trainingwings | [ Voice ]/[ Action ]

Entry tags:

[ Voice ]/[ Action ]

Alright. For future reference, talking animals should be a topic addressed when dealing with new-comers. Less important one, yeah, but still worth an honorable mention, I think.

[ A shift here to a musing tone, but anyone who understands the concept of sarcasm is in for a treat. ]

Kidnapped by unseen, malevolent forces, trapped to live in a village in the middle of nowhere with no means of escape, vulnerable to torture, don't fuss with the wings, everything's free... Talking animals.

I just had a squirrel panhandle me for crisps.

Are there any other things I should be prepared to converse with? Are the appliances keeping tabs on what we're getting up to?

-----------------------------------------
Player Name: Effy
Are you new?: Yes! Please love me ;;
Character Name: John Watson
Character Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Two hours. Good thing I didn't pick up the milk.

[ And yet he's not leaving, Sherlock. It's quite clear he's intending to stay. He did walk all this way, after all. ]

[A pause.

Then, quietly, with that same attempt at force that he really should know won't work on an Army man:]

Go home, John.

[ Sherlock is clearly trying to be diplomatic here, so John is going to commend him by using a soft tone while he sets it straight for him. ]

He will definitely not do anything if we're both here, Sherlock. That would be stupendously idiotic. Your intention was to threaten him, yeah? What gives you the right to have all the fun? I thought I was the one strapped up.

I won't be in the way. I could use a cuppa, besides.

[Luceti had taken its share: nicotine patches, major chemistry set, contacts, mobile, internet access, familiar surroundings, morgue access, work.

What it had not taken was Sherlock's ability to say the entirely wrong thing without hesitation.]

Of course you'll be in the way.

[ It was John who had been strapped with a bomb.

It was John whose safety was threatened. I'll burn you. I'll burn the heart out of you.

If Moriarty were going to harm anyone, it would be John. Not him.]

[ That does show. The shorter man does not straighten so much as he draws his shoulders back a little with the blow.

To John, Moriarty is a psychopath. He doesn't hold value in anything, much less human life. He also seems to have a temper, which makes him more than a little unpredictable. If he is anything like Sherlock (and John does not like to think about it in such a way), who will toss his own things about without a secondary glance during a tantrum, what would Moriarty do?

John may have been the one strapped to the bomb, but he remembered that the consulting criminal was willing to kill them both before the phone had rang. John didn't doubt he would have tried. Not for a moment.

What John did doubt was this sort of immunity Sherlock thought he had against Moriarty. Maybe Sherlock wouldn't be killed outright, true, but there was nothing to stop Moriarty from trying to hurt him. Except, of course, John himself. ]

I'm not leaving, so you'd better find some way to make it work.

[ He tells the other man with a note of finality. He lets his hand go. ]

You're an idiot.

[When John moved his hand, Sherlock curled his fingers around the box he was still holding. A reaction contained until then.

He saw the similarities between Moriarty and himself. They had followed too close of paths, diverging only in specific places. Moriarty's first murder had been his first case. There was something about it, some inkling that their fates were knit together.

And God help those pulled into it.

Like John.]

Okay.

[His hand tightened around the box, squeezing slightly. Obvious. Too obvious. Moriarty would be watching, enjoying every reaction, drinking in every second of this exchange.]

We'll have a cup of tea. Then we'll go home.

[ John licked his lips, and maybe his jacket shifted a little, but otherwise he didn't comment. They're both idiots, getting themselves mixed up with murderers. At this point, John wouldn't have it any other way. ]

Alright.

[ Something about him relaxes a little. He doesn't challenge Sherlock often, and wins even less, but he's drawing the line here. This is something he feels better taking on together. Sitting at home, he knows he'd just be worrying anyway.

He shifts to walk around Sherlock and make his way to the counter to order. He knows how they both take their tea, seeing as he's often the one making it. There's a glance he passes Moriarty's way, but he doesn't allow his gaze to linger long. Just enough to send the message out, not enough to allow him to really think about how he'd like to come across the table at the bastard and ruffle that pristine countenance. He bets Moriarty goes for the eyes. ]

[He was not admitting defeat, Sherlock told himself. It was a temporary concession. He could always go back out later, after John was asleep.

In this open, public environment, they had to be careful. Moriarty was good at what he did, blending in and wearing masks. They could not be the aggressors or they might be opposed by well-meaning idiots.

But Sherlock's eyes remained on Moriarty for a time then flickered between the consulting criminal and John. While Sherlock would love to provoke Moriarty into a public attack, he would not risk John. Moriarty would out himself eventually, and the odds were in their favour now.

Sherlock tapped his fingers against the table. He was anxious, not impatient. He didn't like having John and Moriarty in so close of quarters, but he would not let himself leave immediately.

It was about appearances. Letting Moriarty see him remain. See he wasn't going to up and run every time.]

[ Moriarty was definitely an unassuming man at first glance. John hadn’t paid him much credence when he made his first appearance at Bart’s, aside from the fact that Sherlock had spurned him. He did the victim very well. Even when the man was shouting and threatening to skin his connections, John couldn’t take him very seriously. But he was scared of him. He was terrified of the idea of a man who would readily spirit away innocent people for the sake of showing off, and he was afraid of what he might be planning, not just for he and Sherlock, but Luceti itself.

But someone needed to stand up to Moriarty. Sherlock was someone with the ability to do that, and John wanted to stand beside him. So far as the current argument went, John didn’t fool himself to think it was settled, but this was not the place to talk about it.

He returned to set a steaming cup before Sherlock, and didn’t pause to circle around and settle down in the open chair nearby. Seemed like he was less inclined to put his back to Moriarty than he was to set his side against Sherlock’s. He seemed content to share the silence that often developed between two people who knew one another, although to say he was content in general would be a grave mistake. His hand, the one which trembled occasionally when he was lax and warm in the armchair at home, was perfectly steady now on the handle of his cup. There was a slow breath across the tea before he sipped. His eyes flickered down to Sherlock’s fingers on the table, then up to the man himself - steady... A sip. ]

[You're not bored now, are you?

A different man had said them, but the words... The words were Moriarty. Every syllable of every sentence was Moriarty, and, in his memory, Sherlock heard the words in dual-layer. The cabbie-- the puppet-- and Moriarty-- the puppetmaster. Sherlock picked up his cup of tea and took a sip of it.

He glanced over at John. His voice was low, careful.]

A different face for every crowd. The perfect chameleon. Genius.

You could stand to say it with a bit less reverence.

[ Mildly, over the rim of his cup. ]

[A blink.]

Why?

I call it what it is-- genius.

To play every role so well, only a few traces... things he can't bear to part with, no matter who he is.

But no one looks that close-- I didn't look that close.

It's genius.

That's because he came at you with sexuality. And you're an ass.

[ He's not irritated at all. ]

Gave me his number. His actual number. I had it sitting in my pocket the entire time, and he knew I wouldn't even glance at it.

Brilliant.

He knows you're an ass.

[ John amends. ]

That's enough.

Brilliant.

[Okay. He's done now. Probably.]

[ Elbow, meet ribs. Not very hard. ]

...What?

[ Tea. ]

[Yes, yes. Tea is all very well and good.

He still has no idea what he's done wrong.

But, after a few moments, he glances at John.]

You shouldn't bait him like that.

[Yes, he's monitoring your conversations over the journals, John.]

[ He's having the good grace to drop the subject. Or he's trying to. ]

...

And just what have you been doing?

[ He challenges, tone a little too light. ]

I've been watching him.

You're "letting him know he's not invisible", I believe you said earlier. [ Does he have to get the journal, Sherlock? ]

You're intimidating him. I don't see how it's any different.

"Intimidation" would require him to be afraid of me. I don't scare him.

But it means he knows he can be seen, can be found. It... won't frighten him, but it will keep him on edge.

I still don't see how it's any different. It's due to rile him up a bit.

[ John pauses for a moment, filling the gap with another slow sip of his cup. Licks his lips. ]

When I first met your brother, he tried to threaten me, you know.

[ There's a point here, Sherlock. ]

Not in so many words, but there were the cameras, and the empty car park... I got the gist.

Do you know what I told him?

[ Voice ]/[ Action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]