As the World Falls Down {Holmes}{casual}

[JANE EYRE]

Jane was getting tired of walking the same streets over and over just to do her job. She knew that she couldn't complain seeing as she had a job and a television in a slightly better neighborhood than the one she was currently walking through. But, oh, it would be so nice to live closer to the school she taught at. That way, she could avoid spending nearly three hours a day walking the streets where anything could happen. It was always moderately terrifying whenever she stepped outside in the Bronx. She felt safe enough in Brooklyn, she knew the area very well, as well as her neighbors. If something happened to her in Brooklyn, someone was guarenteed to help her. If something happened here in the Bronx...

Jane shook the thought away and kept walking, trying to get to the tube as quickly as possible. She was well on her way when she noticed a man struggling. The man was tall and thin and had an unhealthy pallor about him, it looked like he was in quite a bit of pain. Jane considered to keep walking and getting to somepleace safe, but then she saw him stumble and fall. Before she could even register what she was doing, Jane had hurried to the man's side. "Sir? Sir? Can you hear me?"

[philosopher]

swear to keep;

Heedless of introductions or given advice, Holmes had once more attempted to return to work - again to be turned away. A twinge of repugnance was felt at this control so newly exercised over the liberty of his actions; claiming they held out for his own good. However, he seemed to forget that any explanation was necessary.

Until he had made a full recovery, they said - and how long would that take? Months? What exactly could he do with months? What with Dallas Winston and his strew of skelm still running about the city, and the matter of a dead Mayor still needing seeing too - he felt this time, this wasted time, to be endless. His torment increased with every moment of this fruitless expectation, and he roamed aimlessly from street.

Really, Holmes was to be in bed. That he had tried, but though he tried to maintain stillness on different topics, the feelings of at least two out of the three necessarily drew it back to one channel. There, he needed movement. He left looking a greasy white and red-ringed about the eyes, Watson was not going to like it but there was plenty of time to worry about that. His head felt broken, and there was a grey cloud before his eyes - safe to say, Holmes was barely walking straight. He walked still, running over the slight nothings, probable and improbable, which in hard suspense he counted up, wounding the sore inners of his head, though still the worst Holmes seemed to fear was the temporary hardship to which he was exposed.

Slowly waking from a long interval of thought, he slowly came to a stumble of a stop and pushed up his hair until it stood right aloft on his forehead. A whirling sensation came over him, as well as a giddiness that made him put his hand out for some sort of support. He had the greatest desire to speak to Watson about his current case, to question him, to reassure himself; but the pains in him struck up a languorous swoon and a passer-by quickly flitted to the detective's aid.

The momentary .. annoyance, quickly passed. At these hearty words Holmes groaned, quick in an expressed betrayed by much discomposure. He couldn't sit up, not yet, and his fingers flinched in a mood of agitation, compared to which the head's own restlessness was nothing.

'Yeah, yeah. Just ... ' He said, pausing to wince with the sunlight as he tried at opening his eyes. His stubborn manner of speak contrasting strongly with the firmness lacking in his body and character. ' .. Just, leave me be. I'll be up in a sec.'



(Un-needing length of post is un-needed >>

[JANE EYRE]

Jane noticed the man wincing and assumed it was from the bright sunlight. She held up her bag so that it was shading his face. He was trying very hard not to appear weak; his tone was stony and unwavering but it was obvious that his body wasn't up for the task. "I'm afraid I can't just leave you here. You're lying on the sidewalk," Jane knelt fully on the ground beside the man and rumaged through her bag while keeping it carefully elevated.

She found a water bottle inside, still mostly frozen, and her handkerchief. Wrapping the frozen cylinder in the cotton, Jane pressed it into his hand. "Place this on the back of your neck if you're feeling dizzy. It will help," The man looked terrible. It was obvious, painfully obvious, that he wasn't well and in total denial about it. The fact that he was pushing away her aid told Jane so much about the man. It told her that he was independent to a fault, stubborn, and unwilling to admit weakness. It reminded her quite a bit of Edward once upon a time when he was gruff and sarcastic with her. Jane smiled softly to herself at the memory but kept her attention on the unnamed person at her feet.

[philosopher]

Holmes laughed mournfully, 'I've had worse beds.'

In spite of all the goodness of this girl's manner, he did not attempt the slightest explanation. And still more mulish he was to find his own questions, wonderings, reproaches, dying away unuttered in the atmosphere of silentness which always seemed to surround. The attitude of the detective indicated deep self-sustaint, and a humiliation for having it injured. Burning cheeks made for a trifling displeasure. He began to feel the tightening pressure of that chain of mortality, with which he was suddenly struck bound.

His head turned slowly toward her, revealing the eyes, open in a tired, sardonic stare. 'Ughh, brilliant. Another one of you doctor lot.'

With a great physical effort, Holmes sat his stiff body upright and accepted the makeshift aid nonetheless. He bowed his head as he sat the cold weight on his neck, varying his long silences with a few commonplace groans which showed how unaccepting he was of all around him, and how sedulously he tried to disguise the fact, and rise to the surface of human paramount. Convinced that he was removed from this unpleasant business, he cast her a careless look and leaned back on his straight arms.

He was priggish now, habit ruled him. 'The only thing that'll help me is a stiff drink.'

[JANE EYRE]

'Ughh, brilliant. Another one of you doctor lot.' Jane shook her head with a smile. "I'm afraid I'm not a doctor at all. I'm a teacher, rather. An art teacher at that," Jane started to move to help him sit up but pulled back before her hands made contact with his frame. He obviously didn't want help and Jane was okay with him being stubborn enough to sit up on his own. As long as he didn't try to get up and walk away in his current state.

And at mention of a drink, Jane couldn't help but wrinkle her nose. "Even if that was a good idea, I couldn't procure one for you. 'M a bit underage here in the states," Back home, Jane was legally able to by alcohol for a while but not in New York. The man was already starting to look a little better, especially if his tone was anything to go by. His spread out, noncommital groans gave way to a snappy cadence which Jane assumed was his normal speaking voice.

"Do you live nearby here so I can make sure you get home safely? Or can I at least call someone for you?"

[philosopher]

Having nothing to do and little to think of, and, moreover, being under the unwholesome necessity of keeping all his thoughts to himself, Holmes' conjectures grew into such a mountain of discomfort. Partly selfish, partly generous, out of the hearty gratitude which had been awakened in him. He was restless. Agitated.

But being ill with some infantine disease, he had in consequence not a thought to spare for any one out of his own view. Weeks - no, more than weeks, slipped by in the customary monotony of that large, placidly genteel, apartment, and Holmes heard nothing of the world outside. Which constituted one of the faint few interests of his existence. He felt vexed at this lengthened absence of activity. Just where was his stimultion then, if he could not solve a case or, indeed, draw the needle?

This girl was persistant in considering him; and a lethargic look crossed Holmes' pale face. 'Well, it doesn't take a genius. But, seeing as I'm here anyhow,'

He rubbed under his nose with the top of his index finger, and reclined back on straight arms. 'You've got no stiffness in eye colouration whatsoever, and your hair seems to be in it's full natural flurish - assuming you've not dyed it. I'd say I've got .. hm, 'bout ten years on you. Add that to the fact that you're not the legal - American - drinking age, and I'm pinning you at near enough eighteen.'

Holme spoke the latter words with a certain proud affection, and waited a moment before adding, 'I've no intention .. whatsoever, of going home.'

[JANE EYRE]

"Near enough indeed," Jane huffed. The man was being difficult. He refused to go home, he seemed to resist her help and look down upon it at the same time. And yet, his instantaneous and accurate deduction of her age merely from her physical appearance was astounding. Jane had not encountered many 'genius's in her life time, and she was sure that she wouldn't in the long run. However, genius or not, Jane was having a hard time relating to the man who had his defenses up strong around him. Jane didn't blame him.

"And I, sir, have no intention of just leaving you here in the street without making sure that you're taken care of," Jane turned away from the man long enough to tidy up her bag and gather her things. "Do you think you're fit enough to stand? If you fall over, I sincerely doubt that I could help you any," Even though he was rather thin, Jane was still a meek little thing that struggled to lift art supplies on a good day.

[philosopher]

Holmes gave the girl a glance, necessarily at short range, and found her young eyes kindly. Here was a friendly soul, it appeared, who probably helped everybody. Really serious. He was piqued. For several weeks he had thought almost continuously of his career, won by his own genius, and illuminated just what happened when he and his career were kept apart - and now this was his fit punishment. A compassionate teenager.

Constrained to go so far as to supply a tolerant nod, now and then, to the girl's animation, he replied dryly, 'Well, I don't know. Let's find out.'

In this fashion, the man raised himself somewhat. Halting a moment, he frowned feeling a heavy ache throb it's way back into his head. He hated being so weak, and yet he seldom hurried to shift his ways. It had an unpleasant fascination for him, and a mysterious reproach, which he did not seek to fathom. It was simply something to be tolerated until it went away - and so, averting from looking at the young woman, Holmes lifted himself to his feet. A bit too quickly though, as he stumbled and was saved only by putting his hand out to a red-brick wall. Supplemented with furthur exhaustion, he took a minute or so to just breath.

'Ughh, blinking hell.' He groaned, but seemed momentarily relieved after to have it done with. The mood lasted, and was still upon him as he turned and leant his back to that wall and decided to begin smoking again. He cast his eyes to the heavens, looking everything he could be under the circumstances as felt around his pocket and sought out a cigarette he had not crushed in the fall.

Feeling rather degraded, as well as embarrassed, Holmes lit up and dragged. Sinking back against the wall, he fell upon an air of indulgence and a quick shadow passed over his still features, for the moment entirely changing his expression. But soon returned an ordinary settled calm.

'Blinking hell.' He repeated, in an absorbed whisper.

[JANE EYRE]

Jane wasn't sure what do when the man stumbled to his feet and promptly lit up a cigarette. Jane didn't even reach out to help him up. Perhaps he didn't want her help. Surely it was humiliating to be lying on the street with a teenaged girl helping him. Jane stepped back, out of the smoke cloud and let him regain his composure and balance. Jane didn't know what she would do in his position, being so vulnerable to the world. Jane had never been in that state except for once, just before she fled to America.

After a few moments and a couple 'blinking hell's, Jane finally spoke up. "My name's Jane, if'd it make you feel any better so that you are accepting a stranger's help any long," The man struck her as one having pride and, having experienced a man with much pride, Jane knew that accepting help from a stranger would be difficult. Her mind flashed fondly back to when she found Mr. Rochester with his hurt ankle and how gruff and reluctant he was to accept her help. Even if this man wasn't exactly like Mr. Rochester, he was similar enough in his attitude that it caused a pang of homesickness to stir deep in Jane but she brushed it aside. America was a wonderful place for her.

[philosopher]

A silence followed, broken only by the gentle exhaling of cigarette smoke. If there had been some coldness, some resentment at her attention to him, or implied jealousy at her devotion to another human being, he could have understood it. Holmes turned his keen brown eye to the girl, frowning his arched brows in what might have looked to be a critical spirit. A trifle soiled by a wince of a grin.

His voice rolled strong, 'Right, well. First things first.' He shivered before continuing and drew his coat more closely around himself, the hand holding his cigarette becoming animated. It elaborated when he spoke, pointing out, to himself, to her and all around. 'Alright, I am not a charity case. Not homeless, not a tramp, not even poor. I'll let you know I'm on $88,000 a year just now, so .. you know, no need for it.' The statement was made with misleading frankness, and Holmes understanding his pride.

'Second,' Dragging the gasper back from his mouth, he looking over it briefly with a shrinking cringe and hesitated for a minute, not knowing whether he was jesting or not. 'Don't smoke, Miss Jane. It's disgusting.'


(I am sowwy for making you wait ;w; )

[JANE EYRE]

"Well, first of all, I never assumed that you were homeless, a tramp, or even poor," Jane couldn't help roll her eyes a little. She was trying to help him get somewhere safe where he could faint without running the risk of being mugged or run over, and he was quoting his yearly income. "Being from the lower income bracket, I am more than capable of recognizing one of my own kind. You, sir, are not,"

And then he addressed the cigarette which Jane had been ignoring for the last few moments. "Secondly, I have no intention of taking up such and expensive and destructing habit, but thank you for the advice," Something about this man made Jane's more cynical, sarcastic side rear its confrontational head. Until this moment, Mr. Rochester was the only other person she had ever snapped at, but this stranger changed that completely.

"And thirdly, I've introduced myself to you and, unless etique has changed recently and I was not informed that it had, it is only polite for you to respond in turn to some capacity," Jane tugged at her coat, pulling it closer around her before crossing her arms and leaning her weight all onto one hip. It was a stance she had learned from watching Kitty deal with unruly gentlemen, and figured to give it a go. Though, she figured, it must look absolutely ridiculous with her embarassingly thin frame and unimpressive features.

[philosopher]

Holmes turned, disillusioned, and looked steadily, almost with lost enthusiasm, at the girl, so curiously transfixed and isolated in her small character. And in this scornful yet pleading confrontation his eye fell suddenly on her air. From that his gaze flitted, like some wild demented thing's, over face, hair, hands, clothes, attitude, expression, and he slowly nodded. Nodding his understandings. Jane's illusion wasn't that of his 'kind' - as she put it.

'Right then.'

He raised the fag again with an affectation of effrontery, and smiling with a faint contempt on all alike, as if to keep himself from slinking, and the wolf out of his eyes. He felt restless, and watchful, and suspicious, as if he had suddenly come down in the world. His, then, was a disguise as effectual as a shabby coat and a glazing eye. His heart sickened. Was it even worth while living on a crust of social respectability so thin and so exquisitely treacherous? He challenged everyone.

'So you have, Miss Jane.' He drawled, dropping his hand away and smiling out of a peculiar stillness to this young and rather inscrutable acquaintance. 'Detectives Sherlock Holmes of the New York City Police Department, catapulted over here from the London Metropolitans. Height, 6'1". Weight, 165 pounds. Favourite food, battenberg. Favourite drink .. ohh all of them.'

In a cordial voice out of the dusk, Holmes added, 'Is that responsive enough for you, my dear?'

[JANE EYRE]

Jane couldn't resist rolling her eyes. "Pleaasure to meet you Detective Holmes," Despite the cigarette, Jane hovered close to Holmes, not wanting to stray too far in case he wasn't as steady as he seemed. "Are you well enough to walk just a ways down to the diner there," Jane motioned to a small shop three doors down. She had enough change in her purse to buy a coffee for him, if it would help. "I'll buy you coffee, so you can get your strength back," Jane chose to pull out her wallet to check. She would have to give up her lunch for tomorrow but she would manage.

That sweet history teacher may share with her again like he had when she couldn't afford lunch due to unexpected plumbing repair. But it wouldn't matter if he didn't. It wouldn't be the first time Jane had to sacrifice a meal because of money. Jane wasn't going to leave this man wanting when she could help, no way. It wouldn't be right. "If you aren't ready, I can wait with you 'til you are," Not that Jane didn't have places she needed to be, because she did. But this was more important. Someone needing help was always more important. Even if that someone was biting and unappreciative.

(( D: ))