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gloria1Not important enough to beta or give any of that header/summary nonsense. Silly Sherlock sugar, no insult or harm intended and no calories herein.
Mrs M Hudson: The flowers were pink and purple carnations, delivered by Royal Mail so not from a 'proper' florist obviously, but there was a small box of chocolates included and a nice little card saying "From Your Valentine xoxo". She got a hug from the doctor too, who looked a bit self conscious as he passed her in the doorway (he was going out to the surgery as she was coming in from talking to the post man). "You have an admirer, Mrs Hudson," he'd said and blushed a bit before he headed off to the bus stop. Mrs Hudson smiled - he didn't fool her for a minute. And hello, there was That Mrs Turner Next Door, taking in a rather ostentatious delivery from the Interflora van (of course), just like she did every year, and dutifully Mrs Hudson admired the hand tied and very expensive creation of orientals and exotics and bamboo shoots, none of which would last five minutes indoors in central heating mind you. Anyway, the doctor didn't earn that much money. The married ones never hugged Mrs Turner either. In fact, Mrs Hudson wouldn't be surprised if the Interflora delivery wasn't arranged by one of the married one's PA’s or whatever they were, and charged on expenses. Mrs Hudson sniffed, went back to her flat and arranged her lovely cheap little bouquet in a china vase with bluebirds on it. Then she selected a chocolate for herself before settling down to a wordsearch and a cup of tea.
“Anthea”: She was at her desk by 6.30am as always and as always, he was there before her. And there was something else waiting for her too, on her desk: a single pink foil wrapped heart shaped chocolate: Leonidis no less. She smiled. She could guarantee there was a similar item on every desk and workstation in the building. Well, every desk except one. She unwrapped her chocolate, ate it in one bite and got on with her work.
DS S Donovan: The red lace wasn't really comfortable and the satin seemed a bit – shiny – in the wrong places. But it had cost a packet at La Sensualla and she wasn't expecting to have to actually wear it for very long. She could put up with the scratchy lace and the slimy satin for a hour or so. Nine o'clock. No stress. She knew how hard it was for him to get away, God, that cow as such a nag, he’d told her all about it. Ten. In and out of the bathroom (best mirror, best light) touching up her hair with yet more product, Japanese Magnolia Oil just on the ends, would stop flyaway in its tracks or so it claimed. Another dab of Sarah Jessica Parker at the back of her knees, elbows, pulse points. Check the mobile, the email. Check the landline was working, yes there was a dial tone... just, no one calling. Bathroom again. Lip gloss. Her hair was going flat now, more product would just make it worse. Eleven o'clock. Twelve. And then it wasn't Valentine's Day anymore, over with, for another year.
Dr M Hopper: She opened the card that Toby had 'sent' her, kissed his furry head and opened a sachet of Waitrose Finest Fish Flakes as her present to him. "Who's my favourite boyfriend then, Toby? You are, you are." Toby seemed pleased.
Dr S Sawyer: There was a queue at Konditor & Cook, even this early in the day. Sarah bought a selection of their ultra special treats, had to pay for them by Switch (how much?) and added them to the bag of mundane Morrisons in store bakery doughnuts. The angelic boy behind the Konditor counter gave her a smile and a continental flutter or two and now, feeling much more cheerful, she splurged on a 'real' coffee from the Pret across the road from the surgery and swished her way into work. She presented her K&C bag to universal awe and, feeling kind, set out the Morrisons in the waiting room. The staff all made dutiful remarks about how bad it was and how they were so glad they kept a spare toothbrush in their desks or handbags and wasn’t it all just such a treat? She secured her own slice of Konditor’s finest and made it to her desk, still smiling, licking sugar off her fingers.
DI G Lestrade: He got to his desk in a slightly grumpy mood. There’d been over-running engineering works on the District Line so St James’s Park was a nightmare, then the queue at the Illy shop inside the Broadway exit had been manic. He’d had to settle for a soapy brew from the Benugo cafe they ran on the ground floor at NSY, but – oh, you know, it just wasn’t the same. He switched on his pc and changed the announcement on his voice mail to reflect the right day, date and time, 14 February 2013, hello-leave-a-message-blah-blah. He reached into his left hand pedestal top drawer to deposit his Benugo cafe loyalty card (loyalty, fat chance) and found a small red foil wrapped heart shaped thing. A chocolate heart, obviously. He blinked and turned it over. Leonidis. His favourite, if anyone cared. He peeled off the foil with relish and bit: a thick hard dark shell holding a luscious cream strawberry truffle filling, slow and pooling across his tongue, his lips. Oh. Well. Yes. Quite. He coughed a bit and blamed it on the rubbish Benugo served as drinks and it took almost 5 minutes for his cheeks to cool from the blush. Well. Yes. Quite.
JW to SH: Don't tell Mrs H flowers were from us.
SH to JW: Flowers?
JW to SH: Never mind.
SH to JW: Us?
JW to SH: Never mind.
SH to JW: Us?
JW to SH: Um?
SH to JW: Yes.
Mrs M Hudson: The flowers were pink and purple carnations, delivered by Royal Mail so not from a 'proper' florist obviously, but there was a small box of chocolates included and a nice little card saying "From Your Valentine xoxo". She got a hug from the doctor too, who looked a bit self conscious as he passed her in the doorway (he was going out to the surgery as she was coming in from talking to the post man). "You have an admirer, Mrs Hudson," he'd said and blushed a bit before he headed off to the bus stop. Mrs Hudson smiled - he didn't fool her for a minute. And hello, there was That Mrs Turner Next Door, taking in a rather ostentatious delivery from the Interflora van (of course), just like she did every year, and dutifully Mrs Hudson admired the hand tied and very expensive creation of orientals and exotics and bamboo shoots, none of which would last five minutes indoors in central heating mind you. Anyway, the doctor didn't earn that much money. The married ones never hugged Mrs Turner either. In fact, Mrs Hudson wouldn't be surprised if the Interflora delivery wasn't arranged by one of the married one's PA’s or whatever they were, and charged on expenses. Mrs Hudson sniffed, went back to her flat and arranged her lovely cheap little bouquet in a china vase with bluebirds on it. Then she selected a chocolate for herself before settling down to a wordsearch and a cup of tea.
“Anthea”: She was at her desk by 6.30am as always and as always, he was there before her. And there was something else waiting for her too, on her desk: a single pink foil wrapped heart shaped chocolate: Leonidis no less. She smiled. She could guarantee there was a similar item on every desk and workstation in the building. Well, every desk except one. She unwrapped her chocolate, ate it in one bite and got on with her work.
DS S Donovan: The red lace wasn't really comfortable and the satin seemed a bit – shiny – in the wrong places. But it had cost a packet at La Sensualla and she wasn't expecting to have to actually wear it for very long. She could put up with the scratchy lace and the slimy satin for a hour or so. Nine o'clock. No stress. She knew how hard it was for him to get away, God, that cow as such a nag, he’d told her all about it. Ten. In and out of the bathroom (best mirror, best light) touching up her hair with yet more product, Japanese Magnolia Oil just on the ends, would stop flyaway in its tracks or so it claimed. Another dab of Sarah Jessica Parker at the back of her knees, elbows, pulse points. Check the mobile, the email. Check the landline was working, yes there was a dial tone... just, no one calling. Bathroom again. Lip gloss. Her hair was going flat now, more product would just make it worse. Eleven o'clock. Twelve. And then it wasn't Valentine's Day anymore, over with, for another year.
Dr M Hopper: She opened the card that Toby had 'sent' her, kissed his furry head and opened a sachet of Waitrose Finest Fish Flakes as her present to him. "Who's my favourite boyfriend then, Toby? You are, you are." Toby seemed pleased.
Dr S Sawyer: There was a queue at Konditor & Cook, even this early in the day. Sarah bought a selection of their ultra special treats, had to pay for them by Switch (how much?) and added them to the bag of mundane Morrisons in store bakery doughnuts. The angelic boy behind the Konditor counter gave her a smile and a continental flutter or two and now, feeling much more cheerful, she splurged on a 'real' coffee from the Pret across the road from the surgery and swished her way into work. She presented her K&C bag to universal awe and, feeling kind, set out the Morrisons in the waiting room. The staff all made dutiful remarks about how bad it was and how they were so glad they kept a spare toothbrush in their desks or handbags and wasn’t it all just such a treat? She secured her own slice of Konditor’s finest and made it to her desk, still smiling, licking sugar off her fingers.
DI G Lestrade: He got to his desk in a slightly grumpy mood. There’d been over-running engineering works on the District Line so St James’s Park was a nightmare, then the queue at the Illy shop inside the Broadway exit had been manic. He’d had to settle for a soapy brew from the Benugo cafe they ran on the ground floor at NSY, but – oh, you know, it just wasn’t the same. He switched on his pc and changed the announcement on his voice mail to reflect the right day, date and time, 14 February 2013, hello-leave-a-message-blah-blah. He reached into his left hand pedestal top drawer to deposit his Benugo cafe loyalty card (loyalty, fat chance) and found a small red foil wrapped heart shaped thing. A chocolate heart, obviously. He blinked and turned it over. Leonidis. His favourite, if anyone cared. He peeled off the foil with relish and bit: a thick hard dark shell holding a luscious cream strawberry truffle filling, slow and pooling across his tongue, his lips. Oh. Well. Yes. Quite. He coughed a bit and blamed it on the rubbish Benugo served as drinks and it took almost 5 minutes for his cheeks to cool from the blush. Well. Yes. Quite.
JW to SH: Don't tell Mrs H flowers were from us.
SH to JW: Flowers?
JW to SH: Never mind.
SH to JW: Us?
JW to SH: Never mind.
SH to JW: Us?
JW to SH: Um?
SH to JW: Yes.
