The American Affair: Epilogue.
The American Affair: Epilogue.
David sat at his desk, head tilted back, staring at the ceiling. It had been three weeks since Sherlock and John had run into, and out of, his life, and he felt, still, like he was recovering from a bad sunburn.
The greatest surprise, actually, had been Irene. David was the only guy (in his office, anyway) who could have an ex-dominatrix as a secretary and not find it the least bit alluring. In fact, it just added to her status as his secret weapon.
The “Day After Sherlock”, he had taken Irene out to lunch, and asked how they had met. She told him everything, from being The Woman, to the photos, to Moriarty, to the pseudo-seduction, to the Escape. David had boggled at Irene.
“How are you my assistant?” He had said. “Why aren’t you running the world?”
“Who says I’m not?” Irene had replied with that smile from before, and David had, wisely, he thought, not pressed for details.
Irene knocked on his door and poked her head in. “My---protegee is here,” Irene had said. David really didn’t want to think about what that meant, but smiled anyway. “She asked to say hello.”
“Oh,” David said. “Sure, uh.” He stood and Irene stepped aside and David’s jaw dropped.
“Hello, Dave. Long time no see.”
“Santana?”
***
John woke once again to music; this time a rather ambitious stab at the Ride of the Valkyries. John sighed. It had been less than a month, and Mycroft was here again!
Once more, John got up and made his eventual way downstairs. This time, however, when he arrived in the room, Sherlock stopped playing. It was enough to make John sit without his ritual of making Mycroft twitch.
“What’s wrong?” John asked. He had a sudden spike of dread, Moriarty. If Irene’s back then it could be-- But he cut that line of thinking off. Mycroft handed John a folder.
John flipped it open. There were no images, this time, just transcripts. Missing person reports. And a phrase repeated over and over.
“What’s a ‘Weeping Angel’?” John asked.
“The greatest threat Earth has faced yet,” Mycroft said. John looked up.
“That’s a bit melodramatic, isn’t it?” He looked over at Sherlock to find him looking very seriously at Mycroft.
“What is it you need?” Sherlock asked quietly. Mycroft handed John another folder. This one had the words TORCHWOOD and CLASSIFIED stamped on the cover. John opened it and saw a glossy photograph of a blue police box, battered and slightly out of focus. Just emerging from the shadow was a man, fairly nondescript, with a rather large bow-tie.
“The Madman with the Blue Box has gone missing,” Mycroft said. “I need you to find the man they call ‘the Doctor’.”
the end?
Chapter 8
David sat at his desk, head tilted back, staring at the ceiling. It had been three weeks since Sherlock and John had run into, and out of, his life, and he felt, still, like he was recovering from a bad sunburn.
The greatest surprise, actually, had been Irene. David was the only guy (in his office, anyway) who could have an ex-dominatrix as a secretary and not find it the least bit alluring. In fact, it just added to her status as his secret weapon.
The “Day After Sherlock”, he had taken Irene out to lunch, and asked how they had met. She told him everything, from being The Woman, to the photos, to Moriarty, to the pseudo-seduction, to the Escape. David had boggled at Irene.
“How are you my assistant?” He had said. “Why aren’t you running the world?”
“Who says I’m not?” Irene had replied with that smile from before, and David had, wisely, he thought, not pressed for details.
Irene knocked on his door and poked her head in. “My---protegee is here,” Irene had said. David really didn’t want to think about what that meant, but smiled anyway. “She asked to say hello.”
“Oh,” David said. “Sure, uh.” He stood and Irene stepped aside and David’s jaw dropped.
“Hello, Dave. Long time no see.”
“Santana?”
***
John woke once again to music; this time a rather ambitious stab at the Ride of the Valkyries. John sighed. It had been less than a month, and Mycroft was here again!
Once more, John got up and made his eventual way downstairs. This time, however, when he arrived in the room, Sherlock stopped playing. It was enough to make John sit without his ritual of making Mycroft twitch.
“What’s wrong?” John asked. He had a sudden spike of dread, Moriarty. If Irene’s back then it could be-- But he cut that line of thinking off. Mycroft handed John a folder.
John flipped it open. There were no images, this time, just transcripts. Missing person reports. And a phrase repeated over and over.
“What’s a ‘Weeping Angel’?” John asked.
“The greatest threat Earth has faced yet,” Mycroft said. John looked up.
“That’s a bit melodramatic, isn’t it?” He looked over at Sherlock to find him looking very seriously at Mycroft.
“What is it you need?” Sherlock asked quietly. Mycroft handed John another folder. This one had the words TORCHWOOD and CLASSIFIED stamped on the cover. John opened it and saw a glossy photograph of a blue police box, battered and slightly out of focus. Just emerging from the shadow was a man, fairly nondescript, with a rather large bow-tie.
“The Madman with the Blue Box has gone missing,” Mycroft said. “I need you to find the man they call ‘the Doctor’.”
the end?
Chapter 8