helloliriels: totallysilvergirl: copperplatebeech:Rated G, ~1400 words Read and Comment on AO3, if

helloliriels: totallysilvergirl: copperplatebeech: Rated G, ~1400 words Read and Comment on AO3, if you prefer “It’s a matter of focusing your skills, John. You could learn to do what I do if you’d think outside the box.” “Thanks very much for telling me I’m in a box.” “You’re in several boxes. You’re in the soldier box, and the doctor box, and the desperately polite mind-your-own-business British box. But you have tools in your box. You’re just not using them.” “That sounds rude,” muttered John as they approached the ice cream trolley. “For example, for example – a vanilla Mini Milk, ta – “ “You always get a vanilla Mini Milk.” “There, you do observe some things. As a medical man, you attend to characteristics of diet.” “You always say you’re bored. Doesn’t vanilla Mini Milk ever get boring? Don’t you want to – I don’t know, branch out? Leap madly into a Mr. Whippy?” “Even the most active mind requires a constant, John. A fixed centre around which it can revolve, as the Earth revolves around the Sun.” “I thought you said you would forget about that.” “It became useful information during a case involving the length of a shadow on a certain day in July. Your cornetto’s already dripping.” “Mrph.” “Have my handkerchief. As I was saying – for example, that pair over there who got their ice creams just ahead of us.” Sherlock nodded at an oddly assorted duo striding away with a 99 cornet and a strawberry lolly, respectively. “All right. I’m looking.” John rested his forearms on the railing of the little pedestrian bridge that arced above the duckpond. “They are habitues of this end of St. James’ Park. As they cross the grass to that bench, they side-step the roughly five-square-foot area where the drainage is always problematic. They most likely meet here regularly; they approached the trolley from different directions, suggesting a scheduled rendezvous. They meet here routinely, and they claim their bench. What do you observe about their carriage?” “Um, well, no obvious limp or asymmetry, the red-haired one has a bit of a swaying gait, but it’s not ataxia or hip arthralgia – there’d be more circumduction – “ “The attunement, John. Their gaits are matched. The stocky, blond one has a naturally shorter stride, but he stretches it out to keep pace. When they turned off the gravel path, they turned in tandem like tram cars on parallel lines. The tall redheaded one keeps to the other man’s left and leans toward him.  I have seen dancers less coordinated in their movements. There is a long association.” “I see it, now that you point it out.” “Body language tells at least as much as body condition. You can, of course, detect that the stocky one is fonder of his meals than the other, whose attention to his strawberry Calippo is performative at best. There, they arrange themselves on the bench. Their demeanors are precisely complementary. The blond gentleman sits with his legs close together, his hands clasped in his lap, his back straight, though not –– yes, there might be a bit of a military history there. He does not cherish the memory, though. The man who looks fondly back on his service days tends to maintain the military crop, rather than trade it for an artfully curly coif which clearly shows the regular attentions of a friseur.” “I use a bit of product.” “Top hold level, matte finish. I rest my case.” “How do you read the other chap?” “The exact opposite of his companion. He sprawls on the bench; his joints are loose, almost hyperflexible. It follows the gait. He is naturally flamboyant. Tilts his head towards the other as they talk, while his friend’s posture remains rigid and self-contained. It is a typical human juxtaposition, a phlegmatic and self-contained character attracting one who is labile and hot-headed. One expresses what the other cannot; one shows restraint when the other’s impulsivity is excessive. What would you say of their ages?” “Forties? Brink of fifty, maybe? The ginger fellow’s trying to dress a good twenty years younger.” “Ah, the attire. What do you make of that?” “Well the blond chap is on his uppers a bit – I saw that waistcoat when they were walking away – “ “No, no, John. I suspect they’re both independently wealthy.  Two gentlemen still of age to be in the workforce, idling in the park on a weekday afternoon – “ “We’re here in the park.” “It is a conjecture subject to revision. But typically, it is the wealthy person who can afford to be so consciously eccentric in his dress. As for the red-haired man, I noted when he paid for the ices that his watch is an Omega Seamaster Worldtimer. They retail at roughly seven thousand quid.” “Shut the fridge.” “They were featured in the Bond films. Deep sea diving is not a common recreation of our countrymen, so I infer it was purchased for reasons of pure ostentation. Here, they seem to be having a bit of a quarrel. Deep Sea Diver is attempting to persuade Shabby Wardrobe of something. The gesturing becomes more florid.” Slightly raised voices reached them over the greensward. “Yet neither leaves his place. This is a practised dance that has been going on for some time. And I do – ” Sherlock finished the Mini Milk, dropping the last of the cornet into the pond for the ducks “ – I do believe an agreement has been reached. It is a performative thing. You see it with married couples, who chide one another about the same traits and repeat the same disputes.” “We fight about the eyeballs and that in the meat drawer every month, and we’re not married.” “You complain about them. I wisely say little and do nothing, knowing you will cool off promptly. Ah, they’re getting up.” The stocky man – his beige coat falling to his knees, like a morning coat for appearing at Court – dusted crumbs off his hands and deposited a crumpled paper sack in a nearby bin before walking on, while his lankier companion jogged briefly to catch up, circling to his left again. This time the synchrony of their strides was obvious even to John. “The ginger fellow’s doing all the keeping up now,” he said. “His companion is the fixed centre around which he moves. When you study the body language, you can see which one of a couple is the other’s anchor.” “Couple? Do you think?” “Observe. As they walk away, the red-haired one keeps close to his friend. The slewing gait allows the swing of his arm to bring their hands close; they brush each other. There, it just happened again. But the other neither takes the hand, nor moves away. There’s ambivalence.” “But you still compare them to married people.” “Did you note how, as they conversed, each looked at the other, but only when the other looked away? They mean a great deal to one another, but there’s some obstacle. Acknowledged liaisons between two men are commonplace nowadays, so that’s unlikely to be the difficulty. Family problems? One thinks of my brother, who has certainly done his share of meddling in my affairs.” “Don’t reckon there’s that many people whose older brothers are the British Government.” “It seems a pity,” mused Sherlock. “They’re neither of them getting any younger. And they quarrel like people who’ve made it up so many times that one can expect they always will.” “That’s an odd remark, coming from you. I thought you said emotion was the grit in the lens.” Sherlock was silent, staring after the diminishing figures of the two men. “Sherlock?” The silence went on a few beats longer. “You’re my fixed centre, John,” said Sherlock, still not looking at him. John glanced back down at the choppy surface of the water. “You’re mine,” he said almost soundlessly. Sherlock dropped his right hand from the railing. John’s knuckles brushed his as he stepped closer, and their fingers twined. “John Watson, my Alpha Centauri B.” “B?” “Alpha Centauri is a binary. Of the two, Centauri B has the greater magnitude. You are a conductor of light. At least to me. In every way.” “You have been making a study of astronomy.” “It seemed important to you.” “Well, that and the eyeballs. It really is a bit offputting to be stared at when you only want a bit of leftover stew for your tea.” “I suppose I could consider your point of view, John.” “Right, reckon you’re sure to do that.” They walked on, quarreling amiably, hand in hand. finis @podfixx deserves this gorgeous, perfect vignette, for sure! Thank you Copperplatebeech for sharing it with us. You made every detail and every tone of voice so very vivid Keep reading Gorgeous!! ☺️ -- source link

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