It had started, as all things seem to start with Patrick Jane, as a whim. It was late afternoon, he was making tea and contemplating how much he could have gone for a scone as well. Maybe a muffin. He paused, looked around the empty kitchen, and both of his eyebrows rose in an expression close to 'Huh!'. The kettle whistled and he took it off the burner, turning off the stove-top. Blue eyes narrowed, he wet his lips, a little grin curving over his face. Five minutes later he was pulling out bowls... read more
