fandomhigh | Library [09/05]

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Library [09/05]

After last week's busy shift in the library, and a particularly active week besides, Jono was very much not in a state of mind to go above and beyond the call for the job, today. He was here, and he was attempting to shelve things when he saw things that needed to be shelved, and now and again he'd pick up a rag and try to dust.

But, well, he never got too far in any one task, because there were some very industrious helping hands hanging around, grabbing books and rags and anything else that he could get into before he could get into very much at all. And then patting him on the shoulder or the head or the ankle, wherever a disembodied hand happened to be able to reach from their particular vantage point, and pointing back toward the desk.

He would have decided that they were being condescending, if not for the fact that he was fairly inclined to just sit and do a whole lot of nothing in particular today anyhow.

[Open!]

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"In two days," John said, mildly. "It is your turn to buy the milk, remember?"

After a beat, he added, "...When was the last time you had dinner?"

Sherlock, don't look so put out. Perhaps the panda would be part of a mystery!

"Yesterday sometime." Possibly. It could have been Friday. "Before my class at the least. Two days? Can't you have them hurry up with your flight?"

Somewhere under the desk, Jono was now waving at one of the hands, and then telepathically informing it in a one-on-one psionic conversation that he would be most appreciative if it happened to start taking notes on this phone call.

Because... Because. Honestly, now. This was golden.

"No, I cannot have them hurry up, Sherlock," John replied, with a sigh. "Promise me you'll call for Chinese take-out tonight?"

Library. Hadn't Sherlock texted him from the library a week ago, talking about some aide or another?

... Oh dear.

Of course not! Nooo. No. No no.

Moving on.

"They don't even manage a proper prawn toast," Sherlock insisted as though Jono didn't exist. It was, possibly, because there was no way for him to feel embarrassed about this. Or he forgot Jono was there.

Damn you, John.

And really, if Jono wasn't so busy doing absolutely nothing at all while being amused to no end by the half of the conversation that he could hear, it probably would have even occurred to him that he was totally able to flee just then.

As it stood, no, there was no fleeing to be had, because Holmes seemed to be having a terribly domestic conversation with his Watson, and Jonothon was busy being a horrible snoop.

"You need to eat," John informed him, "Just get the take-out, all right? I'll get the milk in exchange."

A beat.

"Am I to take from this that you're talking--" Harassing. "--to the library aide again?"

"Of course," Sherlock replied as though there was no other option. "And no, I didn't break him. He was--smoking for a bit, though."

"Smoking," John said. He could only wish that even sounded dubious, these days. "Right. Can I speak to him, please?"

Sherlock sighed, pulling the phone away. "He wants to speak to you," he informed Jono.

Because this would work.

Well, that was not something that Jonothon had been expecting, really. And now he was eyeing the phone as though perhaps it was going to jump out and bite him.

//I can't speak back,// he intoned. He'd need a mouth to do that, after all.

This wasn't a 'no,' so much as a, 'well, fine, if Watson doesn't mind talking to the silence...'

"Yes, I am aware of that."

But he was still holding the damn phone out.

"Er, hello? Is this the library aide?"

John had no idea what, if anything, he was speaking to.

Might be the air, actually.

It was very dubious air, at this point, as Jono had by this point taken the phone and was even holding it to his ear.

Here was where he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and gave a nod. Because that took about the same amount of effort as projecting a psionic voice that John on the other end, there, wasn't going to be able to hear.

As an afterthought, he did tap the receiver of the phone lightly with one finger. At least to give the poor man some indication that there was somebody on the other end of the line.

"Right," said John, and cleared his throat. "Look-- er, from what I hear, he's been 'round a bit. Don't... let him worry you too much. He's very clever, and he gets very bored, but he won't do any harm."

Unless you listened to one sergeant Donovan, but nevermind.

"I apologise for any trouble you may have run into."

He wasn't going to say he hasn't been on his own for a while, but...

And an explanation like that one just put Jono in mind of somebody who found themselves walking a puppy down the street. The sort that was large and inclined to try to jump up on people.

There was a 'thank you' there, somewhere. And maybe a snide sort of 'no, really, I hadn't noticed,' and possibly even a 'how in the world can you stand this man,' but all of it went unspoken. Because... Really, there wasn't much of a point in trying.

He was, however, giving Sherlock a kind of awkward 'I think he's said what he wanted to' look, though. And holding the phone back to him.

Sherlock sighed, taking the phone. "What did you want to say?"

//A thank you would do,// Jono allowed.

... Because it seemed far more diplomatic than informing Holmes that he wanted to ask Watson if he was insane or just a saint for putting up with his antics.

Edited 2010-09-05 20:11 (UTC)

"He says thank you," Sherlock said into the phone dryly. "Are you satisfied? I haven't 'broken' any students."

"Very satisfied," John told him. "Just one more question -- what's the state of our hotel room?"

Rooms plural. Because he needed the extra space for all his things.

"What do you mean the state?" Sherlock asked, promptly forgetting poor Jono was there once more. "There is a cleaning staff on hand."

And if Holmes wasn't paying attention to Jonothon, then now was an excellent time for him to attempt to creep away.

... Not that he really had very far to creep to, of course. There were a couple of books that belonged too high up for the Things to reach, and so those were apparently his only duty for the day. But if he could sort through them quickly enough, then with any luck, he'd be able to creep away with the book cart before this phone call could end.

Wishful thinking.

"I mean, are you leaving any body parts anywhere?" John kindly requested. It was a sane question, after all, considering.

"I'm still in the process of arranging shipment from St. Barts." Meaning... no.

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Library [09/05]

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