[Sherlock makes it to the bridge. He stops to admire the view-- the rushing river, the overcast sky... but it says something that he leans against the wood railing. His shoulders rise and fall slowly but hard, discreetly trying to catch his breath.
He listens, nodding.]
And now he knows.
[Not that it matters.
Moriarty would have found out anyway.
Sherlock closes his eyes. He might look like he's thinking, but the shift of his weight says differently. Trying to change the centre of the pain, trying not to let it show that he wasn't steady on his feet. If he asked, he was sure he could get John to stop for a few moments. Let him find his bearings again.
But that would require asking a favour of John. No doubt he'd used up all of those. The last one... was far too much. He will need to come up with something to say about it. Sherlock knows that. But what is there to say? He did what he did. Does he claim to have been dead? Or does he admit what happened?
no subject
He listens, nodding.]
And now he knows.
[Not that it matters.
Moriarty would have found out anyway.
Sherlock closes his eyes. He might look like he's thinking, but the shift of his weight says differently. Trying to change the centre of the pain, trying not to let it show that he wasn't steady on his feet. If he asked, he was sure he could get John to stop for a few moments. Let him find his bearings again.
But that would require asking a favour of John. No doubt he'd used up all of those. The last one... was far too much. He will need to come up with something to say about it. Sherlock knows that. But what is there to say? He did what he did. Does he claim to have been dead? Or does he admit what happened?
What good does either do? None.
So there's no need to say anything.]