hatred
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Sherlock Holmes
Consulting Detective
The world's only consulting detective
Posts: 1,230
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Post by Sherlock Holmes on Mar 5, 2012 15:43:54 GMT
What are you babbling about now?
*rolls his eyes. As exciting as this is, Sherlock would much rather be back at Baker Street where his current disabilities are less public. Harry is not her brother and Sherlock is not exactly quick to make friends. He much prefers John as a companion and is uncomfortable without anything familiar. Everything feels almost alien--the foreign environment, the wheelchair, his hair so much shorter than even John wears it, a bodyguard and a pregnant woman as associates. Truthfully, he just wants to go home, but he understands that John would be upset if he left Harry now. It's not homesickness, exactly, just a discomfort at being away from the normal*
*bubbles his coffee to stir it before taking another sip*
Don't we need to be somewhere?
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Harriet Watson
Teacher of languages and general trainwreck.
Posts: 787
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Post by Harriet Watson on Mar 5, 2012 16:00:47 GMT
*Harry doesn't reply for a moment, continuing to read the paper. She takes a sip of her espresso.*
Mmmn. Sure. Give it five minutes.
*She gives a pointed look to a lone male, around thirty and European-looking*
We're being watched.
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Sherlock Holmes
Consulting Detective
The world's only consulting detective
Posts: 1,230
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Post by Sherlock Holmes on Mar 5, 2012 17:45:24 GMT
*rolls his eyes, doesn't look around*
Obviously.
*lowers his voice*
No need to draw attention to the fact that we know. If we notice them--and yes, there are more than one, three in fact--they're more likely to be more cautious. We want to be aware of them. I realize you're a bit of an amateur when it comes to detective work, but you need to try to act like you haven't noticed them.
*smiles as though he had just divulged a secret of a personal nature--he is an excellent actor*
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Harriet Watson
Teacher of languages and general trainwreck.
Posts: 787
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Post by Harriet Watson on Mar 5, 2012 19:46:45 GMT
*Harry resists the urge to throw a bread roll at Sherlock's head and continues to read in silence. Finally, she folds the paper and drains her espresso*
Go outside and take a left. Keep going until I meet you. I need to settle our bill.
*She stands up and walks towards the concierge's desk. Her ankle is still hurting, and on the way she half-stumbles. A woman catches her - american, in her late fifties.*
Merci madame, merci. Je suis trop maladroite! Thank you ma'am, thank you. I'm so clumsy!
*The woman smiles, and Harry beams back - without the woman realising, she's just taken her purse and it feels pretty heavy. Sure enough, when Harry peeks inside as she waits for a concierge to appear, there's at least two hundred euros. Enough to ensure everything at the hotel is in order. The concierge arrives*
"Est-ce que je peux vous aidez, madame?" Can I help you, madam?
Oui - mon frère est plus malade qu'on pense. Nous devons aller chez nous aussitôt - c'est essentiel. Ce sera possible pour notre choses d'aller à un autre hôtel? Oui - ce soir, nous allons rester à cet hôtel. D'accord? Yes - my brother is more ill than we thought. We must go home immediately - it's essential. It's possible to have our things go to another hotel? Yes - this evening, we are going to stay at this hotel. Okay?
*She slides across a piece of paper with the details of a hotel in the south-east of Paris, with a fifty-euro note underneath. The concierge nods knowingly and disappears for a moment, coming back with her passport - false. Harry hands over the room keys, including Sherlock's, which she'd pickpocketed from Quinn and gives a smile.*
Merci pour votre aide Monsieur. Et bonne journée! Thank you for your help sir. And have a wonderful day!
*Beaming, Harry takes the lift down the carpark. Parked round the corner is a a rented Range Rover, complete with ramp for Sherlock's chair.*
No expense spared for the famous Mr Holmes.
*She swings into the driver seat, kicks off her shoes and starts the engine, before driving swiftly out of the carpark and onto the street, pulling over next to Sherlock and Quinn.*
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Sherlock Holmes
Consulting Detective
The world's only consulting detective
Posts: 1,230
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Post by Sherlock Holmes on Mar 5, 2012 22:47:31 GMT
*Quinn lifts Sherlock into the backseat and buckles him in. Sherlock refuses to show how distressed he is at his lost independence, even if, admittedly, he's slowly regaining his strength. He stares out the window of the car as Quinn manages to wrestle the wheelchair into the boot of the car before getting in the backseat. Quinn is also Sherlock's physical therapist and starts on his arm excercises in the car*
I expect you want to do the talking.
*Sherlock is irritated at being a mere observer and straining with the effort of the excercises--he wants to be in charge*
At least my condition functions as an effective disguise. No one expects the--the famous Sherlock Holmes to have such short hair and to be--immobile.
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Harriet Watson
Teacher of languages and general trainwreck.
Posts: 787
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Post by Harriet Watson on Mar 5, 2012 22:59:37 GMT
Manuel likes me. He'll warm to you, once I spin him some bulls**t about us being the best of friends.
*She pulls the car sharply left as a small Citroen cuts her up. Harry beeps her horn furiously, leaning out the window to yell*
Putain! Apprenez de conduire! S**t! Learn to drive!
Bloody Parisian drivers. Mad, the lot of them.
*She shakes her head irritably, ignoring her churning stomach and drives on, keeping mainly to back streets. Traffic and Harry's incessant paranoia doubles the journey time, but eventually they arrive.*
Welcome to Place du Bourbon. The storage houses of the French mafia.
*She puts her shoes back on and glances around the empty yard from the driver's seat. There are miles of warehouses, all the same dismal grey colour, none well-cared for and a few seemingly abandoned.*
*Harry leans over to the glove compartment, takes a thick brown envelope and puts it in her jacket breast pocket, before turning to Sherlock, unable to hide the excitement in her eyes*
Ready to meet the enemy, Mr Holmes?
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