ironmonger | (no subject)

Obadiah orders a whiskey, in tones just a little more relaxed than normal.

He either doesn't notice who is heading in his direction, or he doesn't care.

Sherlock, on the other hand, takes in the faint scent of cheap perfume and the hint of a red line peeking out from under a cuff and very deliberately puts down the bottle so as not to be tempted to use it as a weapon.

"Good evening," he says coldly. "You might try being more discreet about your little hobby. If the other Sherlock sees those marks, he is unlikely to give you the benefit of the doubt."

Obadiah sips casually from his glass, looking up to give Sherlock an appreciative look-over. The bruises came out even more nicely than he'd hoped.

"Good evening, Sherlock," he answers, not bothering to raise his eyes from the bruises to meet Sherlock's as he speaks.

"Up here, if you please," he says in somewhat milder tones, and reaches out to tip Obadiah's chin up for a more conversational angle.

Obadiah doesn't laugh, but he doesn't hide how immensely amusing he finds this, either.

"Of course," he says, mock solicitous. "My mistake."

Sherlock smiles. He can't quite keep the viciousness out of it.

"No matter. Now, I believe we were talking about your nasty habits."

Obadiah seems to find that smile equally amusing.

"Were we?" he asks, sipping his whiskey.

"I was, at any rate. I understand if you would rather not discuss them in public."

He doesn't explicitly point out that they are the sort of thing one doesn't want getting around. It would be one step closer to actual blackmail than Sherlock would like to go. That is not the point of this exercise.

His glance flickers very briefly to Sherlock's bruises.

"Where would you prefer to discuss them?"

"Hoping for another round? I hate to disappoint you, but no."

"That's too bad," Obadiah says. "I was almost in a sharing mood for a moment there."

Almost. Perhaps if Sherlock tried asking nicely again ?

"Are you trying to offer me another insincere bargain?" he inquires.

"No," Obadiah says, "I'm not offering anything. The moment is past."

He smiles benignly at Sherlock.

"I fail to see what you gain by taunting me with the prospect of a bargain you never would have kept. Then again, I also fail to see what you gain by raping prostitutes."

"That is a vile little fixation you have," Obadiah observes mildly. "Exactly how much time do you spend on it?"

(As to the first question, well, Sherlock is answering it quite handily himself. Why shouldn't Obadiah bait someone who seems to be in the mood to rise to it?)

He shakes his head.

"Don't," he advises. "You annoy me enough already without adding in another futile effort to dodge obvious truths."

"Really," Obadiah says, sipping from his glass. "I never would have guessed."

"I am excruciatingly tempted to murder you right now."

"Yes, that's new and different," Obadiah remarks.

He sets his glass down on the Bar.

"Was there something you needed?"

"Yes," he says. "I need to speak with you somewhere less likely to disturb the innocent ears of passersby. Or has it not occurred to you to wonder what will happen when Tony finds out?"

"Another round of correcting misapprehensions he's picked up from you, I would imagine," he says evenly.

Sherlock reaches out again and traces a short line along Obadiah's sleeve, following the trail of the scratch underneath.

"I am not planning to volunteer the information, but if he ever suspects, I will be the second person he asks, and I will tell him the entire truth as it is apparent to me."

Obadiah smiles, slow and lazy, glancing briefly toward Sherlock's fingers against his sleeve.

"Someday," he murmurs, "you'll give me a little credit for being able to cover my tracks."

"Oh, no." He gives the scars on Obadiah's neck a deliberate glance as he removes his hand. "I know exactly how well you can cover your tracks." His eyes flick down to Obadiah's arms as though he can see through the fabric of his shirt to what it conceals. "Do you? And are you very sure you will never slip up? If I were you, I would not call it worth the risk."

"I've somehow managed to keep from falling on my face since long before you came along."

Obadiah picks up his drink and finishes it off.

"I'm not sure why you're so anxious to have this conversation, anyway. I thought we'd established to your satisfaction that Tony is safe with me. Is that not good enough anymore?"