The door closes with the cushy snikt that only a luxury vehicle can provide. Despite appearances to the contrary -- the theatrical costumes, the expensive ride -- Sherlock has had to make due on this little reconnaisance mission without the assistance of his older brother's octopal government connections. What he has done to get here, and what they will do now, are the result of two months of meticulous internal planning. In his vast mind palace, the mechanics of the mission fit together like the cogs and gears of an infinitely complex pocket watch, and he is attuned to the infinitesimal twitch of each and every piece.
He slides into the driver's seat beside her. The interior of the car is dimly lit and blue. There are two bottled waters in the cup holders in the center console, bearing the logo of of an Omani company. In answer to her question, Sherlock's eyes land briefly on the bottles between them.
"You'll be tempted to down both bottles," he says, sliding the car into gear and easing them out of the wattle garage and back toward the highway. "Don't. Your kidneys are compromised by lack of fluid intake; overwhelm them now and you'll be spending the first night of your freedom in hospital."
He says nothing more as they cruise onto the highway bordering the city. The lights of the famed Mohatti Palace blur and burn brightly in the distance. Soon, the salt smell of the sea. Sherlock eases the Audi to a crawl at the edge of what appears to be a disused pier. He eases the car into a parking space between two other vehicles, their license plates both of Indian origin. Sherlock leaves the car and does a rapid exchange of plates -- it will take the authorities a few hours to sort the mess, buying them even more time -- and pulls two "go" bags from the trunk, tossing the keys to the car into the water beside the pier.
Across the water, the glittering shoreline of Muscat, Oman's port capital, glitters like a jeweled box. Sherlock strides down the pier on long legs and drops both "go" bags into a Zodiac Milpro inflatable boat that bobs discreetly beneath the pylons. When he turns to regard her, the lights of the distant capital city silhouette him in golden-green luminescence.
"I hope for your sake you're not prone to seasickness."
Said as he vaults over the edge of the pier and into the prow of the boat.
no subject
He slides into the driver's seat beside her. The interior of the car is dimly lit and blue. There are two bottled waters in the cup holders in the center console, bearing the logo of of an Omani company. In answer to her question, Sherlock's eyes land briefly on the bottles between them.
"You'll be tempted to down both bottles," he says, sliding the car into gear and easing them out of the wattle garage and back toward the highway. "Don't. Your kidneys are compromised by lack of fluid intake; overwhelm them now and you'll be spending the first night of your freedom in hospital."
He says nothing more as they cruise onto the highway bordering the city. The lights of the famed Mohatti Palace blur and burn brightly in the distance. Soon, the salt smell of the sea. Sherlock eases the Audi to a crawl at the edge of what appears to be a disused pier. He eases the car into a parking space between two other vehicles, their license plates both of Indian origin. Sherlock leaves the car and does a rapid exchange of plates -- it will take the authorities a few hours to sort the mess, buying them even more time -- and pulls two "go" bags from the trunk, tossing the keys to the car into the water beside the pier.
Across the water, the glittering shoreline of Muscat, Oman's port capital, glitters like a jeweled box. Sherlock strides down the pier on long legs and drops both "go" bags into a Zodiac Milpro inflatable boat that bobs discreetly beneath the pylons. When he turns to regard her, the lights of the distant capital city silhouette him in golden-green luminescence.
"I hope for your sake you're not prone to seasickness."
Said as he vaults over the edge of the pier and into the prow of the boat.