Work Text:
Sholmes sleeps on the couch now.
Susato can see his socked foot sitting sideways on the floor under the table, twisted into a position that must surely be uncomfortable. She does her best to keep quiet as she creeps across the apartment, empty cup in hand, but the floorboards betray her, letting out a groaning squeak under her light weight. She cringes, daring to peer over her shoulder at the couch once more. Thankfully, the detective hasn’t moved. A testament to his exhaustion, surely.
He’s facing away from her, face firmly planted in the cushions. She listens closely for sounds of snoring, but the room is silent- even the fire has burned down to nothing. Perhaps she should re-light it? London’s night air is chilly on the best of days.
She hikes up the end of her nightgown as she shuffles across the room, placing her cup on the end table and grabbing the book of matches. They’re down to their last three, and before she can stop herself, she wonders when Iris will have the chance to run out and grab more-
She strikes the matchbox as quietly as she can, resigning herself to market duty. She’d take Naruhodo with her. They’d make a day of it- goodness knows he needs a break from the chaos for a moment. He’d been asleep at his desk when she’d passed him, hard at work looking over old, yellowed files ferreted away from the court offices. Records of old kidnapping cases, mostly ones with trails that had gone cold.
She tosses the match into the hearth, heart clenched.
Iris has been missing for nearly a week now. It’s getting hard to stay hopeful.