who sherlock & robin what picking up his handcuffs where robin’s place when 3/20 warnings doubtful! status completed on posting
Between solving murders and training his protege, Sherlock didn’t have as much time to dedicate to track down the items lost to time or otherwise stolen. Connecting with people over the network had more than made good on its worth. Fully prepared to reimburse Robin and her contact for more than what the handcuffs were worth, he was in an outstandingly good mood for once.
Without Watson around, he lacked wheels, and so took taxis everywhere to get around. It was a handicap he had been considering remedying, particularly due to inefficient public transport in southern California. Time was often of the essence in cases, he supposed he’d have to bite the bullet and brave American streets eventually.
After getting word that Houdini’s handcuffs had arrived in Robin’s possession, Sherlock wasted no time in hailing a cab (with a whistle) outside of the precinct and made haste getting to her home. The last time he’d come into something of a rare find was an original Van Gogh that had been stolen years back and never recovered. He’d kept it for a week befoe dropping it off at the Met wordlessly.
Coming up to her front door, Sherlock rang the bell once and stood a step away from the door with hands clasped tightly behind his back as though that would anchor the buzzing excitement hidden beneath the surface.
The two-story modern style townhome technically belonged to Robin’s mother. However Olivia Nico had spent very little time at the house in recent years. In fact, her visit last Christmas had been the first time she’d actually stayed at the house in well over a year. Robin was left to take care of the housekeeping and upkeep on her own. She didn’t mind, really, but there were times in which the house seemed just a little too large and a little too empty.
The exterior of the house was well kept. Thick green grass covered the small patch of a front yard. It was well manicured and healthy looking. A single tall tree stood next to the brick walk way that lead from the driveway to the front door, providing a bit of shade to visitors when they arrived. A number of small bushes ran along the front of the house, coming up just under the windows of the first floor. A bird had recently made its nest in one of them, and Robin hadn’t had the heart to get rid of it.
Robin herself was inside in her kitchen preparing for her client’s visit. She had put a pot of water on the stove so that she could offer tea. A coffeemaker on the counter was percolating a fresh pot of coffee. As she waited for Sherlock to arrive she thought about how she had actually acquired the handcuffs he had been seeking.
Since taking over Remember Yesterday, Robin had been no stranger to the underbelly of antique dealing. Every type of business had a dark side and antiques was no different. She had been made aware of it by the late former owner’s son, and for the most part, she had stayed clear of any illegal activity. At least at first. Robin had soon found that she had requests from clients that she simply could not fulfill via legal routes. There were items in private (and public) collections that the owners simply would not part with, even when presented with a completely reasonable offer. She surely would have gone broke that first year with the loss of several clients of whom she could not please. Therefore, Robin had sought out less…ethical means to acquire the treasures her clients wanted.
Dreaming that she was a pirate wasn’t so far from the truth when one really got down to think about it. She pillaged people’s collections of priceless antiques as a pirate would pillage another’s ship. She took particular enjoyment out of taking something from someone who had no idea the sentimental value or – more importantly - the historical significance of the pieces they owned. Uniting those pieces with someone who did was most satisfying.
This was primarily why she had agreed to acquire Houdini’s handcuffs for Mr. Sherlock Holmes. She had only met the man once and spoken to him only a scant amount of times on the Network, but she could tell instantly that he was a man who appreciated the handcuffs for what they were, and did not want them simply as a trophy. It was a little ironic that he was a detective. The thought of a pirate helping a man of the law made her chuckle.
She was on her feet the moment she heard the doorbell. She hurried to answer it, pausing once she entered the front hall. For a brief moment she was frightened of what she may find on the other side of the door. Instead of the stoic face of her client, what if she came face to face with the grinning face of someone with dark intentions? Would she be able to do as Regina had asked? Would she be able to keep her calm? She was a pirate! She would do what needed to be done and save her beloved friend. Robin licked her lips. She reached into her purse and quickly pulled out her phone. She had set Regina’s number to automatic dial and let her thumb hover over the keypad, just in case.
She cautiously moved aside the curtain over the window next to the door and breathed a sigh of relief. Feeling a little silly she opened the door. “Good morning, Mr. Holmes,” she greeted him with a warm smile she hoped masked the brief panic she’d just experienced. “Please, won’t you come in?”
As usual, Sherlock’s smile was difficult to see. Seeing her in person warranted the barest traces of one, a difficult display, but accomplished. He had little use for expressing emotion. He didn’t view them as a weakness so much as he did absolutely pointless. When he found himself growing close to someone, he thought of Watson, then Irene. Then, he shut down. He had Kitty, that was enough.
“I’d be delighted,” he said sincerely despite the absence of visible appreciation on his face. Hands clasped behind his back, stance rigid as ever, he regarded her stonily momentarily before entering her place. Something was off, but he didn’t know if it would be right to pry.
“You were concerned I might have been someone else,” he pointed out as he moved slowly into the foyer, attention on his surroundings rather than the remarkable procurer of an item he’d sought after heavily for years. He couldn’t wait to take them home and try his hand at escaping them.
Content with an initial appraisal of her home, he turned around to look at her. “It’s not my business, of course, but if there is something amiss, perhaps I could be of service. I do owe you a standing favor.” That he would wire her money for the transaction didn’t mean the favor was satisfied, not in the eyes of Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock’s lack of expression did not seem to bother Robin one bit. She had spent her childhood traveling the globe with her mother and her mother’s colleagues. Highly intelligent people had their quirks just like everyone else did and Sherlock certainly came across as a highly intelligent individual. Besides, as a teenager, she herself had been accused of being cold and emotionless when in fact she had simply been cautious about meeting new people.
“I have some water brewing for tea and a pot of coffee prepared,” she said as she closed her front door, taking care to lock the deadbolt. She hesitated a moment when Sherlock observe so very casually that she had been concerned prior to opening the door. She thought a moment of denying it, but quickly dismissed the idea.
She turned around, her brows furrowed just slightly. “Yes,” she admitted carefully, “I was concerned. A dear friend of mine has fallen victim to a curse and it has changed him significantly. I was concerned that perhaps he had shown up here. It was foolish of me to think that.” She had nothing of any value to Killian. Unless she went out looking for him (which Regina had expressly warned against), she doubted she would see him. Perhaps she would never see him again.
She smiled at her guest again, however the smile seemed a bit sad. “I apologize, Mr. Holmes, but unless you are familiar with dark magic, I don’t think there is anything you can do. Ah, but you did not come here to listen to such problems. Please join me in the living room and I shall show you the cuffs you requested” She motioned towards one of the rooms off of the front entry hall.
Remaining silent but attentive as she spoke, Sherlock was listening to more than just her words. He was searching for signs of deceit or an underlying concern. That she felt apprehensive to answer the door without some sort of safeguard at her side worried him. He may not have known her well at all, but she had proven herself to be more than just an ordinary person; her well-being interested him.
Someone better equipped for emotions would have been better, though he suspected she had little desire to describe the situation in greater detail. He hesitated all the same, inwardly conflicted as to whether he wanted to pry a little further. She was right, magic was a side of the world that originally had no place in his brain attic. He intended to change that, but had yet to make any forays in that regard.
With only a curt nod, he breezed past her and into the living room. He was not an easy person to interact with, a shortcoming of which he was keenly aware. Occasionally he made efforts for people he liked, and with that in mind Sherlock focused back on her.
“I do not have any experience with magic, but I do understand that it is not easy to live while wondering if someone is coming for you next. Perhaps it would be ideal for you to find another place to stay until the threat has passed, a place of which your friend does not know. I’ll ask no more, of course, as you are correct. I did not come here to listen to problems anymore than you asked me here for you to air them. It is, effectively, not my place.”
Pausing almost uncomfortably, Sherlock averted his eyes. “I am sorry about your friend.”
That was unexpectedly nice of Sherlock, almost borderlining on the sweet. The smile on Robin’s face went from being formally polite to something softer and more genuine. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Perhaps you are correct, I should probably move myself to a safer location until my friend has been helped.” It certainly couldn’t hurt. She would still have her phone with her in the unlikely event that Regina decided she did need Robin’s help. Besides, getting away for a few days may just be what she needed to clear her head. Perhaps she could go to that nice little bed and breakfast she and Isabela had gone to back in September.
In the meantime, however, she had business to attend to. “If you would like to have a seat,” she gestured to the comfortable looking sofa in the middle of the room, “I will get the cuffs for you to inspect. Would you like anything else? I have a pot of water on for tea, if you would like.”
Sherlock had his moments, though they were few and far between. Often, he didn’t actively realize he was being thoughtful until someone pointed it out. When they did, he tended to belittle it somehow in an attempt to foolishly save his own skin (heaven forbid anyone discover he possessed a softer underbelly of any sort). So, he let the matter lay once she had taken his opinion into consideration.
He was thoroughly keen on seeing those cuffs. At her behest, he took a seat on the edge of the couch, the only sign of his excitement. “Tea, yes, excellent. Tea and handcuffs, it has the makings of poorly written erotica,” perhaps he would sell the title on the Internet and put it towards his next investment.
“Or an excellent mystery,” Robin suggested. Or an exciting erotic mystery. She concealed her smile as she turned and left the living room.
The way he was perched on the edge of her sofa showed that he was very anxious to look at her find for himself. She would not keep him waiting long. She stopped in the kitchen first to pour some hot water into a mug with a tea ball of earl grey. While that steeped, she went into her study to fetch the cuffs out of her safe. Robin had examined them when she had received them a day or so prior. She trusted her contact in London, but she wanted to take a look for herself. She had even compared them to written accounts of the equipment Houdini had use during his death defying acts of escape, something her contact probably hadn’t the opportunity to do. By all accounts, the item in her possession was the genuine article and an extraordinary find.
Robin removed a non-descript box from her safe and checked the contents. Once she confirmed the cuffs were within, she returned to the kitchen where she poured a cup of coffee for herself. She placed both Sherlock’s tea and her coffee on a tray with sugar and cream and brought it all back into the living room.
“Here you are Mr. Holmes,” she said as she placed the tray on the table in front of him. She then produced the box with the cuffs and handed it to him, “The item you requested. I have examined it myself, but I’m sure you would like to look at it to be sure it is to your liking.”
It was exciting.
If he had been an ordinary man, he would have given the guise of a child at Christmas. To be in receipt of something so genuine, so extraordinary, he was internally beside himself. On the outside, Sherlock managed to maintain the faintest traces of a smile and nothing more. When she returned with the box, he paced himself before letting his anxious hands reach out and grab it, wholly overlooking the tea for now.
Popping it open, he slid back in his seat as he observed the cuffs in all their outstanding glory. He took only a minute to look them over before shutting the box and leveling her with a most appreciative stare.
“They are the genuine article,” he nodded. “My thanks. I would like to stay and enjoy the tea and your company, if that’s alright. Perhaps I could give you anecdotes about their history,” because monetary compensation wasn’t enough for the grand favor she’d done him.