Detective Watson and Inspector Anon II

A fanfic where you, Anon, have just landed a job at Amelia Watson's detective agency. Things are looking up after you missed your interview at some random bank. Free coffee, good pay and a cute looking new friend? Maybe moving to the big city wasn't such a bad move after all. Updated every week on Fridays. Previous Chapter: https://rentry.co/p5wqp As you can likely tell from my work down below, I'm a pretty amateur writer. I hope that through my posting and your criticisms that over time, I shape up to be much better and produce more enjoyable stories.


"C'mon, Anon! Can't your long-ass legs go any faster?! How are we supposed to chase down a perp if you run like a deer having a seizure!"
"Shaddap! Running in dress shoes that don't fit and the wettest socks in fucking existence doesn't help!"
Comes the indignant reply. You could be going faster, you know that. It's just that you've been holding your jacket over her head and yours to offer some modicum of protection from the rain. It's a considerate move on your part and maybe you could stay drier if you just powerwalked to whatever destination she had in mind, but she clearly has no plans to stay in the rain.

"Sharp left!"
The small blonde abruptly cuts you off and swerves to the left and you follow her dutifully, stepping on a wet newspaper and almost skidding. What sort of grip did those shoes of hers have?! "Holy shit, slow the hell down, Amelia!" You shout after her, catching a glimpse of her weaving her way through a few pedestrians holding umbrellas. "No can do, Anon! I just remembered I left the tea on! I'm not buying another fucking kettle!" She counters, turning back to look at you as your legs manage to get you within ten feet of her. Your breathing becomes labored and you can vaguely taste iron in your mouth, but despite your evident fatigue you manage to shout her name as a car edges around a corner- a car that she can't see because she's looking back at you.

Six feet away.

"AMELIA! CAR!"

Two feet away.

Your heart plunges into your stomach and you triple your pace, eyes dilating as you forget your exhaustion. You're going to be too late, you know this already. You can hear the screech of the car's tires against the wet pavement, but a cold rational voice breaks through the desperate jumble of thoughts that occupy your mind. She's done for. You're about to witness a Liveleak worthy moment in the flesh and the star was going to be someone who had gotten you out of a mental funk earlier. A raindrop, a tear, an eyelash, something falls into your eyes and you blink hard and you hear shouting.

It happened, didn't it?

Your eyes open and you steel your heart for whatever grisly scene awaits you, only to see the girl shove something into her pocket as she continues sprinting down the street. You barely have any time to process the information, seeing as how all Amelia is doing right now is bolting around the corner. Between the building pain in your chest and the fact she doesn't seem to want to wait for you to catch up anymore, you don't have the time to ruminate on how she got away unscathed when the car is clearly over where she was standing a moment ago.

"Watson!"

You wheeze out, turning the corner and seeing her duck into a doorway. You're exhausted, gasping for breath like a fish on land. Black dots dance at the edge of your vision and the soreness begins to catch up with you, sending aching pains all throughout the muscles in your legs. How long had it been since you dashed that hard and for so far? Lurching into the doorway after her, you can't find it in yourself to read the sign on the open door. Instead, you close it behind you and collapse onto the nearest soft surface- a couch. Details are fuzzy and your head's still in a state of disarray, but through the almost deafening beating of your heart in your ears, you can hear Amelia in the other room cursing up a storm and pouring some sort of liquid.

"Holyfuckingshit."
Was that sweat or water on your face? Wiping it off with a rough, equally damp sleeve, you only really succeed at smearing it around. "Amelia, what the hell was that! You almost got hit by a car- no, you should have!" That's right, there simply wasn't any way that car could have slammed on the breaks and stopped in time, and the likelihood that the tire was made of some ultra-grippy material that didn't care about the oil or water on the road? Minimal. You open your mouth to continue yelling, but her head pops out of an open doorway. "Shush it! Bubba's sleeping, you're gonna wake him up!"

"Who the hell is B-"
You're met with a steely, serious glare that silences you, but you can tell that you expect some sort of answer. Gesturing at you to come on over with a finger, she moves out of view and into what you can assume is a kitchen. Given the moment to catch your breath, you finally take the chance to observe your surroundings. You're in a fairly small but cozy waiting room of sorts, on a beat-up faded blue couch. A lone dark brown coffee table is the only other piece of furniture in the room, covered with various magazines and newspapers. The walls are bone white and slightly peeling in some spots, but you can spot a large discolored patch where it looks like someone tried painting for a bit, realized it wasn't the same shade, and then stopped.

The floor's a lovely color though and despite the sickly light that shines down from the overhead fluorescent tube fixtures, nothing can dampen the heartiness of the tigerwood and how it glimmers slightly. With a grunt you get to your feet somewhat shakily, stumbling towards where Amelia was and hanging your coat up on a nearby hook as you pass by it. Entering the new room, you realize it wasn't a kitchen at all. It was an office of sorts, with the centerpiece being a large mahogany desk with some documents, an old-timey radio, and a rotary telephone. Behind it was two shuttered windows and a fish tank, which rested on a long shelf filled with binders, along with some retro-looking televisions. Off to the left was a corkboard with pictures and notes tacked to it, with lines drawn between different points using red string. Very detective-ey.

To the left was a kitchenette, with the bare basics a private eye investigator needed to get by; an empty coffee maker with a jar of what seemed to be coffee grounds next to it, a fridge that might contain some sandwiches, a toaster oven for warming said sandwiches up and a kettle, with which Amelia was using to fill two ornate teacups. In a corner on the right side of the room, a small dog slept, a tiny hat on its head. Oh, to be a small loved animal with no cares or woes except to have your head pet.

"Welcome to Watson's Detective Agency, Anon, where we lay all mysteries bare and deliver closure to our clients."
She said proudly, setting a cup on the other side of her desk before pausing. "Does that sound too pretentious?" Amelia queried, sitting in a large office chair and motioning for you to take a seat. "I uh, I dunno. I'm not in the business of.. business quotes." You responded slowly, picking up your cup and blowing lightly on it. "Do you wanna.. explain what happened with that car?" A slow sip of the hot tea revealed that it was actually quite delicious. Though it just about burnt your tongue, you could discern lovely herbal notes as well as hints of the added cream through the heat.

Locking eyes with you, Amelia responded in a prompt, firm tone that didn't yield any room for further debate.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Anon. Do you want your desk on the left or right side of the room?"

A resigned sigh leaves your lips as you slump into your chair slightly. "I'll have it on the right side, with the dog. Is that Bubba?" You asked, taking another tentative sip of your drink. A nod of the blonde confirmed your thoughts and she leaned back in her chair, flicking a wet lock of hair out of her face. "The one and only," she replied, reaching into a small basket on her desk and adding something to her drink, "you'll see weird stuff working with me from time to time, and I hope you're okay with that."

Setting your teacup down on her desk, you folded your arms across your chest and raised an eyebrow inquisitively.
"Like, are we talking crackhead crazy, Missing 411 crazy, an actual ghost crazy or..?" Your voice trailed off and you made a 'go on' motion with one hand.

Biting her bottom lip, her gaze became distant as she mulled over what words to say next to you. "I'll be real, we kinda deal with all of those. Gotta keep the lights on, y'know? But I've never been in any actually serious danger and stuff, so it'll be alright. It's just spooky stuff from time to time, but mostly us helping investigate crimes and go where the police can't go." Reaching into a drawer, she retrieved a piece of paper and pushed it towards you, along with an ink quill and a pot. "... Which is why I'll need you to sign this here waiver."

Scooting your chair forwards, you read through it quietly. It all generally amounted to not suing her for getting hurt and saying that you were responsible for your own safety on 'investigations', as well as maintaining she wasn't liable for: overland shark attacks, encounters with the undead, glimpses of Outer Beings, and exposure to phoenix fire. "Are these like, for real?" You asked, slowly looking up at her, only to find that she had been staring at you quite intently, resting her chin on her hand. A gentle smile.

"Sure am, Anon. You'll be my new partner, right?"
Her voice was so soft, easy on the ears.. and yet, a tiny bit of yearning. Loneliness?

Your eyes went back down to the piece of parchment.
"Why not."

And you dipped your quill, signing up for what might possibly be the wildest experience of your life.

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Pub: 10 Sep 2021 07:53 UTC
Views: 1491