Chapter Text
Holly and Kipps didn’t belong at Portland Row. Not like the other three, who lived there day in and day out, lounging around in saggy joggers and holy t-shirts. At least George had agreed to wearing trousers whenever he was downstairs, though that still left the possibility of running into his bare legs on the landing when Kipps went up there to use the bathroom.
But Holly and Kipps each had their own flats, Holly with her roommate (cough, cough) and Kipps with his cat. They were close enough together that more often than not after a job, the two of them shared a cab home. When Holly wasn’t on a job, Kipps would usually elect to kip on the sofa in the library until the buses were running in the morning, but his ancient 22 year old spine was beginning to object to the abuse.
Tonight, though, had been a big case. Well, the haunting itself hadn’t been that big a deal, just a Floating Bride. And the case wasn’t high profile, just a mostly abandoned secondary school. But the building was enormous, so Lockwood had called all hands on deck to help them search for the Source.
It had taken all night to locate the bloody thing: a locket containing a few brittle strands of hair in the bottom of a drawer so covered with dust Kipps was worried about his lungs, old and decrepit as they were.
Lockwood and Lucy had taken it to the furnaces (Lockwood never missing an opportunity to spend more time with his occasionally wayward Listener), and he and Holly had helped George lug all the kit home, dropped it off, then hopped right back into the waiting cab. Kipps was looking forward to a long hot shower when he got home. And Oliver would need treats and a cuddle. Or might just ignore him. Cats were difficult to predict like that.
“It’s your turn to be dropped first,” Holly said with a yawn as they climbed back into the cab.
So Kipps gave his address and settled back against the leather seats. He watched the lights of the city roll by, ghost lamps popping flares of green light here and there. It took him several minutes to realize that Holly’s usual post-case chatter was absent.
He glanced at her, but her eyes were staring, glassy. Well, they’d been busy all week with cases and secret sessions planning to break into the tomb of she who they could not name in public. He went back to watching the familiar streets roll by, until a few minutes from home he felt a weight settle onto his shoulder.
He looked down at the head of shiny, black hair that had settled there and pursed his lips. By the time the cab arrived outside his flat block, she was snoring, and he thought he felt a damp spot on his shirt where she’d drooled.
“Holly?”
There was no response.
He cleared his throat and tried again. “Hols? Do you mind if I…”
But she only snored on.
“Um…”
The cab driver was watching him in the rearview mirror expectantly. Kipps sighed.
“Guess we better drop her off first,” he said.
Stifling a tired groan, he gave the cabbie her address. Well, what was fifteen more minutes?