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With the early sunsets of wintertime, it was already well past dark by the time Professor Mikotoba left his office. A gentle chill was sneaking through the layers of his coat, but he didn't move towards his car just yet ― Susato had texted him saying she'd be studying late, asking if they could meet up near the center of campus. While slightly inconvenient, this was on the whole a pleasant surprise; they were both busy these days, and chances to spend unexpected time with his daughter were few and far between.
She did seem to be slightly later than usual, though. Hopefully she wasn't overworking herself. As he mused in the frigid air of the evening, a shadow approached from the approximate direction of the Law & Judicial department. He squinted into the darkness to identify it, but even at a glance it was obvious it couldn't be her. Far too tall, stretching into the realms of the gangly. Pacing with a distinctly loose-limbed gait, like a mannequin with slightly unscrewed joints.
Familiar, though. ...Uncannily familiar, even. As the shadow stepped into the light, baseless hunch became stark certainty. A spike pierced his heart and settled, bringing with it a mix of ice and warmth which evaporated into a mess of uneasy vapor.
Judging by its theatrical strut the figure had clearly noticed he was observed, but it wasn't until now he noticed who was doing the observing. His face contorted into shock, alongside a gasp that nearly sent his pipe clattering from his mouth. "Ah...Mikotoba!" Within a split second his surprise washed back over into a gentle smile, sending a few contented puffs of smoke to bloom and disperse into the night. "A stroke of luck ― or fate, perhaps?"
Mikotoba folded his arms, committing to neither option just yet. "What are you doing here, Sholmes?"
Robbed of pleasantries and opportunities to charm, he reeled back as if he'd been confronted on the fields of battle before lunging his counterattack with a triumphant grin. "I could ask you that very same question!" A tentative pause, and a finger rapidly pressed to his temple. "Minus the 'Sholmes' and plus a 'Mikotoba', of course. The roughly-same question."
He did always have a way of challenging his mind when he least expected it. Mikotoba pursed his lips, giving his question the consideration it deserved. "Well...I've worked here for years, for one thing." He brought one hand up to his face, a soft cotton glove rubbing over his chin. "And besides, Susato asked me to meet her here after school."
"And that, my dear man, is a very good answer! Very similar to my own, in fact, but minus a 'Susato' and―well, you understand." He shot a sharp smile over, seguing back. "Iris had some complex technical something-or-other to attend to, of which I've forgotten every detail. Either way, she requested my presence to escort her home around this time."
He tilted his head, mentally mapping out the familiar layout of the area. "The IT department is on the other side of campus, though. Are you sure you're in the right place?"
"Undoubtedly!" His voice rang forth with far more confidence than his own, despite his substantially lessened experience. "This is exactly where she asked me to be, with no question in my mind."
Mikotoba paused for a moment, puzzling the disparate pieces together. The silence that hung in the air would soon be broken by a loud burst of familiar violin music, slightly tinny and electronic, causing him to jolt and Sholmes' eyes to widen ― in a flash he hauled his phone out of his pocket, noting that someone seemed to be remoting into one of his music apps.
Digital know-how, elaborate and detailed planning, and shared knowledge of their habits...one particular culprit sprung to mind, alongside one particular accomplice. A long sigh escaped him as he hit pause, allowing the night to dip back into its solemn stillness. He glanced up at his old partner. "...They set this up, didn't they?"
Silence and a curt nod went back at him. Sholmes' fingers ran along the edges of his pipe in quick, flicking touches, speaking out of the corner of his mouth. "It's our own fault, you know. We let Iris watch The Parent Trap at far too formative an age."
"Well..." He folded his arms, gloved fingers burrowing into the sleeves of his coat. He had options, certainly; a great deal of potential things to say, burgeoning possibilities to let loose into the night, but distance and time pushed his mind to the path of least resistance. "I suppose we should each be going home, then."
Sholmes dipped into what seemed like a nod, then fought it halfway through, his head tilting sharply to the right. His familiar eagle eyes fixed their focus on each nuance of his stoic expression, ending in a furrowed brow. "...Come now, Mikotoba. You can't pretend you don't enjoy seeing me."
He drew a deep breath, but couldn't deny it. The sight of him brought a gentle tension to his chest, but it was far from the muddled tangle of months past. The chill had faded and left in its place a welcoming warmth, like standing on the verge of a familiar doorway. He pursed his lips for a moment. "...I always enjoy seeing you, Sholmes." A murmur trailed his words, glancing away. "That's what makes it all so difficult."
Sholmes nodded, his eyes sliding gently shut. "In that case, I can see a delightful shortcut to your long-term woes." He advanced, his smile cutting a trail of gleaming light through the darkness. Combined with the glint in his eyes, the effect was blinding, as if the sun had lunged across the horizon to settle in front of him. "Return home! We've barely changed Susato's room, you know ― moved in a desk, perhaps."
The thought tugged at his heart, but all he could do was let out a soft sigh. "It's not that simple, I'm afraid." Mikotoba fixed his eyes on him, feeling slight motions play across his face, unsure what he was trying to communicate or conceal―but, at least, trying to scrub them of reproach. "You should know that by now."
Unrelenting, Sholmes brandished his index finger in the manner of a defiant duelist. "And you should know by now, my dear Mikotoba, that simple matters bore me to tears!" A few sliding steps paced across the square, pinning him in the headlights of his focus. "Indulge me with information, and I promise you ― no matter how labyrinthine the pathways to your heart, I shall navigate to their center with a torch in one hand and a piece of string in the other!"
His old partner loomed in front of him, larger than life, intrusive and inviting simultaneously. It was hard not to get caught up in the full extent of the old days' tangle standing this close, and though it was just a faint curl concealed by one corner of his moustache, Mikotoba couldn't help but smile.
Vivid. Persistent. Unable to put a question from his mind. He hadn't changed a bit.
...Perhaps he himself hadn't, either. Seized in the grip of familiar grief escaping had seemed like the only option, but it was possible that he hadn't paved new paths as much as retread old ground. Having a relentless investigator hunt to the core of the matter while he himself endeavored, with an intensity that bordered on denial, to push it all away...
In a way, it was comforting. As was the concern, even though he couldn't tell if Sholmes was prepared to commit to it fully quite yet. "...I suppose we're overdue to talk about it." His hands moved to his pockets, and his old partner shot him a familiar grin; even after months, he recognized its sharp curve as the triumph of gaining ground. "Alright, well...let's start from the beginning. Do you remember what happened, before I moved out?"
"Oh, yes!" Sholmes nodded rapidly, giving a keen show of paying attention. "You were rather morose, and began spending more time in your study."
His head rustled back and forth. After a moment he paused, then conceded its technical truth with a curt nod. "Well, yes, but―before that."
"Before? Well, well..." He scratched at his temples, leaning back to inspect the stars. "You were more stressed at work, I suppose. You were talking about that more and more often. Couldn't quite keep up, with all the research citations and so on--" A finger jabbed into the air and he closed his eyes, infused with gentle smugness. "―but I would implore you to remember that I often managed to stay awake through it."
He tilted his head slightly. In spite of the impact it had left on him, it did seem like the man's highly selective memory needed nudging. "...You were shot, Sholmes."
"Oh!" The sharp arch to his eyebrows hinted at genuine surprise. With the air of an afterthought, he added: "Oh, yes, there was that, too."
Silence hung in the air for a few seconds. Mikotoba furrowed his brow, reaching a conclusion that seemed simultaneously undeniable and impossible. "Sholmes, had you...forgotten?"
Sholmes shook his head in wide and rapid arcs, throwing out a few irritable hand-waves. "My memory slips on tiny trifles, Mikotoba. I couldn't focus on something like that, not while you were clearly distraught." After a few contented puffs to his pipe his eyes snapped open, whirling on his heel and slicing indentations into the half-melted slush. Squinting with skeptical scrutiny, he raised his hand to his chin. "...You're not saying the events were connected, are you?"
Mikotoba blinked, unable to tell if this was genuine deceit or genuine absentmindedness. His partner's tendency to play dumb did sometimes verge into the serious, but Sholmes gave off every impression of earnestness as his breezy voice continued, expounding with rapid patter. "As multiple doctors and myself assured you, it was all alright! As soon as I sprang out of that hospital bed, I returned to my custom ― a healthy man in the prime of his life. I had utmost faith in you, and was fighting fit in mind and body." He snapped his fingers, laying out this deduction with as much confidence as any other. "All the facts pointed to my immediate and speedy recovery!"
'Utmost faith.' Words that prompted gratitude and joy and fear, all in that familiar jumbled mess. He breathed deep, seizing at his best chance to untangle it. "I appreciate that trust, but...it can be stifling, you know. You always..." He paused, remembered his years of changed habits, the space he'd carved out for Iris, and shook his head. Had to give him credit where he was due. "Well, no, not always, I suppose. You're the most incisive person I know about cutting through an enigma, Sholmes, but...so much of it is puzzles to you. Clearing one, moving on to the next. It's not always that easy, for the rest of us." His words drifted clumsily, trying to feel out the contours of an image. He was being vague, he knew that, just as much as he knew that the clear, quizzical eyes before him deserved honesty.
Deep breaths. Hidden from view in his pockets, his hands tightened into fists. "...Herlock, when Ayame passed away, it was the most difficult time of my life. When I saw you lying there, it all came back to me. And you trusted me so utterly, but so much could have happened―if I was late, or didn't pick up, or the hospital was busier. If the situation was just slightly different, I..." Necessary truths wavered on the tip of his tongue. He let them go, settling a firm look over his old partner. "...I've lost the love of my life once already, Herlock. I can't let it happen again."
The night closed in. Sholmes' customary repertoire of energetic motions were nowhere to be seen, his lanky form settled into statuesque stillness. Feeling a mild touch of guilt flicker over his heart, Mikotoba drew his obvious deduction: That the full weight of the past six months had finally descended on him.
"...Yujin―" His arms darted out like lightning, presenting splayed fingers towards his partner's chest. "Hands. Hands, please." A second went by, during which a pair of cotton gloves were stuffed into a coat pocket. Mikotoba let his fingers slip in and interweave, leaning into a gentle warmth that bloomed through the dark. The gaze that beamed back at him from beneath furrowed brows had lost its customary glint, replaced with foundations of firm stone. "I'm not working those types of cases anymore, Yujin. I haven't been for quite a while."
Relief washed over him, but he was cautious not to let it flood his mind. Being carried on those tides had led them to too much trouble already. "I'm glad to hear it, but...I need to know you're taking care of yourself, too. That you won't rush back to your old ways just because you have me by your side. You throw your safety to the wind so often, and..." He glanced away for a moment before looking back, finding a metaphor to seize on. "Think of it this way, Herlock. Every time I leave for work, I'm trusting you with the well-being of one of the people I treasure the most." He rubbed one thumb over his knuckles, squeezing his grip slightly tighter. "I need you to be his bodyguard."
The mission seemed to strike home. After a moment's contemplative pause, Sholmes disentangled his hands and brandished a confident finger. "Very well! From what I've observed, the man is an erratic scoundrel, but my eagle eye shall never leave his side." A sharp smirk curled at his lips, which, within moments, softened into a gentle smile. Inches away from each other the old days were coming back in force, settling their nostalgic touches across the corners of the present. "...I truly am happy to see you, Yujin. I must confess...it struck me as rather melancholy, when you went and left it all behind."
Tension was gradually dissipating out of him, and a soft sort of weariness crept in to take its place. Mikotoba gave a gentle nod. "...It was hard, of course. But I find my current work extremely rewarding, as well ― not better, not worse, just different." He drew a deep breath, glancing away. "The thought that you might lunge back into danger...I resented it for a while, but I always knew you could never truly leave investigation behind. Your mind's not built for it. And I suppose, in a way, I thought..."
He paused for a moment, hardening his resolve. If there was time to talk, there was time to tell the truth, especially the one that had been curling and twisting at the bottom of his heart for months. "...you may have resented me, for expecting you to." His shoulders sagged as sentiments he couldn't previously phrase found their form, solidifying in the evening air. "Attempting to drag you down."
Barely a split-second passed before the influx of sensations began; pressure and warmth and hands at his shoulders, immediately. "Oh, my dear fellow―my dear fellow, no, never! Never!" Leaning in mere inches from his face Sholmes' lips were pursed tight, eyes widened into a rare earnestness. "Drag me down? No, no, no―you keep me anchored, like a sandbag to a hot air balloon! Without you I'd careen into the stratosphere and explode, Yujin, no doubt about it!"
The metaphor wasn't particularly flattering for either of them, but it rang surprisingly true. Under the fresh balm of reassurance, Mikotoba allowed himself a warm smile. It eased the tension in his bones, and seemed to have the same effect on Sholmes; the look of intense urgency on his face faded and drifted, away to the mix of smugness and nonchalance he was used to.
A wag of his finger emphasized his point, and a breezy breath heralded his next one. "And I've changed in the meantime, you know." He backed off with a pirouetting twirl, ending in a flourish. "You see before you an utterly new and improved Herlock Sholmes, with barely a frisson of a flaw remaining! Iris has even been teaching me how to use a smartphone―"
"Oh." Mikotoba's brows curled tight, as less nostalgic memories swam across his mind. "Are you sure that's wise?"
Sholmes extracted it from his pocket bit by bit, like he was dislodging a venomous snake. "No, no, these are all perfectly safe! Very lightweight, you have to really hurl them to do any damage. Of course, that strikes me as a design flaw―if you're cornered in a dark alley, it's absolutely useless as a bludgeon." As he lifted it up, Mikotoba noted that he was holding the phone between thumb and forefinger, letting it dangle down from his pincer grip. "But most importantly, she's used a system of parental controls to block me from using the internet at all! Only various appliqués and so on, some of which I can see coming in quite handy during investigations. And I've received a thorough education in the field of electronic missives!"
He tilted his head, translating the slapshod jargon with a quiet tug at his lips. "E-mail's rather common by now, Sholmes."
"And I have mastered it entirely! Here, look, Mikotoba―" He went off on a spree of frantic tapping, his index finger skipping across the screen in the loose, unsynchronized way of a frog across a series of tadpoles. "―I have sent you one."
Mikotoba's phone buzzed. He checked it.
"I see that it's labelled 'Important'."
"Yes!"
"I see that it says 'hello'."
"Yes!"
"I see that you sent it twenty times."
"Yes!" His eyes slid softly shut, crammed at every inch with an inexhaustible self-satisfaction. "It's very important."
Mikotoba replaced the phone in his pocket, feeling the ice crack across his chest and an overwhelming sense of warmth melt throughout him. "Sholmes, you haven't changed a bit."
"I very much have, my dear man!" He brandished a finger, lapsing into defensive gabble. "That's the point of this entire exercise―"
He shook his head firmly. Several thick and tangled strings, wound around his ribs in a complex net, were coming undone. The facts were all there. The conclusion was obvious. "No, I meant...you're still the man I love."
"Oh." And there it was―for all his glib remarks, theatrical grandeur, extravagant gestures and languid air of nonchalant revelry, his smile was faint and his blush was undeniable. "Well, I―yes, well." One of his fingers went up to his temple, drawing back erratic curls of his hair. His eyes fixed elsewhere for a moment before glancing back, speckled with starlight. "I'd rather hoped that part had stayed the same."
The hush of the night descended once more as the two of them looked over each other, feeling, both at once, the firm foundation of old memories and the gentle breeze of new beginnings. Eventually Sholmes clicked his tongue to break the silence and maneuvered forwards with a few sauntering steps. "Come on. Our daughters went through all the trouble of giving us music―you won't do me the indecency of refusing a dance, my good man?"
"...I'm afraid I'll have to." Before Sholmes could protest, he held up his hand, letting his smile betray his intentions. "Two dances, Sholmes. One quick, one slow. I'll accept nothing less."
In rapid succession Sholmes' eyes widened then gleamed, glinting green gemstones cutting through the dark. With a click of his heel and a snap of his fingers, he proffered his open hand. "Your terms are harsh but fair, my dear Mikotoba!"
Speed and energy sizzled against the snow-covered pavement, tapping beats and snapping fingers whirling under a street lamp's makeshift spotlight. Rapid strings reached their crescendo through a tinny phone speaker, an ever-steady rhythm thumping alongside their respective heartbeats; whipping his arm out Sholmes extended his hand and Mikotoba took it, dragging him in, squeezing him to his chest. An image hovered frozen in the air, clear enough to have been projected against the backdrop of the night: Their first dance, blazing across the floor of a faintly-disreputable London club, in disguise, getting too in character.
The playlist ticked over by one, and a gentle note quivered on the strings. Their tempo slowed, nestled tight in each other's arms, shuffling with tender steps. Warmth and violin music, pressing through the hush.
The chill of the night surrounded them. Pressed close towards each other, they felt none of it.
Rapid and energetic steps had turned loose and relaxed, strolling down the winding ways of campus and, at the same time, down memory lane. Voices drifted up to fill the crisp air. "...Do you remember the snake, Mikotoba?"
A soft chuckle rebounded back at him. "I could never forget. We went hunting through the sewer lines for hours, didn't we?"
"Absolutely ludicrous vent placement. No wonder the blasted thing escaped." Sholmes shook his head, seemingly turning his talents as an investigator to the question of zoo infrastructure. He cut through the topic at hand with a sharp jab of his pipe. "And what about the Eye of―"
"The Eye of Cerberus, yes..." A nostalgic sigh, lost back in long nights of poring over documentation and chasing down alleyways. "Caught the culprit, but we never did find it, did we?"
A match went up in the air, touched softly to a layer of tobacco. Sholmes' voice emerged slightly muffled, speaking out of the corner of his mouth. "All in due time, I'm sure."
"And then there's Gina...Susato tells me about her, sometimes." Mikotoba's furrowed brows gave way to a warm smile. "I'm glad the young girl's doing alright, after everything. The first time we invited her over for dinner, she seemed so...scared."
Sholmes shook his head. "Anyone with a right hook like that does alright for themselves in life. Least we could do, after putting her out of a career." His eyes stared back up at the empty air, reminiscence coiling in slender threads along with drifting wisps of smoke. He sighed, twisting and turning his pipe. "We've had a great deal of fun, haven't we?"
"Yes...some of the best days of my life, I can assure you." He paused, momentarily lost in thought. A topic had been playing at his mind for several days now, and with the temporary ice between them melted, there was no one he trusted the subject with more. "That's...another thing I wanted to talk to you about, actually."
"Oh?" He tilted his head and spread his shoulders wide, ever-eager to hear the assorted woes of his partner. "Wring out your troubled heart, my dear man!"
"Just something I've been noticing, here and there. Something to do with the university." He placed one hand to his chin, gaze skimming over the half-melted snowdrifts across the pathways. "At first it was nothing more than a feeling, but...a theft took place in one of the chemistry labs. Mr. Gregson was the first to identify a potential culprit."
"Ah, Gregson! A fine fellow, that one. A glistening effervescence about him―no end of entertainment." As Mikotoba remembered it, the entertainment had mostly been at his expense, but Sholmes seemed positively inclined enough, either way. "I'm happy to heard he cracked a case."
"Yes, but...rather too quick, I believe. And there was something that went on shortly after, with the school paper." His finger tapped in a soft, contemplative rhythm. "Susato and her friends looked into that, and...when she showed me what they've currently been covering in class, I caught a glimpse of it in her notes."
Sholmes' face lit up, nearly enough to render the streetlights redundant. "Oh, very stealthy! You do me proud."
There wasn't a trace of backhandedness to that compliment, but he still found himself with mixed feelings about it. He cleared his throat. "Well...either way, there seems to be a great deal more to this than meets the eye." Steadying his voice again, he continued. "And there's the question of Stronghart's most recent hire, a coach for the resident drama society...slightly eccentric and slightly pretentious, but I believe there's more to him."
That particular remark was met with a series of enthusiastic nods. "Ah, yes! Iris told me he was apparently immersed in some sort of gladiatorial deathmatch with one of the faculty."
Mikotoba paused. Rumors along those lines had certainly gone around, but if there was a shred of truth to them at all, he couldn't verify how many had grown wilder in the retelling; the exceedingly withdrawn, fairly neurotic Natsume-san didn't seem capable of that brash a decision, and anyway, no trace of the man's alleged black eye remained the next day. "...Potentially, but that's not what I was referring to." His glance drifted to the side. "He's been lingering after-hours, meandering through the departments."
"After hours? Seems like a fine time to schedule a tête-a-tête, in that case." He smiled, puffing contentedly at his pipe, before jolting to a halt. He swivelled his head around, eyes thick with concern. "...Would you be alright with that, Mikotoba?"
The gesture warmed his heart, quickly reflected in his smile. He was an old bloodhound, but his partner was picking up new tricks. "Mhm. If the man's up to something, I don't believe he's beyond your ability to handle."
"Excellent!" Two tight fists erupted from his sides, punching the air with abject delight. "A potent whiff of the old days, a healthy dose of new experiences ― my dear Mikotoba, this evening sojourn has proven extremely enlightening!"
Contentment weaved throughout his chest, irrepressible. After months spent in a haze of avoidance, a deep-seated fear of what this conversation might result in, the sight of his old partner's joy brought a saying to mind; the light at the end of the tunnel. "I couldn't agree with you more."
"Then it seems we can call our business concluded for tonight. And, in accordance with your earlier proposal..." He smiled, proudly flaunting a brief functional fizz of his much-maligned short-term memory. "I suppose we should each be going home."
Mikotoba nodded, then paused. After a few moments of contemplation, he spoke up again. "Sholmes, haven't you forgotten something?"
"Let's see―" He raised his fingers, counting them off one by one. "Reconcile with the greatest man in the world, two dances, accept a new case." His head shook, quick but firm. "No, I don't believe I have."
With a series of quick steps, Mikotoba advanced on him to deliver a gentle kiss. Sholmes, after a momentary pause, slapped his forehead with theatrical melodrama. Erupting into a piercing "My dear fellow, how could I forget?!" he lunged in, arms wrapped around his neck, hands digging into his hair, pressing tight against the soft fabric of his thick winter coat. The man with some of the keenest insights Mikotoba knew came out of the embrace looking distinctly dopey ― and, from Sholmes' perspective, the man whose patience and calm were each equally unflappable was breaking into a blush.
He cleared his throat and nodded, unable to fight the wide grin from bubbling onto his lips. "I'll call you tomorrow, Sholmes."
Sholmes brandished a finger, interjecting. "I can give you a ride!"
Mikotoba shook his head. "Took my own car here, I'm afraid."
"The risk of burglars in the area is very low, Mikotoba." He persisted, pursuing his goal with dogged determination. "You can leave it standing overni―"
A firm hand rustled his hair, and with another kiss to his cheek, his voice dipped into a gentle murmur. "I'll call you tomorrow, Sholmes."
"Of course you will!" Sholmes beamed, switching gears with a burst of delighted intensity. "And when the phone's infernal ringing breaks my concentration, I shall make sure to tolerate it for you!"
They parted ways, though Mikotoba couldn't prevent himself from throwing a few glances back. Each time he did, Sholmes was steadily reversing without looking where he was going, hurling him a series of increasingly-grand and extravagant waves; one hand, the other, both at once, then both at once plus an ambitious but unsuccessful attempt at waving with one leg.
Mikotoba looked down and let out a gentle chuckle, feeling an inexhaustible warmth within him radiate against the frigid night air.
Sholmes, as soon as Mikotoba had well and truly turned around, swivelled both fists frantically in the air and skipped across the street, in a maneuver poised gently on the three-way precipice between shadowboxing, acrobatics and ballet.
Both of them let themselves sink into replay of the events of the evening, each lost in thought and severed from their surroundings. Pacing down towards their respective destinations, the click-clicking tempo of rapid flurries of spontaneous dance steps would occasionally be heard tapping against the pavement.
In a mid-city address a young girl tapped aimlessly at her keyboard, having moved her laptop down out of her room and into the kitchen. As the familiar rattling of an old clunker pulled up outside, she dashed to the window to see it parallel parking clumsily on the road before dashing back, feigning nonchalance.
As the door creaked open, she threw her most sparkling eyes in its direction. "Welcome home, daddy!" She tilted her head, beaming with an innocent grin. "You were out late, weren't you?"
Sholmes threw his coat across the armchair in a slapdash motion, advancing with a series of clicking steps and trailing an inadvisable amount of slush across the floor. One of his fingers went up in the air, alongside a mild but potent scowl. "Young lady, what have I told you about interfering in me and Mikotoba's relationship?"
Iris looked up at him, a brief shade of concern playing across her face."Well..." She made an earnest attempt to sift through her memory before giving him a light shrug. "...Nothing, I think. Not that I can remember."
His mock-sternness gave way to a beaming grin. "Well, I should've told you to do it sooner!" With a swishing grip he lifted her into a hug and whirled her around, and the sound of their laughter joined as one as he spun around the room. "Ah, he loves me―I knew it, of course, I knew it unwaveringly, but what a familiar joy to be proven right!" He plonked her back onto the ground with a light thud, eyes wide and twinkling. "And you, young lady, deserve one of those things you've been talking about. One of those digital things. Two thousand pounds, was it? A mere trifle! We shall skip rent this month, and ask the landlady's forgiveness."
She shook her head in rapid motions, breaking into a wide smile. "It's okay, daddy! I don't need anything, I'm just happy you're..." Her eyes peered up at his face, set into its familiar display; a jumbled mix of relaxed confidence, this time underpinned by a tangible note of relief. She breathed deep and slammed her hands together, sending a loud clap resounding throughout the room. "Well, we can't just stand around, can we? When Mickey comes back, we'll have to have his favorite tea blend ready!"
Elsewhere in town, the silence lingering over a relatively cozy kitchen was starting to curve towards the oppressive. Just as Susato was musing over her concerns on whether they'd acted too rashly, the sound of footsteps up the stairway broke her concentration.
The door swung open, and she greeted him with a smile and a nod. "Welcome home, father!" She said ― judging by the two boxes of take-out by her side, one of them empty, she'd been home for long enough to cover dinner. There was a soft warmth to her expression, remarkably guileless considering what she had to know. "How was your evening?"
He slipped his shoes off gently, placing them on the rack. "Susato..." He let out a gentle sigh, shaking his head. "Things like this can be very delicate, you know. It worked out well this time―" Her eyes lit up like fireworks, prompting him to rapidly continue with a slight note of emphasis. "―but it might just as easily not have."
Susato's shoulders tensed slightly, moving one hand up towards her face. "I know, father. And I'm sorry I misdirected you. But..." She drummed her fingers across her cheek, meeting his gaze out of the corner of her eye. "You've always told me that it's important to be honest and upfront about your feelings." A small nod, and a smile that held kindness straightforward enough that it almost bordered on the cunning. "I simply wanted to enact an opportunity to...put your teachings into functional practice?"
He folded his arms and furrowed his brow, losing himself in thought. She had him there, undoubtedly ― and, perhaps, not unexpectedly. For too long, he'd acted like she was a passive bystander in the question of their shaken family. In response, and not for the first time, she'd been quicker to notice the direction of his muddled feelings than he had. Whenever she displayed a slice of insight that caught him off guard, he was never sure if he could take any credit; the complex circumstances of her upbringing rendered him ever-wavering on the question of whether he'd done enough, or whether she'd chart her pathways with or without him.
Still...it was clear his daughter was growing into a sharp young woman, and his concerns couldn't outweigh his pride. A warm smile curled at his lips alongside a gentle nod. "Well...as I said, it did work out well this time." With soft steps he retreated to his study, carrying the second box of take-out with him. "So I suppose there's nothing to worry about."
Susato, maintaining the careful poise of professional neutrality for as long as he was within earshot, pumped her fists and stomped her feet as soon as he was out of it. On the side of the table, her phone buzzed; she lunged for it, discovered Iris had sent her a message consisting of a single high-five emoji, and responded with one in return.
Across two parts of town, two halves of an investigative duo turned back to their work to no avail. Sholmes tinkered aimlessly with a set of chemicals, adrift on a cloud of quiet smiles and steady eyes ― Mikotoba sat at his desk, unable to focus on his research, pulled away at every turn by the thought of sharp grins and a twinkle of mischief. Between them, around them, a soft warmth suffused the air.