notquiteheartless | Deduction 2

Deduction 2 - [ video ]

[They'd agreed to a week. A week without incident, of rest and recovery. Then, the unspoken half of it went, they would go their separate ways.

But after ten whole days without another word said about moving or kicking out...

The video feed kicks on in the early afternoon, aimed at one of the plain white walls of 2-21.]

This is unacceptable.

[Sherlock Holmes is back on his feet and physically feeling much better.

Sorry, Luceti.]

I need paint, wallpaper, and glue. Lots of all of it. Where can I find it?

Also. Regarding the hideously plain excuses for furniture in this flat-- There are obviously no cabs here, so I'm going to assume there are no trucks. How am I supposed to realistically re-furnish a flat? Surely in a place where wings are mysteriously attached to people, there is something better than just carting furniture almost a kilometre.

On a final note: If a human skull shows up in the item shop, it is mine. Return it to me at Community House 2, Room 21.

(Two edits:
A. the Imperial measurement is gone. Bad Lynn. No miles. Kilometres!
B. I spaced about the "only a mile wide" thing and was looking at the scale to try and figure it out. That's fixed in the entry too, now. Sorry about that.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[...]

No.

Always have had flats that had previous owners. Wallpaper, paint-- already done.

[And, of course, since he's admitting he doesn't know how to do something, this almost has to follow, doesn't it:]

It can't be that difficult.

Mm. Yeah. Start with paint.

[For John's sake, at least. She always did feel vaguely bad for the guy.]

I'm sure we can manage.

[...He won't say it, but the advice is being taken into consideration. Sherlock Holmes is not the most "domestic" of creatures, after all, and he knows it.]

[A terrible realization occurs! ...Well, terrible and kind of funny.]

I wonder if there's anything that can get wallpaper paste out of feathers...

...Probably best to wear a jacket over them while doing it. [He had not thought of this. Because that is one of those little details that the genius overlooks as unimportant until it's mentioned.

Plus, irritating and constantly moving as they are, he forgets to take them into account, really.]

You ought to wear that bloody great Batman coat of yours. I've seen you jump into roadside ditches and dig through old skips all while managing to never get a speck of dust on it; surely it's impervious to household adhesives.

[Or possibly it's yet another case of Sherlock Holmes Being Infuriatingly Perfect At Everything But Human Interaction.]

It hasn't shown up yet.

[And if whomever has taken the liberty of bringing his things here dare to put holes in the back of his coat, he will find someone to yell at for it.

And someone else to fix it.

His shirts? Fine. More comfortable, actually. His two jackets that have arrived so far? Irritating, but it can be dealt with. But if his coat has been touched...]

Really? It's always a bit weird seeing you without it, actually. I'm not sure whether it's because it contributes to your air of annoying superiority or if I'm just not used to it.

[Little bit of both, probably. That and the collar offsets his cheekbones in sort of an interesting way, not that she will ever ever say this out loud ever.]

I want it back.

[Not because of any sentimental attachment to the coat. No. Not at all.

Just because it was his and he wanted it back. Only reason.

He will regret ~~asking~~ saying this. He knows it.]

If you come across it in the shops, let me know.

[This...is priceless. Sherlock demanding the return of his ~~security blanket~~ coat. To her, of all people. Sally is going to save this one up.]

Ha! Sure, all right, then. If I find your coat I'll put it aside for you. Hell, I'll have it dry cleaned. If, that is, you say you'll let me know if my necklace turns up; the silver one with the three diamonds.

[Not that they're technically diamonds, but that's neither here nor there.

It is, admittedly, nice to have someone else who can look for it (not that he probably will) if only because he's probably memorized the entire wardrobes of everyone he's ever met.]

[Be nice, Sherlock. Be nice. Be nice. Be--

Oh, wait, he's Sherlock Holmes.]

You were told those were diamonds?

Not that it's any of your business, but no, I know they're not. It was a gift from someone who spared what little money he could at the time to try to make me happy, and that's as good as diamonds to me.

[Not even going to justify this with indignation. Nope. Because A) that is such a petty concern and B) ...yeah, saw it coming.]

[John should be proud. He can recognise sentiment!

...And actually does not offer anything mocking. If anything, he might sound vaguely, vaguely, vaguely sincere.]

Long as you know.

[Even a seriously half-assed attempt at sincerity and a general lack of mockery was...a lot more than she was expecting.

And she's starting to think she knows where this is coming from.]

...You really have changed since you met that man. To be honest, I'm almost happy for you.

[Definitely happy for everyone else who has to put up with him. :| ]

[Sherlock doesn't know how to take that, actually. He... can't argue. Nineteen months ago, one thing mattered to him-- him.

Yes, he had appreciated Lestrade and the cases the man gave him. He'd made acquaintances who liked him enough to help him find a place to stay-- either just a night, like when he lost his last flat after a final row with his landlord, or for a discounted rate, like Mrs Hudson-- or would give him a free meal-- he already missed Angelo's restaurant-- or the like. But they were never friends.

John...

There's a quiet sound on the other end of the journal. A kind of mutter. Dismissive, in a way.]

Hardly important. Just because I wouldn't put it past someone to try and pass off imitations as real diamonds.

[Because we can turn this into an insult.

...Just because...

Not at all because that's easier than thinking about what she actually said.]

[Uh-huh sure you just try to brush that off, pal.

This is starting to get weirdly entertaining.]

Do you not like it when people are happy for you, Freak? Do we all have to be intimidated and in awe at all times or your mystique is ruined?

...Why would I care if someone else is happy for me?

[The sad part is how genuine the question is.]

[...Does he actually - yes, he sounds completely genuine.]

Because people typically feel gratitude and happiness when others are proud of them. Jesus, do you really not know this? Wouldn't you be pleased if John were happy for you, at least?

[God. Sociopaths.]

I don't care what other people think of me. ["Other people" could include John.

It doesn't. But it could.] I don't care what Scotland Yard thinks of me, I don't care what reporters think of me, I don't care what the "public" thinks of me.

Whether it's those stupid articles John was always reading and worrying over or whether or not people "like" me.

I. don't. care.

It doesn't change who I am, what I think, or what I do. Caring about what other people think? Wastes time and energy. Perhaps it's perfectly fine for someone less intelligent. Someone ["ordinary," a voice in his head he doesn't like supplies] average might not have anything better to think about.

I do.

God, you're such a ponce. You can't go three minutes together without being such a ponce.

Feelings are not a disease that only plagues the lower class, Sherlock, they are what allow real people to live the human experience. They're what everyone besides you and a handful of the prison population has and deals with every day and that doesn't make us weak or stupid - if anything, it makes us stronger. The rest of us can't just decide not to care.

Emotions are messy and complicated and inconvenient. I'm not denying that. But I'd take being genuinely happy and having people to love over an adrenaline rush any day, and if you wouldn't, I feel sorry for you.

[And she does. She honestly does, which is...startling.]

"Real people." Yes, John likes to talk about those. Perhaps you two could have a nice little chat about them.

["Real people don't have arch enemies."

God. These people. They don't ever stop. They can't just let him be, can they? Not one of them.]

Have a good day, Sergeant Donovan.

[Pure ice.]

Oh, please. You weren't being completely awful a moment ago. And how is it you claim not to care what anyone thinks of you, and you take offense to the Pinocchio comment?

[There are no words for Sally's exasperation, but she tries to rein it in for the sake of being more mature than the Freak.

Besides, much as it pains her, she can see that being implied to not be a real person might hurt someone's completely non-existent feelings.]

Look...you are what - who you are, and I guess that's not going to change overnight, if at all. Fine. No feelings for you. But can't you at least understand why treating people horribly at all times is unacceptable behavior? Do you actually get it, Sherlock, because I'm starting to think I don't know anymore.

When have I ever cared about "acceptable behaviour"?

I get results.

And at the end of the day, that's all anyone really cares about. All anyone should care about. Cases closed, criminals stopped.

Nothing else matters, especially not to me.

My god, why do I even try. Really, why? Lestrade couldn't do it, and he likes you.

I honestly cannot understand what Dr. Watson sees in you. Not that we speak often, but he always seemed like a perfectly nice man...

[There's a pause. Maybe he's just going to ignore it?]

I don't think anyone knows that. Maybe he does, but I doubt it.

[He's calm now. Talking about a simple fact. And there's an implication in the undertone of the words. Might be easily missed... and it might not even be there at all. Perhaps it would be giving him too much credit to think he could admit that even he doesn't know why.]

Deduction 2 - [ video ]

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