OTA

[not_a_hero]

It had all happened perhaps a bit faster than Sherlock had at first considered. He'd officially come back from the dead in November, then of course there had been the holidays and general social interactions compounded by most people's anger and mild disappointment with him to weather through, a few actual cases here and there but nothing like the ones he'd enjoyed in the past, and then of course there had been a wedding to plan, which meant now there was... what? His list of current clients was nill, Mrs. Hudson was the extent of his human interaction on days when it wasn't more interesting to feign being deaf and infirm in order to make her get him something without having to exchange pleasantries or profess gratitude, and he could honestly not remember the last time he felt... well, like himself. Like the person he'd had so much fun being before Moriarty's final strike years ago; the Sherlock who did what he wanted and almost always won and had John Watson on call 24/7 for even the simplest of needs. He was far too young to have 'good old days' but nostalgia seemed a prominent feature in his routine now with nothing but an empty chair blocking his path to the kitchen.

This wouldn't do. This wouldn't do at all.

There had to be something interesting to entertain himself with in London's underbelly. Cases, clues, a little something he normally wouldn't be able to get away with--it would be a statistical impossibility for there to be nothing out in his city to make being out and about an improvement over lying prone on the couch, watching crap telly.

Scarf yoked and coat buttoned, Sherlock checked the battery life on his mobile and hurried down the steps of his flat and onto Baker street. It was time to forget about what was and concentrate on the now. And right now, Sherlock Holmes was in dire need of something interesting to interrupt the humdrum of a normal life.

[Bump into Sherlock anywhere in the city or feel free to phone him.]

Open to all

[miss_ives]

Vanessa hadn't been sleeping well. Dreams of Mina were plaguing her, both distorted memories and altogether invented situations. Some were dreams, some were nightmares, but even the dreams had her waking up uneasy and anxious. The tarot was of no help. It kept throwing the Queen of Cups back at her, and that made her think of the time she had spent committed, and dread the meaning of her dreams.

She wrote to Mina even more, hoping to exorcise the weight she could feel pulling her back under. It hadn't helped, so far. So she found people at night, but that also failed to help. She was tempted to go back to Unleashed and find that man again (not a man, a voice inside her whispered), see if that might not help, but the thought also terrified her, for no reason she could easily pinpoint.

She was at the Museum, and looked as well put together as always. Discreet make-up perfectly hid the dark circles under her eyes, and focusing on her various tasks kept her mind from wandering to darker terrains. There was no room for Mina, and all of Vanessa's guilt, among the ancient texts.

The end of her work day came, and she was crossing the Great Court of the Museum when something made her turn around. Intuition, and she followed it. There, blonde hair, a dress she had once known and, as she turned into the gallery, Vanessa was able to catch sight of her profile.

It was her. Her Mina.

She ran, without a thought for decorum, until she stood in the gallery, catching her breath. There was no sign of her anymore, no matter where she looked, and Vanessa turned to the nearest person, her tone making it sound as if this were a matter of the greatest urgency. "Have you seen a young blonde woman walk by? Beautiful, in a red dress."