Deduction 7 - [ audio ]

[notquiteheartless]

[All the king's horses...

"I am not my brother."

"If you want me to shake hands with you in Hell..."

He's listened to the recordings all night, low enough to keep himself from waking John. Moriarty is taunting him. Daring him. He wants to be struck at. He wants an attack.

Sherlock is hours away from obliging him.

He even has the small bottle, carefully sealed with a cork, in his hand. The white powder is poison, and John will not misunderstand. He saw the creation and storing of it himself.

But Sherlock can feel it as he turns the bottle over in his fingers, rolls it down them carefully and into his palm. He can feel the long-ignored craving for a different white powder. The stimulant to spur him into action. With just a little cocaine, he could go after Moriarty. The sedative to keep him at bay. Heroin would afford him six hours, at least, of sleep.

The medical supplies here much contain morphine, at least.

What would it take to...

...No. He'd never convince John to get him any.

Maybe he could plead a cigarette or two from the doctor, but nicotine would do nothing for him, would satisfy no urges. He needed something stronger.

John wouldn't supply him. Sherlock knew that. If he wanted morphine, he'd have to steal it himself. Or enlist other help.

For now, though, he'd try and ignore the stagnation threatening to drive him out of his mind.]

No laptop. No internet. No newspapers.

Completely isolated from the world.

No cases.

It's like the quaint little country vacation John keeps saying I need to take. [He does not seem to like that idea at all.]

Okay. I've taken it.

I'm done with it now.

I'm bored.

I want to be back in London. I want to be back at my work. I need to get back to my work.

Comments

[voice]

[cop_an_attitude]

You and me both, Freak.

[There's no malice when she says it now; it's just that it's basically his name by now, and besides, what was she going to do, stop?]

[voice]

[notquiteheartless]

[He doesn't mind it much. He's dealt with far worse.]

I don't even have access to the emails idiots send to John's blog.

[Because at least he could rant about those.]

Re: [voice]

[cop_an_attitude]

Maybe you can make a hobby of sitting in the square and loudly critiquing everyone who passes by.

[She wouldn't suggest it, but John will probably stop him.]

[voice]

[notquiteheartless]

Half tempted to do it with the prattling they share at large over these Journals.

[ voice ]

[breezing]

How can you be bored? You can learn lots about other worlds!

[ voice ]

[notquiteheartless]

Useless trivia. Therefore, completely irrelevant.

[ voice ]

[breezing]

What's your work?

[herotypical]

Get drafted. Fight their wars. [ have the general control you with his very blood... ] Then I dare you to call all this quaint.

[notquiteheartless]

I did. [And nearly got shot by one of the few friends he has in this world.

He still hasn't figured out how to process most of that illusion. Particularly as it is something he and John have both filed away as something never to be discussed.]

A kind but stupid war if it requires only a week of service every four months where half those sent serve little to no purpose.

[herotypical]

Kind?

Wow. And last time we chatted, you thought I was the delusional one.

[voice]

[whimsicalwinds]

[Oh hey it's Sherlock.]

Ah.. What kind of work do you do back at home, Holmes-san?

[voice]

[notquiteheartless]

I am a consulting detective.

[voice]

[whimsicalwinds]

[...Oh, wow.] Ahaha.. You really are like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes, aren't you, Holmes-san?

[Which reminds him..] Did you ever get the chance to look at those stories?

[ Action ]

[theblogger]

[ Sherlock should have heard and had plenty of time to arrange himself as the resident doctor rose and went through his morning ritual. John might have been planning to go in to the clinic before, but walking into the living room on his way to start tea subjects him to the sight of his friend toying with a bottle, practically in the same spot on the chair that John recalls leaving him the night before.

John's seen the post - Moriarty's, not Sherlock's - and he hasn't said anything about seeing the detective respond to it yet. Truth be told, 'careful' is something John hadn't quite meant, at least in the sense that he knew it wasn't very possible.

Instead of going out to the kitchen across the hall, John settles himself into his own chair. He's in his robe and his hair's still wet from the shower, far overdue for a cut by now. His wings, previously open for the slight breeze offered by walking, fold against his shoulders. For a moment, he doesn't say anything, eying the bottle that turns in Sherlock's long fingers. ]

He's going to see something coming, you know. He's baiting you.

[ Action ]

[notquiteheartless]

I know.

[He doesn't even look over, still focused on the small bottle.

Moriarty is trying to bait him. Is expecting him now. The smartest thing to do now is to lie low, wait, and plan more. Not attack when that is precisely what James Moriarty wants.

But it's not that easy. Moriarty, Lestrade, John. Now Molly.

Molly. Whom Moriarty has gotten close to once. Whom Moriarty will know helped him. Who won't have any line of defence against Moriarty if he comes calling. Who was pulled into this because of him.

And what is Moriarty planning? At the end, what is the game? What is he going to do?]

That's why I need to strike. Now. Hard and fast.

[ Action ]

[theblogger]

[ See, hard and fast is not what John's getting out of it, Sherlock. The wariness is quite clear in his posture and his gaze, though he keeps the rest of his expression rather flat.

Whatever Moriarty's got planned, it will probably be over a wide scale. That seems to be his style. A ;pt of people are in Luceti and a lot of people stand to be hurt from it. Still: ]

No. You're not doing this by yourself.

voice;

[gleamed]

What aboooout...taking up a hobby, Mr. Sherlock? It's still a good suggestion!

voice;

[notquiteheartless]

Useless skills and knowledge taking up space or possibly even forcing out information that matters.

voice;

[gleamed]

Doing something you enjoy is never useless.

[Voice]

[toujoursfluer]

Completely isolated in the world, you mean. Unfortunately this is the only reality at the moment.

[Voice]

[notquiteheartless]

I mean what I said.

There is a larger world beyond this enclosure, and we are isolated from it.

[Voice]

[toujoursfluer]

Perhaps. And perhaps it's all an illusion. And perhaps it doesn't really matter. Eventually you will return to your London and all this will have been forgotten as if it's never been.

[video]

[truthin_bones]

I myself am growing very weary of life here in Luceti.

[A slight sigh and a roll of the eyes. For the most part, Brennan has kept herself from complaining too much. Having Booth around has helped. But not by much.]

[video]

[notquiteheartless]

It might be at least a bit more tolerable if there was even regular news of something outside this one village.

Problems, cases, work. I need something to do.

My chemistry experiments are interesting only so long without a case behind them.

[The consulting detective is bored and stressed. Bad combination.]

[video]

[truthin_bones]

[Idle minds, especially genius minds, are not a laughing matter. Intellectual stimulation is necessary for an enjoyable life. Here in Luceti, she's found a severe lack.]

As an anthropologist, I have found other ways to keep myself occupied. But I admit, I've found myself missing the work I did back home as well. As loathe as I am to say it, a murder would make for a refreshing change of pace.