theblogger | Appointments

[ John draws in a breath as he's grabbed, eyes widening a fraction of a second, but he doesn't move. Sherlock has never looked at him like this, even when he's been in the most foul moods and they're wrapped in a spectacular row. A part of him thinks, for a singular moment, that the man might actually hurt him. It's not fear John feels (not quite) but it is something that makes him draw into himself a bit. Only when Sherlock nods and begins to speak, only when Sherlock takes a breath... does John realize he's been holding his own.

John breathes out, and some of his tension goes with it. His hands grow lax on the other's collar. ]

...Good.

[ This is quieter. Thank you.

It comes with a nod, too, and another breath before John's letting go, palms briefly brushing the taller man's shoulders before the contact on his end is gone entirely. His lips thin, thoughtful. ]

I understand why you did it, you know. I get it.

I just don't understand why you couldn't trust Mrs. H and me after. We wouldn't have told anyone.

[ I could have helped. ]

[It takes Sherlock a moment longer to release John, but not out of any kind of prolonged threat. No... Whatever lit his eyes is gone, sunk back deep within and the surface has stilled. There's a reluctance to let go, but Sherlock masters it and steps back.

Here... Here, he can be a little more honest.]

You're being watched. All of you. Moriarty-- or his agents, if he really is dead. [Doubtful.] If I'd contacted any of you [especially you] he or any of his connections still alive and active would have found out. I couldn't risk that. [It sounds selfish, and he knows it. It sounds like he couldn't risk Moriarty or his men finding him. But he won't explain. Let John think that. It's better than him knowing just how sentimental he's gotten.

Except...] Mycroft's watched you, too. Kept an eye on all of you.

[and:] So have I.

[ Perhaps surprisingly, John doesn't immediately seem upset by this explanation. Instead, he simply turns and goes back to his place at the tree, to pick up the bin of supplies. If Sherlock's up, they might as well move some. ]

We put on a good show, I'm sure.

[ This tone is rather hollow, not meant to sting, just a simple fact. ]

[With John, at this moment, Sherlock knows when not to say anything.

The less said, the better.

But he does move to begin walking in the way they were headed, letting out a quiet breath in a sound that is almost a sigh.]

[ All things considered, it's probably the most tactical decision that Sherlock has made sense coming here, second only, perhaps, to agreeing to lay down and rest for the time being.

But are they really going to leave Moriarty alone? Technically, with the way things started off, the sort of have to, don't they? It makes John uneasy, but one of the last things he wants to do is start trouble in an unknown territory without a very good reason and a half decent plan.

John falls into step beside Sherlock once more. For now, he's willing to let the silence last, because it's an uneasy one. It's one Sherlock deserves to endure at the moment, with his mind pointed toward the fact that people had mourned him beneath all the slander of the press and the fact that watching hadn't done them any favors. ]

Edited 2012-03-26 08:45 (UTC)

Are there more shops on the way?

[The question comes after a considerable time in silence.

He knows there's one back over the bridge, but that's too far to consider turning 'round and going back to at this point. He doesn't know where they're going, really, and he especially doesn't know the layout of this village.

Sherlock's hands reveal his intentions. The fingers stretch and contract a bit, and the thumb and index finger slip across each other... the same sort of habit he does when checking the rolling of a cigarette, tapping the end to be sure.

Silence, he can bear. But the tension in this quiet makes him want a cigarette.

...or something stronger...

But a cigarette will do.]

Nothing from here on out but houses.

[ Awful, isn't it? The lack of a convenience store on every other block or so on top on miles and miles to walk.

John's not looking much at the other, but he doesn't seem to be avidly avoiding it, either. His eyes flicker over their surroundings, echoes of wariness still lingering from his first days. Not a wise idea to get comfortable, even if life seemed simple enough. ]

I'll go and check the shops for your things tomorrow. Sometimes they come in through that way if they don't come with you.

They show up in the shops?

[He's almost startled.

Shops. Free to be taken-- by anyone. Clothes were easy enough, as were any "recreational" objects. Those didn't matter.

But his phone. Carefully tossed onto the roof, rather than falling with him. Picked up by the police then disappeared from the evidence locker and reappeared in the hand of Mycroft Holmes as he handed it over to his younger brother. His phone.

Out in the open, unpriced. If anyone took it-- if Moriarty got hold of it--]

My mobile. Look for it. [A beat. And then... a measure of how concerned he was about retrieving it:] Please.

That's right.

[ The tone also makes John snap to alertness, glancing over. Once he hears the concern, though... ]

It probably won't work, you know.

[ But a part of him is curious and reluctantly amused. ]

But I'll look for it.

[Sometimes, cases taught Sherlock things. Moriarty had taught him that nothing could be sacred. Baskerville had taught him true terror and that even his mind could perceive faulty stimuli as true. And the Woman...

had taught him to lock his phone with a password and carry around enough information to do damage.

It might come in handy someday. But he hadn't counted on... whatever the hell had brought him here.]

As long as it doesn't end up with Moriarty, I don't need it. [But he still wanted it. Important information or not, it was his mobile, and he was never far from it.]

I'll look for it.

[ The reassurance is a little more firm.

God knows the thing may as well have been welded to the other man's hand. The mention of Moriarty might mean it has sensitive information in it, though it could just as easily mean Sherlock didn't want his nemesis collecting any of his things. John certainly couldn't fault him for it. ]

Any other questions?

[ It is... not the wisest of queries to make, considering the subject, but Sherlock knows what he means. Questions John can possibly answer. ]

[A thousand.

But most of them were either about things not related to this current predicament-- questions about the life in London that an outside observer couldn't quite answer-- or else relied on information John didn't have or that he could find out for himself from the Guide John mentioned.

A good way to spend some of the promised week, he decided.

But there was one.]

What do you make of the place? Nothing technical or anything like that. Just you. Your impressions in the time you've been here. Instinct.

[He'd have time enough to explore for himself, but he wanted John's thoughts. John was so very good at taking in everything necessary... and bad at processing it himself.

...It was almost like before, asking that question.]

[ There is a familiarity to that question, followed by the familiar hesitance of whether or not Sherlock is having him on. No matter what he says, it will pale in comparison to what Sherlock is capable of calculating. John is logical and intelligent, but he's no genius. How he truly contributes to the other man's processes has always been a mystery to him, and often Sherlock outright informs him he's been ridiculous or missing steps. Still... he won't deny the man an answer. ]

There's something definitely off about it. There's a lot of... mismatch, I suppose.

[ There's a brief squint as he tries to think of how to phrase an instinct. ]

Everyone I've met seems pleasant, over all, once you move past some of the stranger things. Even if we're supposed to be meant for war, though, I haven't seen a lot of soldiers and I've only met a few doctors. Mostly it seems more like a... A zoo.

[ Is that what you were looking for, Sherlock? ]

That's it there. O-- The building.

[ He gestures to the shape of the community house up the way. Just a bit further, Sherlock. ]

Appointments

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject