I could be writing more. So, I challenged myself to write in a totally free-form, stream of consciousness way for exactly twenty minutes.
This is what came oozing out of my little thinky-box:
Sheldon’s eyes felt glued to the toe of Miles’s left shoe. It was a really nice shoe. Gorgeous, even. Wingtips. Blue and grey. Italian. Sheldon decided he just had to find out where Miles bought his—
“LOOK AT ME!”
Sheldon reluctantly (but very quickly, mind you) brought his gaze back up to Miles’s piercing blue eyes. Those eyes had that look…again. Sheldon hated that look. Especially when it was directed at him. Especially when he deserved it. Nothing good EVER followed that look.
Miles hated having to give that look even more. That look meant things had gone VERY wrong and VERY fast. That look meant having to move sooner than anticipated. Probably while being chased…and most likely shot at…or worse.
“I’m sorry, man” Sheldon sniffed. “They got the drop on us. Someone must have tipped them off!”
Miles froze. He took a single deep breath in, then a slow single step toward Sheldon as he exhaled.
Dammit. It’s a possibility. There appeared to be three options here:
1) Sheldon was the dumbest motherfucker on God’s green earth for letting The Heirloom leave his grasp, for which Miles would be sure to forcibly remove Sheldon’s eyelids, lips and thumbs.
2) Sheldon is a thief…which would make him even more stupid. The punishment would be the same (with the addition of burning the aforementioned tidbits then rolling the ashes into a nice, tightly packed cigarette, which he would cheerfully smoke as he broke into Sheldon’s house to murder his entire family. Even the bird.)
3) There is a mole.