706, 12:00 am
"What the fuck?" Eliot muttered under his breath, as his brain scrambled to make sense of the change that had just occurred. He was himself again. The other presence - Sherlock Holmes, unless his sanity was beginning to slip - was no longer there, leaving Eliot all alone to make sense of all of the events of the day.
Because despite the changes, Eliot remembered everything that had occurred over the past twenty-four hours. Meeting Micah - who was somehow also John Watson - and the old lady, as well as Iris, who in a cruel twist of fate was Irene Adler. Eliot knew Holmes had feelings for Iris's counterpart as surely as he knew the backs of his own hands. If Eliot had had any idea what being in love with someone felt like, he might even have gone as far as saying that was what Holmes felt for the woman.
But with Holmes gone, Eliot was the one left dealing with the residual damage. Like the under-dressed woman sitting on his kitchen chair. The woman whose soft hair he could still feel beneath his fingers, whose taste still lingered in his mouth.
Oh this was just fucking peachy.
"When did you move here?" he finally asked. His voice was unusually flat, giving nothing away of the chaos within.