[ The board is quite covered in the latest case, dozens of papers and pictures that might look unintelligible to an ordinary eye but, like a magic eye trick, will resolve itself into a solved case if Kitty and Sherlock stare at it long enough. Sherlock is hanging upside-down and shirtless like an overgrown bat; Kitty is slumped against the side of the frame, fiddling with her sweater and an empty mug that once held tea, right on the edge of being too bored.
Rather than studying the case, Kitty allows her mind to become clouded — studying Sherlock instead. He's pretty fit, for an old man. She's pretty sure if she tried the upside-down trick she'd fall in about two seconds. More fascinating to her than his wiry musculature are the tattoos that adorn it, and she has to curl her fingers into the sleeves of her thick sweater rather than reach out and touch them.
She thinks of her own markings, the violent scars that always feel so ugly to her. ]
Did you do your own tattoos?
[ Kitty asks finally, risking the possibility that he'll snap at her for interrupting his thought process. But on the other hand, sometimes a distraction is what Sherlock needs to let all those clever deductions percolate. A watched pot never boils, after all. ]
[ It's decisive, as though she's already made up her mind about it and is now simply waiting for Sherlock to acquiesce to her demand. ]
Something for fall.
[ Fall instead of autumn carries very specific connotations, for Kitty. Autumn is a bleak grey, fresh air and drizzle and summer grass cut short, the start of a new school year. But fall is colourful, oranges and reds and yellow, warm colors for the end of warmth. Fall is parties, and ghosts, and sweaters and drinks with pumpkin and cinnamon in them. Much more interesting than the listless onset of sleety drizzle, prelude to months of dirty snow. Despite her surname, Kitty isn't particularly fond of winter. ]
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Rather than studying the case, Kitty allows her mind to become clouded — studying Sherlock instead. He's pretty fit, for an old man. She's pretty sure if she tried the upside-down trick she'd fall in about two seconds. More fascinating to her than his wiry musculature are the tattoos that adorn it, and she has to curl her fingers into the sleeves of her thick sweater rather than reach out and touch them.
She thinks of her own markings, the violent scars that always feel so ugly to her. ]
Did you do your own tattoos?
[ Kitty asks finally, risking the possibility that he'll snap at her for interrupting his thought process. But on the other hand, sometimes a distraction is what Sherlock needs to let all those clever deductions percolate. A watched pot never boils, after all. ]
no subject
no subject
[ It's decisive, as though she's already made up her mind about it and is now simply waiting for Sherlock to acquiesce to her demand. ]
Something for fall.
[ Fall instead of autumn carries very specific connotations, for Kitty. Autumn is a bleak grey, fresh air and drizzle and summer grass cut short, the start of a new school year. But fall is colourful, oranges and reds and yellow, warm colors for the end of warmth. Fall is parties, and ghosts, and sweaters and drinks with pumpkin and cinnamon in them. Much more interesting than the listless onset of sleety drizzle, prelude to months of dirty snow. Despite her surname, Kitty isn't particularly fond of winter. ]