[There are worse reactions. He pauses once he's not facing her anymore.]
I'm-- I'm quite glad you're home.
[He'll bring the body, the crop, the inevitable paper cup of coffee she likely won't drink. And he'll stand in his usual quiet spot behind the window while she Works.
It's just he'll do it with a storm cloud over his head.]
Thank you. [As she takes the crop. She waits for Mol to stand behind the window while she really thrashes at the body. In a strange way, she is especially graceful here. But then again, it's Holmes. Light on her feet, bringing men to their knees with a single stroke.
Or in this case, a dead body. For the first time, she glances up at Mol in between lashes, her expression particularly thoughtful before she returns her concentration to the task at hand.]
[She's always beautiful. Lovely. Sharp. He usually loves watching this. Today... it's complicated. Too tight in his chest. A pang every time she glances up at him.
He'll attempt to bolt when she's finished. And he'll find his feet are frozen to the ground.]
[She swipes the bit of sweat from her brow with a handkerchief retrieved from her pocket - yes, she does carry one around, before breathlessly approaching him.]
...I'm sure I can't begin to imagine. [Of course his fingers are fidgety with his sleeves. Of course he's going to keep his attention on the ground. Neither of them are aces at interpersonal interaction--it's just that Molan actively feels the sense of awkwardness rather than missing it entirely.] You're-- Anytime, yeah? We're... always here.
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Why? Why place all this needless importance on such a small action?
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[A brief silence and a rough sort of sigh as he starts to turn.] To sentimental people, Holmes. That's all. I'll get the crop.
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[She doesn't scoff, at least. It's more like she's trying the word out on her tongue for the first time.]
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I'm-- I'm quite glad you're home.
[He'll bring the body, the crop, the inevitable paper cup of coffee she likely won't drink. And he'll stand in his usual quiet spot behind the window while she Works.
It's just he'll do it with a storm cloud over his head.]
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Or in this case, a dead body. For the first time, she glances up at Mol in between lashes, her expression particularly thoughtful before she returns her concentration to the task at hand.]
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He'll attempt to bolt when she's finished. And he'll find his feet are frozen to the ground.]
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Many thanks. It has been a difficult week.
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I ought to take my leave then. [She turns to go, but glances over her shoulder once. Keeping it brief:] Thank you, Molan. [And she's gone.]
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