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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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Okay, that gets a moment's falter, and then a smug bit of mirthless laughter.]

All right. Assume I think the only crime you're responsible for was the kidnapping of the Bruhl children. Assume you weren't the culprit. I want to know who did do it, the means, and the motive. And I want material evidence to prove who did it and for what reason. That's what it would take.

Maybe you'll get it if you get back to the precinct. We both know I have nothing here.

Well.

If you care what I think, which for some reason you seem to, why don't you tell me what you think happened.

Or at least why you flung yourself off a bloody--

I wasn't around to find out, but Lestrade could have lost his job because of your little stunt, and even if you almost certainly don't care, I do, so. If I don't know what I'm talking about, tell me.

I don't care what you think. [But you have Lestrade's ear. And he does care what Lestrade thinks of him, even if he won't admit it. And he cares what is thought about John.

His name only mattered because of how involved John had become. Because it had been John who had gotten him most of his clients, John's blog and praise that had made him known.

He doesn't care about his own name, but Moriarty has threatened everyone near him, in too many ways.] I've told you already--

Two men sit down to play a game of chess on a vast board. They pick and pick away at the pieces surrounding each other. A neutralised bishop, a turned knight, an outed pawn, a decimated rook. Bit by bit, they get at one another...

But one. One comes up with the most brilliant gambit. Lead the other straight into a ploy that ends in the other player sacrificing their own king while trying to evade the obvious trap. And he is clever enough to manipulate the board so his opponent has no choice, even when he sees the trap coming.

That. Tells me. Nothing. That's you trying to be clever again. If you won't tell me, tell me you won't tell me!

I'm tired of your games. I'm tired of working after your ridiculous riddles. I won't pretend to want your attention like everyone else, all right?

[The turned knight.

Not that she was ever loyal, but she did good work when she bothered to listen.]

You won't see a frame-job when it's right in front of you.

...All I see is you being unaccountably generous with your time for someone who never did anything but condescend to me, and I'll admit I've no idea why, but pardon me if I find anything you do a bit suspicious.

Not like I have anything better to do. [It's raining, and he can't get up anyway.

...Besides, he'd like to point out that he was condescending... but he would work with her. He doesn't, though.]

How reassuring.

But you do care, don't you. You wouldn't be talking to me if you didn't care. You want me to believe you.

[Sally just scoffs, because while it actually isn't, this all has the potential to be hilarious.]

I wonder if I should be honored you spent so much time on us - me and the rest of the force. Went to all the effort of pointing out our flaws and underlining all our mistakes. Because if you didn't just want to be better than everyone else, why go to all the trouble of making everyone else feel like they can't stand up to your greatness? Was being a colossal tosser something you did for fun while you "solved" cases for us?

I don't care what you think about me.

[Stupid. So stupid. What must it be like to be so ordinary? So simple?

But he can still be angry at her. Because if she'd only taken her complaints to Lestrade, his superiors would never have known. She had to have-- evidenced by the man's presence at Baker Street that last night-- gone above his head. She had to have (no doubt thinking she was doing the "right" thing) stabbed him in the back.

John... Her opinion of John mattered little to him. Except for what she might say to others. But he did care about what had happened to Lestrade because of her.

His tone changes, shifts even colder. Perfectly calm.]

Lucky for you, you only have to deal with me here. If you manage to get back to London, you won't have to ever again.

...No, I guess I won't.

More than anything, I think that's why I can't believe you're innocent. Why would anyone do something like that if they were innocent?

Like I said: You have no idea what happened.

No, right, of course not. And you're not going to tell me, and you're going to keep acting like I'm inconveniencing you for not blindly trusting in your innocence despite not having been given any reason to do so. Am I right?

[The filter is for practice, test, and because it's the first time he has used the word.]

Is it really so shocking, Sergeant Donovan, that I don't feel it necessary to justify my suicide? Especially to you?

Tsk. And you talk about my lack of empathy.

I just want to understand. If you're so adamant you didn't do anything wrong, then why--

I never wanted it to end that way. Not for one second did I want you dead. I'm not a monster.

[His tone changes ever so slightly. A small break in the anger. A kind of temporary understanding.]

I know. You're a good cop, and you were doing your job. [He was willing to believe there was no real malice in what she'd done.

Sherlock won't give her the truth. He isn't going to reveal what Moriarty used against him... but he can offer an alternate. His tone is detached, but that could mean several things.] What would you do? Every ally either turned against you or doubting you, accused of a crime you have no alibi for when the evidence looks very, very damning. Career in ruins, name slandered, and every dirty little secret unearthed and published for the world to see, packaged in a lie everyone wants to believe.

[He'd let her think it was weakness behind his suicide. That he'd given up. He wouldn't let her know what Moriarty had done on that roof.]

[The detached tone is almost as chilling as the question - of course, questions are almost always what amounts to a straight answer from Sherlock Holmes, in her experience.]

...Having put up with you for as long as I have, the first answer that springs to mind - what I'd do if I were you - is "think of something really clever and fix everything." Which is honestly embarrassing, for the record.

[But. Fine. Freak Logic.]

What would you do? If you were talking to a dead man who thought strangling a defenseless man to death was the best use of his time even with a handful of feathers missing and who was electing to give you the time of day about it for no discernible reason? If he was making even half an attempt to justify himself when ordinarily he really never would? If you were me, what would you do, because I shouldn't tell you this but I don't know what to think right now.

Maybe "Richard Brook" is what I claimed all along-- James Moriarty, a criminal mastermind, set not on killing but on destroying the one man who can stop him.

He's got half of what he wants-- there will be no resurrection in London. But I will stop him. Here and there.

If you think I'm going to stand by - if you think Lestrade is going to stand by and let you go off like a madman again and pull a stunt like you did in the medical bay...

Assuming you want anyone to believe you, trust you, or not lock you up, you're not off to a very good start.

I lost my temper.

[It's pointless to try and explain. There is no way to without sounding far, far too weak and sentimental.]

I should think that much is bloody well obvious! It wasn't even the right man!

...He says he's not the same man; I'm holding off on believing that, too. If I were either a criminal mastermind or a greedy actor who'd aided and abetted one, I wouldn't be very forthcoming about my identity either.

Well, at least you're finally considering the possibility, at least.

Well, I can't exactly go over all the previous cases you "helped" on with a fine-toothed comb like I was planning to, can I? I only got here a few days after the incident, and without anything to work with, I have to at least consider the possibility.

When you get back, please do that. Also go through the papers Mycroft will be bringing you and Detective Inspector Lestrade.

Those ought to satisfy you and his superiors. [There is a trace of a bitterness.] It's him you'll owe the apology to.

...If your brother could prove your innocence, then why--

[She really doesn't want to belabor the "jumped off a roof" point, but seriously.]

That doesn't make any sense.

Deduction 1 - [ written ]

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