Beeblock - MH & GL
Although he, of course, could recall the conversation with Gregory word for word if necessary, Mycroft hadn’t accorded it his full and focused attention; busy, as he was, with anticipating a multitude of variables as well as juggling his personal and dual work schedules for the following week to see that nothing important was left unaddressed. Consequently, the question about whether he’d eaten dinner had passed as a curiosity of casual conversation until Gregory was standing before him at the door with an immediately recognisable takeaway bag in one hand and dressed more like the sort who’d be delivering said takeaway than a member of New Scotland Yard’s key personnel. Mycroft led him upstairs in a distracted sort of fugue, belatedly deducing the significance of the dinner question, as well as his previous knowledge that Gregory owned a motorcycle; certainly Mycroft had seen surveillance images of the man driving it, but some portion of his brain—distracted as it was—seemed to have tagged this information with new significance. Irritating, Mycroft labelled it for the time being, since delving into it further just now wasn’t feasible.
Reaching the study, Mycroft held the door for Gregory and closed it firmly after he’d entered, giving himself the internal equivalent of a light cuff ‘round the ear as a number of lesser details added up belatedly. He made a soft ‘tsk’ sound at himself before saying briskly, “How rude of me. Let me take your coat, Gregory.”
He even idly bent and unbent the sock-covered toes of his uppermost foot as he chewed, suddenly reminding Greg of Sherlock and that habit of his, wriggling his toes against the arm of his sofa like two half-formed anemones. The motion of Mycroft’s foot was more like the curling and uncurling of a cat’s tail.
“Now I’m almost afraid to think what you would consider too problematic,” muttered Greg, distractedly wondering if Mycroft’s toes were long and spidery like his brother’s.
“No need to bother with that just now,” Mycroft assured him easily. “Best eat your food before it’s gone too cold to enjoy.” As if to provide a proper example, Mycroft finished his dumpling.
“Easy for you to say,” grumbled Greg, though he sat up a bit and reclaimed his bowl.
Sherlock Holmes (Ritchie Films) - JW/MM & SH
Within a matter of weeks, Holmes was out most evenings, occasionally not returning till the wee hours or even dawn. Not much later, he was gone for three days, his only explanation when Watson asked was that he was working on the final part of the endeavour which had moved him to let everyone think him dead for all this time.
Soon Holmes was gone more often than he was present in the Watson home, and the guest room began to take on the faint scent of cigarette smoke with an undercurrent of a sweeter kind of smoke, one Watson couldn’t place at first, but then recalled quite vividly upon seeing a round rough-silk cap with a braided queue affixed to the back. Holmes was making use of his Chinese immigrant disguise, which usually meant he was seeking out London’s opium dens for information.
Watson had never fully believed those disguised visits to be strictly about information, but he had no proof to the contrary, other than that Holmes would often find them necessary to some case or other around the same time he had spent some time in agitation over some trouble or problem; he might never have confided the sources to Watson, but he clearly underestimated how well Watson had come to know him. Watson did not observe in the manner Holmes’ brilliance led him to do; no, Watson’s observations were those of a friend, and a doctor.
Cabin Pressure/Harry Potter - Martin Crieff, Ron Weasley, & Characters Yet To Be Named By The Muse
“So, you’ll be at loose ends for a while, then?” Ron asked, sounding half-distracted due to his dedicated attentions to his triple-scoop of ice cream.
Martin shrugged, feeling glum, despite the pleasure of a visit from one of his ‘distant cousins’ as his mum liked to say. Who could predict G-ERTI’s losing a second engine to a bird-strike after the unexpectedly convoluted hijinx that had gone into replacing the first one, which had lost the fight with a goose just above St. Petersburg?
“Dad said you were making extra money with a removals business?” Ron had his head tilted at a painful-looking angle, but Martin caught his cousin’s gaze on him. Everyone always underestimated Ron as an adult, since he’d been such a pillock throughout much of his teen years, but Martin knew better.
“What’s this really about, Ron?” Martin finally asked without disguising his suspicion.