[What's only twenty minutes for Sherlock is four hours for Ariadne, running around in her own mind, building tricks and mazes, trying to create things even she could get lost in.
Building her fortress, in an unassuming apartment building on an unassuming street in the Quartier Latin in Paris.
Eventually, though, the timer hits ten seconds, and Sherlock might hear the faint sounds of Edith Piaf's warbling in the earbuds she'd stuck in her ears. She only uses the musical countdown like this to make sure she has enough time to wrap things up before she wakes.
She wakes almost instantly when the timer hits zero, eyes a little bleary with sleep (or maybe the drug, but she's pretty used to it by now).
Of course, seeing a man in her apartment, not Arthur (who has a key), when she expected to be alone makes her yell in surprise, yanking the IV out of her wrist and scrambling for her bag on the floor.] What the hell?
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Building her fortress, in an unassuming apartment building on an unassuming street in the Quartier Latin in Paris.
Eventually, though, the timer hits ten seconds, and Sherlock might hear the faint sounds of Edith Piaf's warbling in the earbuds she'd stuck in her ears. She only uses the musical countdown like this to make sure she has enough time to wrap things up before she wakes.
She wakes almost instantly when the timer hits zero, eyes a little bleary with sleep (or maybe the drug, but she's pretty used to it by now).
Of course, seeing a man in her apartment, not Arthur (who has a key), when she expected to be alone makes her yell in surprise, yanking the IV out of her wrist and scrambling for her bag on the floor.] What the hell?