notquiteheartless | Deduction 1

Deduction 1 - [ written ]

[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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Actually, it is. There are four possibilities, and I can rule out two. I want to know which of the remaining it was.

[ SIGH. ] The man who got strangled half to death, maybe?

Pity it was just half.

I know you realize this is serious, Sherlock! [ Early grave, thy name is Greg Lestrade. Once A Loving Husband, Buried Out Of Spite. ]

Now I told him I would talk to you about this, and I expect there to be a proper explanation for it on your end.

[ Because it's Sherlock. He's never seen the man do anything without a reason, however ridiculous or hard to follow it might be. ]

Community House 2, room 21. I won't discuss it over this device.

Yeah, yeah. [ slightly... mollified...

Lestrade finds his jacket and goes on to make his way over from CH 1 with all due haste. Bloody consulting detective. He even goes to the courtesy of knocking once he reaches the flat, short and sharp like any cop worth his salt does. ]

[Getting up.

Getting up.

...Not happening.]

Unlocked. Come in.

[ All about the effort. Generally what he expected. Lestrade steps in, closes the door, and proceeds to shove his hands in his pockets so that he doesn't cross his arms right away. He feels like he'll wind up wanting to actively do it at some point today.

Sherlock gets the same perfunctory glance-over that John and Sally got on their first face-to-face meeting. Head attached, original limbs sorted, not- not actually looking quite at his best. Not sure how much of that to attribute to the boys' new place being so... sparse. God, maybe he ought to bring them a tacky housewarming lamp or something next time. ]

Sherlock.

[ Vague nod of greeting for the resident genius. Lestrade's dressed in his usual style, wings covered as neatly as one really can cover them, not missing any more sleep than usual, about as frustrated as can be expected, and honestly not surprised that Sherlock's managed to get tossed in here like the rest of them. Someone made a regular sweep of London, 2011, when they were in for new lab rats, didn't they. ]

[Sherlock has a too-large shirt on and the trousers New Feathers come in. His one wing... is certainly in bad shape, and the shirt doesn't hide the nail scratches and shallow stabs on his arms.]

Lestrade.

Settling in well, it looks like.

One of the things I'm good for, yeah. Wish I could say the same to you.

[ Patently true. He seats himself on the edge of a chair and leans forward, the picture of expectancy. And grateful that he's not put holes in his jacket, because his wings seem to want to make a bit of a point of flicking and resettling every so often. Tricky business. Lestrade is already wondering if the whole business was self-defense, or the apparent need for self-defense that comes with waking up in pain with wings attached, mistaken identity(but who even?)- he would like to provide the benefit of the doubt in this for all involved parties, because he would like to, and partially because it would be so much simpler if that were how it could turn out. Hard to stay properly angry at a man looking like shit. ] What happened?

[Sherlock's wings, injured as the one may be, flare out as best they can, ruffle, then settle back in. Agitated, even though the detective's expression never changes. So perfectly unperturbed... save for the feathery things at his back.

Perhaps that's part of why he discussed wanting them removed.]

Moriarty.

[Nothing more needs be said. If Lestrade still thinks he made up the man... Well. Let the damage to his wing speak for that. Let the man claiming to have no idea who he was speak to what he said.

It was all too convenient.]

[ Quick pause. Not the sort prone to bursts of brilliant insight, but Lestrade knows what to do with 2 and 2. ]

What, that's him? [ The weedy, scrawny guy who went right on ahead and addressed the public?

That one's a bit on the side of hard to wrap his head around, he won't lie. It could hardly be said that the man didn't give as good as he got fight-wise in any case. ]

You...

[Sherlock seems almost surprised.]

You don't know who he is.

[ Slowly nodding. Sherlock Holmes just stated the obvious. What is happening here. ]

I noticed that when I introduced myself, yes.

[Sherlock leaned forward, eyes widened slightly. His wings quivered then folded back. Anxious.]

What is the last thing you remember? The very. last. thing. Before you came here. What do you remember?

[ He tilts his head just a bit to the right. And absolutely does not sound like he's not sure if he's supposed to be defensive about this or not, that must be imagined. ]

Just got in from Dartmoor. Bloody "Hound of Hell" and everything that went with it. [ From the tail end of one big to-do with crazy government experimentation and into a whole new fishbowl. ]

[Sherlock pauses. He looks at Lestrade before... before the barest hint of a smile comes and goes. Lestrade doesn't know. He doesn't know about anything with Richard Brook or James Moriarty or...

He nods once.]

That is James Moriarty.

I can't prove it, especially not in this place.

But it's him.

[ He takes a breath for the express purpose of letting it out in a huff, rakes his fingers through his hair. ]

Christ, aren't we in luck, the place without a prison. [ And it's probably stupid to ask, all wrecked wings and potential reasons for wanting to strangle someone like Moriarty considered, but he's hardly about to let that stop him now. It's best to be certain on these fronts. ] You're absolutely sure? A hundred percent?

[ None of that 98.8 bollocks. ]

He made sure I knew it was him.

[Calm, cool... but his wings are ruffling.]

[ So things will not be easy, then, which he'd think he would have learned to expect in situations involving Sherlock. He doesn't typically go out of his way to make it difficult, but god, it happens. ]

And you both decided it was a good day to start off with attempted murder. All right. [ Who wouldn't, of course, that's usually right up on Lestrade's list of to-dos. But he'll believe it (just what we needed to top things off, a criminal mastermind networking off-planet), and deliver a very straight staredown. ] You'll want to avoid doing that in the future.

[The calm, focused look Sherlock gives in return? Probably not that confidence-inspiring, actually. If anything, it... might be worrisome.]

I will.

[Next time, it won't be attempted murder.]

[ ...that is unsettling. Damn. He knew it was wise to reserve his arm-crossing for a different point in the conversation. ]

I mean it, Sherlock. [ For all the good he knows he's ever done in coercing Sherlock to do or not do things in this line of reasoning. ] We're fresh into a happy new family of lab rats. Last thing any of us needs is to rock the boat more than it's already done right now.

[ He's apparently lying low; let him. All the better to figure out what to do about him. No laws, no prison, no records. Luceti runs on vigilante justice, reputations and actions, right now. Alliances.

Sherlock Holmes is all at once the person he least and most needs to tell to be careful about the place. Naturally. Thank god John is here. ]

You don't know what he is. You have no idea what he's capable of doing.

Let me worry about him. I can handle him. You're out of your depth here.

[He still sounds so very calm. Not even condescending. Just stating facts as facts.]

Right, I can see you're coming along swimmingly. [ Sarcasm. ]

I'm not going to ignore him. No one else is going to stop him.

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