Watching You Fall Omegle 56

Stranger: "Both," Sherlock admitted, his voice dropping. He fell quiet and thought maybe John didn't hear him when he didn't answer.
You: "I'm sorry," John finally said softly, struck by the similarities to Sherlock again. But he was learning to let it go, not letting it color his impressions of Dean.

Stranger: "I OD'd a few times, a couple times I was found by strangers, a few I don't even know who found me, but it was all internal," Sherlock admitted.
You: "I'm glad they found you," John said feelingly. "Though I'm guessing that was a while ago if you're working for Mycroft now. What drove you to drugs?"

Stranger: "It was teen year, early twenties as well," Sherlock muttered truthfully. "Just... Life..."

You: "I'm sorry," John repeated, not knowing what more to say. That was the part he'd hated most about being a doctor other than losing patients. Dealing with the addicts who didn't want to get clean.

Stranger: "If it helps... I'm mostly clean now," Sherlock said slowly, trying to lighten the mood.

You: "Mostly?" John asked, a thread of joking sarcasm to his voice. "What, a caffeine addict now? I think I'm one of those."

Stranger: Sherlock laughed loudly, unable to stop it as the noise filled the hotel room. "Yes," he chuckled. "Definitely!"

You: John laughed with him, letting the worry that had grown fade away. "So what are your plans after you're done with Mycroft's mission?" he asked casually. "Other than possibly meeting me?"

Stranger: "I- um-" Sherlock paused, knowing he couldn't tell John. "I can't tell you..."

You: "Going back to your secret double life?" John teased, laughing a bit over the phone.

Stranger: "Sort of," Sherlock chuckled.

You: "And nothing you can share with me?" John asked, getting up to make himself a cup of tea. He held the phone between his ear and shoulder, balancing it carefully as he waited for the water to boil.

Stranger: "Sorry, love," Sherlock chuckled, letting his voice caress the last word slowly.

You: John clearly heard the tone, a shiver going up his spine as Dean spoke. He had to admit, he liked listening to the other man speak. It was deep and warm, with just a hint of a threat underneath. "Oh well," John said, mock sadly. "I guess I'll just have to find some other way to get it out of you."

Stranger: "Oh? How so, love?" Sherlock smirked. "Gonna get me hard again?"

You: "That is for me to know and you to find out," John teased, pouring water over the tea bag in his cup. He carried it carefully back to the living room, settling in his armchair again. "You can just squirm in anticipation, I suppose."

Stranger: Sherlock grunted and growled at John. "Can't you tell me baby?"

You: "Now where's the fun in that?" John asked, enjoying the game. "I have to make you work for the answers, don't I?"

Stranger: "And how do I do that?" Sherlock asked, voice heavy

You: "Come back here, for a start," John said, his voice going gravelly. "After that, I think I can leave it up to your imagination, yes?"

Stranger: "You know I can't yet," Sherlock frowned. "Can you come here?"

You: "Not if I want to get my novel published in anything approaching a reasonable time frame," John said regretfully. "I'm starting to get close to the deadline they gave me for the editing."

Stranger: "Can't you edit it on the plane then email it to them?" Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow before pouting. "Please..."

You: John sighed and shook his head. "I can't, Dean, I'm sorry," he said apologetically. "I need it fairly quiet and I would be far too distracted on a plane. How about a compromise? When I finish editing I can try to meet you."

Stranger: "Deal," Sherlock chuckled. "I'll pay for you and everything. I have the money."

You: "You don't have to do that," John argued, sipping his tea. "I have some money saved back. I can use it to pay for a flight."

Stranger: "I don't want you to have to waste your money, though. Not on me," Sherlock replied, shaking his head. "It's expensive, at least let me pay half."

You: "It's not a waste," John argued, though a smile crossed his face. "And half is fine. Now this gives me an incentive to edit quicker, huh?"

Stranger: "God, I hope so. Four more months without you? No thank you," Sherlock said, chewing his bottom lip. "How much more do you have to go?"

You: "About sixty pages or so," John replied thoughtfully. "I've been averaging about ten to fifteen a day but I think I might try to push for more."

Stranger: "I hope so," Sherlock smiled. "I miss you."

You: "I miss you too," John sighed. He looked at his laptop again, the lure of a trip to see Dean drawing him to edit further. "Maybe I should work on my novel some more. That'll let me come see you faster."

Stranger: "Please do, if I need to, I'll leave right now," Sherlock said quickly, chuckling. "Please!"

You: "Then I shall say goodbye," John said, a touch of regret in his voice. "Sleep well, Dean, and I hope you have a safe trip."

Stranger: "Thanks, John. Goodnight," he paused for a minute before smiling to himself. "Love you."

You: "Goodnight," John said, a flutter in his belly every time Dean said he loved him. He hung up the phone then, levering himself up out of the chair and bringing his cup to the desk. Time to edit and hopefully be finished in the next few days.

Stranger: Sherlock chuckled, hanging up the phone as well. He stood and went into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. Once he did, he went into his room to change and came back out to the living room, the one unsoiled blanket draped over his shoulder. He dropped onto the couch and curled up with his mug, flickering on the TV and only giving it his half attention, his mind on John.

You: John worked late into the night, keeping Dean out of his thoughts by the sheer weight of the words in front of him. He managed to make it through about twenty pages before the sun rose, the editors at the publisher's not having been as free with their corrections or suggestions in this section.

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Stranger: Sherlock stood in the middle of the gate, waiting for his plane to be called. While waiting, he pulled out his phone to text Mycroft.
Getting on flight now. Anything I should know? -SH

You: There seems to be a slight problem with Mary Franks. She has missed her last two check-ins. Hurry and find out what's happened, please, Sherlock. - MH

Stranger: Right. I'll get on that as soon as I land. Text you then. -SH

You: Thank you. Safe flight, little brother. - MH

Stranger: Will do. -SH
Sherlock slipped his phone back in his pocket as his plane was called. He stood and pulled his back over his shoulder, stepping up to the line to board.

You: The flight attendants settled everyone in their seats, going through the usual safety drills. When that was finished, the plane was sealed and the pilots taxied to the runway. Takeoff was smooth and the flight was fairly quick from Poland to Paris, France.

Stranger: Sherlock woke up as the plane landed, glancing out the window and yawning. He collected his things into his bag and stood when the place taxied into the gate. He got off the plane after a tedious wait and made his way to the front to get a taxi.

You: There were several cabs sitting near the entrance, each driver knowing that they could get decent fares from the airport. One started out of a slight doze when someone slid in and slammed the door closed. "Where to, monsieur?" the driver asked.

Stranger: "Any hotel will do," Sherlock grunted, watching out the window. "Doesn't matter which. Fairly nice, though, please."

You: "Sure thing," the driver replied, easing out into traffic. He knew of several decent hotels near the airport and decided to drive to the one furthest away. His fare sounded English, so he probably didn't know Paris all that well.

Stranger: Sherlock noticed the driver taking him to the farthest - and probably the most expensive - hotel in the area; the way his shoulders were tense, his eyes - which Sherlock could see in the mirror - darting around, falling on certain street names and lingering on them. Whenever they passed a hotel the driver seemed to tense just a little more, making Sherlock figure those would have done just as well as well. He didn't speak up, knowing he had enough money to pay either way. Besides, it was Mycroft's money on this trip, since he snagged his debit card before leaving and figured out his pin. His birthday, really. Too easy.

You: The driver pulled up outside an ornate hotel, pleased and relieved that his passenger hadn't said anything during the drive. He read the meter, giving his passenger the price. "This look like a good hotel for you, monsieur?" he asked.

Stranger: "Fine, but the other ten we passed would have been fine," Sherlock smirked at the blush that crossed the driver's face. "Next time, don't waste my time, and maybe I'll tip you." Sherlock handed the driver the exact change before collecting his bag and sliding from the back seat, snickering as the driver watched after him, dumbfounded.

You: Shaking his head, the cabby pulled away. He had to wonder, though, exactly how much he might have been tipped had he stopped earlier. Shrugging, he headed back to the airport. There were probably other fares to be had.

Stranger: Sherlock dropped off his bag in the room after he checked in and pulled out his phone, pulling the address from the messages Mycroft had emailed to him. He jotted it down on a sheet of paper and shoved it in his pocket, along with the phone, before he turned on his heels and started out to flag down another taxi.

You: The ride was quick to the agent's flat, the taxi driver whistling tunelessly to the radio. Sherlock rolled his eyes but kept his silence. It wasn't quite worth it to try to stop the man. The car pulled up outside a brick, four-story building.

Stranger: Sherlock approached the door of Mary's flat, his eyes scanning the door, which was broken off it's hinges. He pushed it open and stepped slowly into the flat, his eyes taking in everything. He pulled out his phone to text Mycroft.
Something's wrong. Door broken. Flat destroyed. Empty. -SH

You: Which means she was taken. Any clues as to who did it? Or when? - MH

Stranger: Not yet. Give me a few. -SH
Sherlock pocketed his phone and moved around the flat slowly. There was a stench in the flat, something of gunpowder and sweat. It was fresh, too. Someone was in the flat with him. Sherlock let his eyes roam the room quickly, searching for a sign of movement. He wasn't armed, standing out in the open and unprotected.

You: The other person Sherlock smelled was hiding in the bedroom, having ducked into the closet while searching for the files his boss had sent him to get. Someone else showing up was the last thing the lackey had expected and he wasn't quite sure what to do next.

Stranger: Sherlock moved slowly, his eyes and mind working quickly, his ear searching for any sound he could find. He quieted his breathing and kept his footsteps light as he moved. Moving into the bedroom, Sherlock heard a small gasp coming from the closet. He sat on the bed and waited, seeing the doors were solid and the man couldn't see out of them unless he opened the door. Even then, he would have to stick his head out at least, at the angle the bed was from the closet doors.

You: The lackey froze, indecision keeping him rooted in place. The other man was a bit skinny but tall. He was fairly certain he could deal with the other man but that wasn't his job here. And his boss had very little patience for people who overstepped their bounds.

Stranger: Sherlock waited for a while, his eyes glued to the closet. He knew the man had to come out sooner or later.

You: The lackey sighed silently, realizing that the other man wasn't going to move. Well, the only thing for it now was to deal with him. Taking a deep breath, he rushed out of the closet and grappled with the other man, trying to knock him unconscious.

Stranger: Sherlock stood at once as the door to the closet flew open and the other man came for him. "What... Are you... doing here?" Sherlock growled, the other man stronger then he looked.

You: "My business... not... yours," the lackey replied, panting heavily. He got his arms wrapped around the other man's waist and brought them both down to the ground. While the other man was stunned for a moment, he managed to slither up and press his forearm to his throat.

Stranger: Sherlock coughed loudly and tried to pull the man's arm away from crushing his throat. "Who... you workin'... for?" he forced, breathing becoming harder.

You: The lackey just shook his head, fighting to keep his arm in place. He could tell the other man was getting weaker and giving away information now was just stupid.

Stranger: "M-Megan?" Sherlock asked slowly, his vision blurring in and out. He could tell the other man was struggling as well, but was still holding strong. "Are you... working for... M-Megan?"

You: "I don't know a Megan," the lackey growled, his eyes narrowing. "My boss would rather not be known." In the dominant position, the lackey was able to catch his breath, breathing far easier and speaking smoothly.

Stranger: "True... Megan wouldn't... take someone... so... weak," Sherlock muttered, a smirk weakly crossing his face as he stared up at the man.

You: "I am not weak," the lackey argued, glaring down at the man. "Who's the one choking with an arm across his throat?"

Stranger: "You," Sherlock choked back before he wrapped his legs around the other man's waist and quickly flipped them. He placed his forearm down on the other man's throat and smirked down at him. "What were you saying?"

You: The lackey choked, scrabbling frantically at the other man's arm over his throat. Eyes widening in fear, he felt his limbs weaken as darkness overtook his sight.

Stranger: Sherlock loosened his grip, not wanting the man to pass out just yet. "Tell me who you're working for," he growled, getting dangerously close to the man's face.

You: "I tell you, you kill me," the lackey spat back, glaring up at the other man. "What's in it for me?"

Stranger: Sherlock sighed heavily. "You tell me, I let you go," Sherlock growled, almost spitting in his face. His face was almost to the point of touching the other man's and his eyes were turning a dangerous dark blue-green.

You: The lackey studied him for a few long moments then finally nodded. "Desmond," he said. "Desmond St. Claire. He's the leader of a drug ring here in Paris. One of them at least."

Stranger: "And what does he want that's in this flat? Do you know where the woman who lived here went? A Ms. Mary Franks?" Sherlock asked, backing away slightly.

You: The lackey shook his head, his face a study of confusion. "I don't know a Mary Franks," he said. "But Desmond believed that Mary Kildare, the woman who lived here, was passing information to a rival cartel. He wanted her brought in for questioning."

Stranger: Sherlock nodded and thought for a minute. He reached down to the crotch of this man, grabbing him roughly and feeling the metal of a gun. He snarled and dove his hand down the man's pants grabbing the gun and roughly pulling it out, the other man jumping and heavily blushing a deep red. "Would you show me where they took her?"

You: "If I do that, Desmond will kill me," the lackey protested. "I'm only answering questions to save my life here."

Stranger: "Do you even want to work for Desmond?" Sherlock asked slowly, his eyes scanning the younger's, seeing the regret in his words.

You: "No, but I have no choice," he replied bitterly. "I needed a way to survive and the cartel took me in. Once in, there's no leaving without a toe tag."

Stranger: Sherlock saw the honesty behind the man's words and nodded. "What if I can help you out?" he asked, his voice quiet. "No toe tag; a new life, basically. If I can help you?"

You: "Why?" he asked suspiciously, though a treacherous thread of hope took root in his chest. "What am I to you? And what's the catch?"

Stranger: "Because you can help me," Sherlock said, getting up off the man but keeping the gun in his hand, ready. "The only catch is that you have to trust me, and give me a reason to trust you. You have to help me take Desmond and do what I say, no matter what. If we do this right, we can destroy Desmond and I can get you a new life, a new beginning."

You: "What's your name?" the lackey asked suddenly, rubbing at his throat. He was stalling for time while he thought about the man's proposition, wondering if he could trust him. If not, it would be his life either way.

Stranger: "Sherlock," Sherlock said, holding out the hand that didn't hold the gun. "Sherlock Holmes."

You: "Rene Toulouse," Rene replied, taking the hand and shaking it. "And you have a deal, Mr. Holmes, provided you can keep me alive."

Stranger: "I can," Sherlock promised, holding the younger's hand for a second longer to make sure the man knew he was serious. "I promise you'll make it out alive, as long as you follow what I say, word for word. Until we can move on, you can stay with me. I'll still need you to work with Desmond for the time, though. But I want to work with you on what you need to do. Let's grab that folder and talk about our next move, shall we?"

You: "Sure," Rene nodded and heaved himself to his feet. "Though what folder are you talking about?"

Stranger: "I'm looking for a folder. Desmond was correct in suspecting that Mary was passing along information, but I was the one to collect it. I need to find it for my boss. What were you here to find?" Sherlock asked, standing.

You: "Any information about the cartel Mary was working for," Rene admitted, scratching his head. "I wasn't aware she'd kept a folder. Though, I can't fault Desmond for his instincts. I think I saw a file cabinet back in the living room."

Stranger: "Alright, what we'll do is find the folder I'm looking for and we'll make up a default folder for you to turn into Desmond. Proof that she wasn't passing on information," Sherlock said, starting to the living room. "We don't want him thinking that she was, or he'll kill her."

You: "That makes sense," Rene replied, following after. "I broke into the cabinet, but there were cookbooks inside it. It didn't seem useful or important."

Stranger: "Did you open a cookbook?" Sherlock asked, picking one up from the cabinet and opening it, smiling.

You: "No," Rene replied slowly, moving up next to Sherlock and staring down curiously at the book. "Should I have?"

Stranger: "You tell me," Sherlock smiled, shoving the book into the younger's hands.

You: Rene shot a glare at Sherlock but flipped through the book. His mouth dropped open as he reached the middle and a manilla envelope was tucked between the pages. "This what you were looking for?" he asked dryly, holding it up.

Stranger: Sherlock took the folder with a smile. "Yep," he smirked. "See, you have to check everything, even the innocent cookbooks."

You: "I'll keep that in mind next time," Rene laughed. He looked around the flat, studying the disarray. "I think that's it then. Unless there's more you need here?"

Stranger: "No, this is it," Sherlock said, stuffing the folder under his arm and the gun in his pocket. "If you want to head to my hotel with me, we should go. I need to contact my broth- I mean, boss to tell him what's going on with Mary."

You: "All right," Rene said agreeably, though his head tilted at the broken word Sherlock uttered. He wondered if the other man was really going to say "brother" before interrupting himself.

Stranger: Sherlock nodded towards the door and started towards it. He made it out to the main road and flagged down a taxi, motioning Rene in.

You: "So what is your plan?" Rene asked, settling down on the seat. "I don't want to go back to Desmond without knowing what's going on. That would be a quick way of getting me killed."

Stranger: "Wait," Sherlock muttered, watching out the window. "Not here. Wait till we're back at the hotel room. Trust me."

You: Rene remained quiet for the rest of the ride, not really wanting to engage in small talk with the other man. He watched as the streets flowed by until they finally stopped outside the hotel Sherlock had checked into earlier. "This it?" he asked.

Stranger: "Yes," Sherlock said simply, climbing out of the cab and not waiting for the other man. He'll catch up.

You: Rene got out and hurried after Sherlock, not wanting to be left behind now that he'd entrusted his life to the man. They walked inside the hotel, Rene following as Sherlock headed straight for the elevators.

Stranger: Sherlock pressed the eighth floor button and watched as Rene rushed into the elevator just as the doors were closing. "Decided to come," he joked.

You: "Where do you think I can go?" Rene asked rhetorically, rolling his eyes though a small smile crossed his face. "Besides, if I left, you could always turn around and sell me out to Desmond."

Stranger: "True, do you think I'd do that, though?" Sherlock asked, the smile pulling at his lips as well.

You: "Depends," Rene replied, shrugging. "If it was your life or mine, sure I could see that. Though, I don't think you're the type of man to cause harm to others for no reason."

Stranger: "Good," Sherlock smirked before he ruffled the younger man's black hair as the elevator doors opened. "Come on."

You: Rene followed, feeling very much like the younger brother in this situation. He watched as Sherlock used a keycard to open up a room and walked inside after him. "So, plan?" Rene asked, settling himself on a chair in the corner of the room.

Stranger: Sherlock slumped onto the couch and looked at Rene. "We need to think of one," Sherlock said. "We have new pieces on the board, along with a new twist."

You: "Oh?" Rene continued, intense interest on his face. "I'm guessing that one of your goals is to get Mary back, right?"

Stranger: "Has to be," Sherlock muttered. He fingered his phone out of his pocket and dialed Mycroft's number while saying, "My boss can help us with this little bit."

You: "What is it, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, not bothering to greet him. "I'm very busy right now. Have you found Mary?"

Stranger: "Nice to hear from you too," Sherlock snarled, turning on the speakerphone. "Now, if you can focus for a few moments. Mary isn't in her flat. I ran into a worker from the drug circle she was in. A man named Desmond suspected of her passing on information to us and took her in."

You: "That is not good news," Mycroft replied soberly. "And this... worker? Did you take care of him?"

Stranger: "He's sitting right here," Sherlock said, eyeing the younger.

You: Mycroft sighed, the sound clearly audible over the speaker. "Sherlock, what were you thinking?" he asked, the annoyance clear in his voice. "You can't just take in strangers and expect them to keep your secrets."

Stranger: "You think I don't know this," Sherlock snapped. "I'm trying to do something good here, Mycroft. He can help us; we can bring down this circle from the inside out."

You: "How do you know you can trust him?" Mycroft replied. "He works for the leader we are trying to bring down."

Stranger: "I understand this, but-"

You: "Look, I'm sitting right here," Rene interrupted. "Why don't you just ask me?"

Stranger: The other line was quiet for a moment before Mycroft growled at Sherlock, "You have me on speaker? You're letting him listen into our conversation? What's wrong with you, Sherlock?"

You: Rene struggled to keep the laughter quiet when he saw the grin cross Sherlock's face. Older brother? he mouthed at the other man.

Stranger: Sherlock nodded and rolled his eyes. How'd you know? he mouthed back, snickering.

You: You sound like my brother and I Rene replied, smiling widely. "So, to lay your worries to rest, is there anything you want to ask me?" Rene asked, looking at the phone.

Stranger: Mycroft sighed heavily again, this was really getting too much for him. "Sherlock, do you trust him?" he asked slowly, grinding his teeth.

You: "I trust him," Sherlock replied simply, letting a small laugh out at Rene's expression. "He doesn't want to be working for Desmond. In exchange for getting him out of the cartel, Rene is going to help me get Mary out."

Stranger: "Fine, but whatever happens to John because of this is on you," Mycroft snapped. "If that little agent of yours breaks something, you fix it. If John gets killed because of your stupid mistake, it's on you, not me. I'm not going to clean up that mess. Understand?"

You: A cold chill ran down Sherlock's spine at the thought of anything happening to John. "How can anything happen to him?" he asked, voice flat and cold. "Rene doesn't know who he is and I would never put him in harm's way."

Stranger: "And that's why you took him on those dates while Moran was still alive and after you, Sherlock. Even when you knew what you were risking," Mycroft said, his voice chill and quiet.

You: "I looked nothing like myself," Sherlock growled back, anger twisting his features into a mask. "As far as Moran was concerned, I was still dead. There is absolutely no connection to Moran or Moriarty here. Unless you're planning on making one, brother dear."

Stranger: Mycroft bit back the retort he wanted to snap back. "Just understand, we don't know who's connected in this world. I'm not responsible for your mistakes."

StranYou: "Yes, I understand," Sherlock snapped, ignoring the questioning look Rene sent him.
"Now, can we please move past this petty argument?"

Stranger: "Yes, now thank you for the update, Sherlock, but I really must get back to this paperwork if you ever want to return home. Goodbye, little brother," Mycroft spat before he hung up.

You: "So much for his help," Rene said dryly, glancing down at the phone. "Guess we're on our own for this one."

Stranger: Sherlock growled at the phone for a while before throwing the phone towards the wall. "I'm tired of him," Sherlock growled, rolling his eyes. "I never asked to do this!"

You: "Why are you, if it's not against national security or something for you to tell me?" Rene asked. "This seems like a chore for you."

Stranger: "It is a bloody chore, just something to waste time so I don't go back to John yet," Sherlock growled, his anger for Mycroft just growing.

You: "Who's John?" Rene continued, his head tilting to the side. "Why would you working with me put him in danger?"

Stranger: "He's my-" Sherlock paused. What was John to him now? He was Dean's friend but... they were more than that, weren't they? And Sherlock... John though he was dead. So what was John, really? "I don't know what to call it," he finally said. "He's my flatmate, friend and... honestly, the love of my life. Over the past three years, I've been working on taking down the IOU, agents that worked for a man named James Moriarty, I'd be shocked if you never heard of him. He forced me to kill myself, or at least fake it, which I did. Now I can't go back to John till the IOU is one-hundred percent gone, and Mycroft restores my reputation. I'm legally dead right now."

You: "That sounds... complicated," Rene finally said, his voice surprised. "Well, I have no idea who you or John are, so you have nothing to worry about from me. Though, I vaguely remember Desmond going on about a Moriarty a few years ago. Something about him not even providing a defense at his trial and getting off?"

Stranger: "He threatened the families of the jury," Sherlock growled. "No one knew till it was too late. But yes, it is very complicated. I don't know what Mycroft is doing; all I know is that I want back to John. He had a relationship with Dean, the name I use around him, but I want to tell him I'm alive. That I'm still me... how I really feel about him..."

You: "Makes sense," Rene nodded, turning businesslike again. "So if your brother isn't going to help, we should figure out what we're doing. I don't know how long Mary will be able to withstand the... persuasion Desmond uses."

Stranger: "Which is what?" Sherlock asked, pushing his emotions down again.

You: "He likes using knives," Rene sighed, grimacing. "And there are many more options available for torturing a woman. I liked Mary and I don't want that to happen to her."

Stranger: Sherlock raised an eyebrow at that but stayed quiet on the subject. "Would he... do that to you tomorrow if you don't give him the information he wants to hear?"

You: Rene thought about it, running everything he'd seen of Desmond though his mind. The man had the patience of a saint and would often prolong things if it raised the fear in his victims. "I don't think he'd start right away," Rene finally said. "Especially if he wanted to scare her first. Though he may start moving her around to further disorient her."

Stranger: "And what about you?" Sherlock asked, rolling his eyes. "He won't use the knives with you if you tell him he was wrong about Mary, will he?"

You: "No, he wouldn't do anything to me," Rene replied, his eyes widening as he understood what Sherlock was asking. "Are you kidding? If he tortured people who gave him bad news, he wouldn't have much of a crew left."

Stranger: "Good," Sherlock nodded. He fell quiet, thinking through plans.

You: Rene let Sherlock think, his eyes wandering through the hotel room. He saw one bag and assumed that the other man travelled light. He was content to sit in quiet until his stomach rumbled, telling him it was about time for lunch.

Stranger: Sherlock turned his head to Rene. "You hungry?" he asked, standing. "Let's go out somewhere, on the other side of town, though, from where your boss works."

You: "Good idea," Rene said, nodding emphatically. "Desmond likes to give himself airs by eating at some of the trendier restaurants in Paris. We should go somewhere small, near the north side."

Stranger: Sherlock nodded and grabbed his wallet. "I don't expect you have much money?" he asked, taking his coat.

You: Rene shook his head, shrugging ruefully. "Desmond keeps his lackeys on short pay," he explained. "I have maybe enough for one meal on me."

Stranger: "Don't worry, it's on me," Sherlock said, shrugging his coat on. "I'm not... short on money."

You: "That's good to know, especially if we don't find Mary quickly," Rene said, standing up. He hadn't taken his coat off, deciding that being prepared to run was the best course even now. "I know a good place we can go. It's quiet and we'll be able to plan there without being overheard."

Stranger: "Sounds good," Sherlock said as they left the flat. Sherlock waved down a taxi as they got downstairs and Rene told the cabbie the address before they were off.