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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[ 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.

It's not about ignoring him.

No one else is going to stop him.

Feel free to hire a superhero. [ Stubborn bastard.

How exactly is one supposed to put "I don't want to see you killing someone" to the man who wouldn't give a damn to hear it. The consistent dilemma of the times. ]

[He wants to rant. He wants to shout. But there's no way to make him understand. Not without talking about what happened, and if Lestrade doesn't know...

All the better.

So he doesn't respond, paging through the Journal instead.]

[ There's a visible bit of bristling from him at that. Surprise, surprise, dealing with a child and getting the silent treatment.

Trust John to keep him from doing something ridiculous- but that's half the worry, isn't it, because he could be just as likely to run in with him and ask no questions. Depends on what's happening.

Children. ]

I'm just saying, you need to be careful.

I'll do what I have to do.

[A pause.]

Keep an eye on him.

[ A pause of his own, and he pushes himself to his feet. It's far from an ideal answer, but it's a calm one. At any rate, he's probably got time to come back around and try it again while Sherlock's laid up. Let no man doubt the power of routinely applying sheer bullheadedness to aggravated geniuses. ]

Keeping an eye on everyone, haven't you heard? One of my many skills.

[ He can't imagine not trying to be responsible for people from back home. A place like this, the length some people have been in for, the way John and Donovan were talking. Lestrade would be damned if he didn't exercise a bit of responsibility. ]

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? ]

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notquiteheartless - 2012-03-25 06:41 (UTC) - Expand

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consultsdetective - 2012-03-25 08:04 (UTC) - Expand

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