Deduction 1 - [ written ]

[notquiteheartless]

[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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Comments

[action]

[notquiteheartless]

Genetic experimentation, at least in the short amount of time it's possible for it to have taken, wouldn't account for mobility or sensitivity, I wouldn't think.

[This sort of biology isn't really his field. His knowledge is a smattering of things he's learned for and from cases, not formal education. (Chemistry, there's no question, but biology is a different story.) That's why he has a doctor for a colleague and usually has his mobile. A world of information at his fingertips. Without it...

Well. He isn't happy, to say the least.

He half ignores the sounds outside the door, even when the door opens, and his features give no notice to the newcomer's voice. His wings, though, extend a bit, raising. Like a dog's ears perking at the sound of its master. But any happiness or relief or... anything seems contained to just the wings. Which he is determined to ignore.

His tone is perfectly even:] Doctor Brennan, Doctor John Watson, my associate.

John, Doctor Temperance Brennan. One of the few around here who seems actually sensible.

[action]

[theblogger]

[ Genetic experimentation naturally sends John to thinking about Baskerville, the glowing rabbits and the terrible secret of hounds. Someone else to bounce theories off - of course she is.

What he hears of her sounds a bit familiar, but the real recognition lights John's eyes when Sherlock introduces them (indulgence of formalities? good sign). ]

We've spoken before, actually. The forensic anthropologist.

[ John makes his way across the room, coming up next to Sherlock on the couch. He deposits three slightly damp, paper bags in Sherlock's lap, his eyes remaining on Brennan the whole time as if he were simply setting them on the sofa itself. The bags vary in diameter, but the tops on all of them are twisted shut. Probably made it easier to carry them one-handed, but perhaps Sherlock will use it to his advantage to make deductions before he opens them.

Once they're down, John extends his hand. ]

Good to finally meet you in person.

[action]

[truthin_bones]

[Despite her overall dislike of the wings, now that she's actually found a pair to examine, Brennan finds herself fascinated. She's almost reluctant to step away, not yet wanting to end her inspection. Sometimes, cultural norms are nothing but interferences. If not for the conversation they had some nights ago, she might not have even bothered.

But the conversation had left her with a decent enough opinion of the doctor and so she walks around the couch to grip his hand in a firm handshake.]

Likewise. [And there's a grin that accompanies that comment.] I was not aware you were Mr. Holmes' associate, Doctor.

[action]

[notquiteheartless]

[John...
Doctor...
John...
Doctor...]

Doctor Watson and I were only reacquainted a few days ago, and I've been laid up since. [Formality suits the situation more, he's decided.

He can't be surprised that John's already talked to a pretty female doctor. Because a PhD is still a doctorate. That affirms some of the things he thought he noticed: the strain in the eyes, used to viewing small things for long periods of time, hands used to detail work. The general demeanour, too, is more suggestive of a research setting (which still could have been medicinal, so he had not, until John's statement, ruled that out) than a bedside manner.]