Basil quite enjoys being outside as well. He thinks that an afternoon in his garden is absolutely delightful when the weather is nice. He used to spend so much time outdoors with Harry or Dorian, chatting over life’s mysteries with a cigarette in hand. He has not seen either of them in far too long— not since the two have became fascinated with one another— and now he spends most of his time indoors.
Perhaps Basil would have been more careful if it had been a day of relaxation to bring him outside, but instead it is a day of errands— a day which he started far too late for his liking. His valet had woken him at eight, just as he’d requested, but his dreams had been graced with Dorian’s boyish smile and he’d felt compelled to draw. Now he is rushing to do the things he’s set out to do for the day, and while his attention is turned towards a particularly angry looking fellow, his shoulder collides with Sherlock’s.
”Ah! I am terribly sorry! I should have been paying more attention—”
“ oh. ”
holmes blinks, looking mournfully at the cigarette that had fallen from his hands. it burns pitifully. he can almost feel its flame flickering weakly.
his mouth twists and holmes looks up from the tragedy, eyes not cold, but not warm either – he sighed and stamped the cigarette with his foot.
“ i confess that my mind was elsewhere as well. no harm done, my dear fellow. ”
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