This is for darling Sherlockspeare, who really knows how to spur an author on:
“Well now,” said Monseigneur, his voice coolly sardonic. “No matter how far away we may be, it seems as though we are forever running into each other. What can it possibly all mean, John?”
John strained to see Sherlock’s features, but the moon was behind him, throwing his face into shadow. Anyway, that damned mask would probably be in the way.
We’re not far away enough from each other, he thought indistinctly. Perhaps from now on no amount of distance can ever truly separate us. We’ll end up finding each other, whether we like it or not.
It was a mad thought, treacherous and perhaps deeply unfortunate if it should ever come true, but it was a beautiful, moonlit night, the scent of the roses was getting to him, and John was already past caring.
“Perhaps it’s fate,” said John, finding his voice at last. “At least, Lady Hudson might say it’s so.”
A sneer in Monseigneur’s voice: “I shudder to think so.”
There will be more coming from that mouth, thought John with the same reckless resignation. He knew Sherlock enough now to know he was an inch away from a verbal lashing. Perhaps he even knew what Sherlock was going to say.
And John would have to stop him, to shut Sherlock up before he could wreak further damage.
So John did just that.
~~~~~@~~~~~
The chapter should be ready in a few days. Until then!
