hells_half_acre: (Sherlock)
[personal profile] hells_half_acre
About a half hour today... man, it's hard to get stuff done on a Thursday after SPN Wednesday..

Today's prompt:  Trevi Fountain

So, I once again went with a VERY original title....

Trevi Fountain 
(Sherlock, post-reichenbach, optional John/Sherlock, 493 words.)

Sherlock arranged to meet his contact at the fountain. He had dyed his hair blonde and cut it short. Dyed his eyebrows to match, because otherwise he looked ridiculous... he still looked ridiculous.

He wore a garish brightly coloured American shirt, infernal khaki shorts - his pale white legs now sorting uneven burns that stung against the rough motel sheets every night.  He’d affected an American accent, some accent from the south, knowing people who met him would leap to stereotypes and the sound and underestimate him.

The smiling was the most exhausting part.

Whenever he could, he hid behind the camera – his favourite of the props for this disguise. He’s turned into a bit of a shutterbug as a result, but seeing as how he was pretending to be one, it really was for the best.

He watched, mostly through the camera lens, as actual American tourists tossed coins in the fountain.  He already knew who among them were going to return to room, and who weren’t – it was obvious. Yet, even those who must know that this was their only visit still threw a coin into the fountain and smiled – always smiled, as though a bit of wet metal was going to fix the economy, cure cancer, or halt death.

Sherlock took a picture of euro coin from Germany, reflecting the refracted sunlight under the water.

Then he took a coin out of his own pocket, flipped it twice in the air, and then tossed it into the fountain.

Would he ever return to Rome? He hated Rome. Maybe, if John asked him to go to Rome, Sherlock would... yes, Sherlock would only come back to Rome if John desired it. Sherlock very much wished that John was there with him now. Maybe Sherlock would hate Rome less if John were with him. He smiled at the idea of the mischief that Sherlock could get into just to amuse his friend.

“Do you want I take your picture?” a voice said beside him, gesturing to the fountain.

Sherlock faked delight. “Yeah! Thanks so much.”

He handed his camera to the man, who walked five paces backwards, while Sherlock got into position. The man raised the camera, and Sherlock smiled until the very last second, when he turned his head.

Sherlock barely saw the switch, but then, the man was a professional. He handed Sherlock the camera, and Sherlock thanked him again, and then the man disappeared into the crowd from which he came. Sherlock bent over the small digital display, shielding it from the sunlight, as he scrolled through the pictures... all of his next target, all outlining the perfect way for Sherlock to get to him.

Sherlock looked back up at the fountain. It was rubbish superstition, of course, the fountain had nothing to do with whether Sherlock would return to Rome... but it had just helped him get closer to returning to John, and that was so much better.

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