notquiteheartless | Deduction 1

[Sherlock Holmes has been on bedrest for about 48 hours.

However, when his doctor decides to go out for supplies and to see if any of the detective's clothes have shown up (it was either that or let the man get up and see himself, and apparently that was not going to be allowed)... the patient lets himself get up. Not much, just enough to make it into the sitting room.

Which is just as white-washed as the bedroom. Damn it.

Once he can stand to be on his feet for more than ten minutes at a time, those walls are getting painted or papered or something.

He's had time enough to read his Journal and the Guide it contains, and the system itself is straightforward enough. Something like a computer but not quite as efficient. Still, it's something.

It doesn't matter to him that his Journal is in his bedroom and John's is sitting out. It's John's he grabs and a pen nearby that he writes with, unaware of what was broadcast over the journals the previous day.]

I am aware that damage to the wings is ill-advised. However, I am curious: Seeing the distinct disadvantage that they pose, has anyone attempted to surgically remove them? Not ripping or merely cutting-- a proper medical procedure. An amputation. Has it been attempted? If it has, to what end?
SH

[After he's written out all of that, he starts on another project. To some, it may just be evidence of extreme boredom. Others... Well. Others might recognise it.]

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He's [what is James Moriarty? what can he say to best convey the dangers the man presents?] an actor.

A very, very good actor.

According to Donovan, [after setting up a practice filter, but Lestrade doesn't need to know the full details of the conversation had before he arrived] he's telling people he has no idea who I am. They've no reason not to believe him.

[A pause. He isn't going to tell Lestrade what's happened. He doesn't want to talk about that... but there is something that wavers deep, deep in his tone, and his wings almost shudder before sinking down.]

You have no reason not to believe him.

[Do you trust me?]

[ Right, no idea who his attacker was, a case of mistaken identity, which people all over the place can confirm has happened before. He can remember that much from his own conversation with the man. Perfectly believable, not making a fuss (scared to make a fuss?), easy fix. He can't help a scoff. ]

Don't I, though? [ Lestrade shakes his head. ] God knows you've never been above a lie when you think it's logical, Sherlock, but you've got six years on him and you didn't refuse to explain yourself. I like to think I can risk letting that count for something.

[There's a pause. A long pause. Something almost like emotion flits through those light eyes, but it can really be seen in the wings. They extend a bit, still low, then retract against his back again.

He nods, ever so slightly.]

Thank you.

A 'thank you' from Sherlock Holmes. [ Oh, that's worth a stretch of a grin. Not fond. Not fond at all. ] Sounds like the time to duck out before you realize you said it.

[Sherlock might have given a half-hearted chuckle. He pushed himself to his feet. If Lestrade were going, well...

He wasn't in the mood to be sarcastic. Not with this man. Not right now.

Tomorrow? Maybe. The next day? Certainly. But today. After hearing him say that their years together allowed him some modicum of trust...

Sherlock extended his hand for a shake.]

[ Lestrade looks at Sherlock, to the extended hand, back up to Sherlock's face again.

And he shakes it, of course, with the same warmth and firmness that he'd use for anyone because he wouldn't think to do anything else, but he wonders what has to be going on to merit visible gratitude and an honest handshake. If he ought to be on edge and looking out for more than just a criminal mastermind, maybe (like he wouldn't be anyway). Nothing explodes and neither of them have keeled over dead by the time his hand withdraws, and he thinks it's safe enough to sit around and do all the thinking this little meeting's merited in a place where the people won't know exactly what he's thinking before he's really thought it. A single nod and he's headed to the door. ]

Mind you sit back down and hang onto the rest of your feathers. [ ...and, as he gets to the doorway: ] And look into getting curtains or something, for god's sake.

[ Places as basic and mass-produced as these, even a person who's not Sherlock is liable to get bored to tears. He'll get his two-cents in on the matter while he can. ]

I will.

[A pause. It's not something he wants to admit, but... if there's anyone who both needs to know where to find him and who he'll trust with this bit of information... it's Lestrade.

He knows what discretion is.]

Might be for a different flat, though. Don't know how long I'll be staying here.

[Casually. As if not living with John now was the most natural thing in the world.]

[ ...no, that concept does not compute. ]

What, really? [ Maybe Sherlock means the both of them leaving 2-21. Safety purposes? A regular housing rotation? Best not to jump to conclusions. :|a

Be a pity to lose the numbers, really, what are the odds they'd get into a place with them? ]

It might be best.

[Which is all he can say.

Anything else is too sentimental.]

[ A slow nod. Ah, the familiar feeling that he's missing something important here. ]

If you say so. Drop a line if it gets to that. I'd rather know than spend a bloody day wondering where you vanished to. [ Rather know if everybody's all right or not, if it gets to that. But one of the best ways to try to look out for your people is to not breathe down their neck and remind them you're doing it.

Plus he'd really rather not spend a day looking and writing messages. ]

Deduction 1 - [ written ]

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