LA: Smart-Aleck Kill
Harry thinks it's probably safe to go home now; he checked carefully in the mirror of his Milliways room and couldn't find any sign on his skin of any - uh. Things he doesn't want people seeing signs of.
The shirt can't be helped, he doesn't have his own back (and doesn't expect to, seriously, small price to pay for never speaking to that particular Sherlock Holmes again) and he may as well hang on to this one, he's going to have to wash it before he gives it back, anyway.
So he goes downstairs to find Strat, which of course is when Bar helpfully produces his shirt, which is mostly clean. There's a note, but it's in what he's come to recognize as Bar's writing: He left it with me. Don't worry, you missed him.
"Thanks," Harry mutters, and looks around. If he doesn't spot Strat in a few seconds, he'll go change his shirt after all.
The shirt can't be helped, he doesn't have his own back (and doesn't expect to, seriously, small price to pay for never speaking to that particular Sherlock Holmes again) and he may as well hang on to this one, he's going to have to wash it before he gives it back, anyway.
So he goes downstairs to find Strat, which of course is when Bar helpfully produces his shirt, which is mostly clean. There's a note, but it's in what he's come to recognize as Bar's writing: He left it with me. Don't worry, you missed him.
"Thanks," Harry mutters, and looks around. If he doesn't spot Strat in a few seconds, he'll go change his shirt after all.