voice;

[tenyeargambit]

Has anyone seen Claire Folly around? [And he sounds more concerned than he wanted to. Gonna bring it down a notch or two to vaguely interested...there.] She's brunette, in her twenties, about...170 cm tall...her number is 143, I believe.

[Pause. Oh, right.] And would anyone care for a scone? I find that I'm not exactly eager to try eating mysterious baked goods which appear in my locker without warning.


[Belated private voice (unless you really want to hack into it, in which case go for it, bro) to John Watson, theblogger, because he finds that he's really curious.]

Does your friend try to poison you often?

Comments

[tenyeargambit]

Clive Dove, and I wouldn't want to trouble you...I'm sure that you're rather busy with all of these new passengers about.

[theblogger]

Clive, you can't trouble a doctor with an illness. I'm already here; if you need something, you might as well take advantage of it.

[ Besides that, now that he knows your death could be on Sherlock's hands, he's quite obligated to clean it up. ]

[tenyeargambit]

Then I'd greatly appreciate it. I'm in room 79, though there's no hurry.

Oh, and, would you care for a scone? I was going to have it with my tea, but then...but it seems like a waste to simply throw it away.