formoftherapy | (no subject)

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The school database has the following information on Morian, Kite:

Home address and phone number, mother's name. In the event her mother can't be reached, there is a phone number listed for her brother, Eagle; the area code is for Los Angeles.

Records of her detentions (six) and suspensions (one).

Notes made by the school counselor during her freshman year, following her brother Kestrel's disappearance.

Grades--a solid B to B+ student; her attendance records indicate she could easily have As if she put in just a little more effort.

Last but not least, her class schedule:

Spanish 4, Young

English 11, Parker

Calculus, Acevedo

Lunch Period

Physics, Russell

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Pardon? Ah, you must have met Tony."

He might be overplaying it a little, but he certainly has no intention of letting her perceive the extent of his knowledge.

"We've run into each other.

And...you would be?"

"Sherlock."

The wry flicker of a smile is automatic. For as long as he's been introducing himself by the name, it has never passed entirely without comment.

"Huh" is the only comment she makes, eyebrows lifting just slightly, mouth curving.

It's the reaction of someone used to dealing with unusual names.

"I'm Kite."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

He backs up half a step with an eloquent shrug—got to go or I'll be late for class—and turns away.

"Likewise," she says, sidestepping.

A nod--me too, see you around--and then she's back to thinking about force and equal and opposite reactions.

For absolutely no logical reason whatsoever, he kind of likes her.

That kind of sentiment hardly has a place in a serious investigation. He still has to find out if she will be good for Tony, after all.

(The thought that he could just wait and see does not, as such, occur to him.)

Time passes.

It's Homecoming, and that means a pep rally. School spirit isn't normally Kite's thing, but she makes an exception for football. She's down in the front of the bleachers, face streaked in Sunnydale burgundy and screaming the cheers as loud as anyone else.

Sherlock admits himself mystified by why Tony is so bloody fond of these things. He is not technically here; he is under the bleachers, and he has no intention of emerging to watch the game. Watching the audience is far more instructive.

Kite spends most of the rally teaching Tony the replies for the call-and-answer cheers with the cheerleaders, including the profane variations developed by generations of Sunnydale students.

The rally is scheduled for the end of school, but there's still a good 45 minutes between when it finishes and the game's kick-off. Tony holds their seats while Kite goes on a snack run. She's thinking nachos.

She's also thinking it's faster to the snack bar if one cuts under the bleachers.

Really? Really.

He can't help laughing when he hears her approach.

"Huh," she says, half-laughing herself.

"Hello again."

"Good afternoon."

The smile he gives her is one of Tony's, or possibly one of his that Tony likes to borrow, full of Stark mischief.

She grins back.

"You having fun down here?"

"Debatably."

"Not a football fan, then."

"Tony is the spectator in the family," he says, in a deadpan that is not quite up to his usual standards.

She arches an eyebrow. "So...what are you up to?"

"Lurking."

(Tony often accuses him of hardly ever doing anything else.)

The corner of her mouth twitches.

"This a hobby of yours?"

"Now and again."

"I'll have to be more observant, then."

"It certainly couldn't hurt."

She laughs.

"Alright, I'll watch my back more.

You need any supplies to facilitate your lurking? I was making a food run, could grab you something."

"That would be very kind of you, but I couldn't impose. I think I might go and lurk my way over to Tony."

(For as long as she knows him, she will never hear Sherlock Holmes utter the phrase 'my brother'. He will let people draw their own conclusions, but he will not give lip service to that myth.)