theblogger | Appointments

[It doesn't take long for Sherlock to return.

He goes straight over to John's chair without a word to the man in it. And then... sets the pack of cigarettes he just acquired down on the table between the chairs.

There is no smell of smoke on him, so he hasn't already had one, and only one cigarette is between the fore and middle fingers of his left hand.

It's a silent offer of compromise: Let me have one, and you're in charge of the rest.]

[ John hasn't looked up from his journal since the other came in, but it's hard to look like one is reading when one's eyes track along a page without turning it. Just a temporary setback - Sherlock is distracting.

Trying to think of something to say without sounding ridiculous or completely open is difficult. Luckily, Sherlock seems to have an idea.

The doctor's eyes flicker to the box on the table, and temporarily on the hand that nestles the cigarette. He doesn't have to make a big show of sniffing - a simple inhale through the nose, as he's been breathing, is enough to let him know that there's been no chain-smoking before this olive branch has been extended.

Sherlock might see this as a peace offering, but John sees the simple box as an invitation to a fight. Not now, and maybe not tomorrow, but somewhere down the road, past the point where Sherlock finally does away with being cautious around him, the flat will be in disarray and John will be the stupidest man to have ever lived. The detective wants John to fight him, for him; not giving up, just giving in. Should John congratulate him?

Or maybe he's just reading into this way too far. Maybe this is all just an empty promise because having a vice doesn't take from the pockets any more, and John's got no way of keeping Sherlock from getting these easily by paying off the merchants. This will all come down to Sherlock's will, which is, indeed, a mighty force to be reckoned with... but only when it comes to getting what he wants, not when it concerns withholding things from himself. Of the two of them, discipline and moderation is easily John's forte.

John leans forward and picks up the pack, settling back to thumb open the top as if to check the contents. Perhaps he should feel sorry for going through Sherlock's room while he was away. The other man will know because he always did, no matter how carefully John tried to replace things. John doesn't feel bad about it, though. It just means he has only one choice in the matter at hand now, which is to accept. To pretend like he doesn't care would be a lie. ]

[ The journal is shut and set aside. The older man rises out of his armchair to cross the flat in silence to the window, which he opens. The fingers of his left hand tap the pack he still holds... before he shifts it and draws one of the pale slivers from the box. After placing it between his lips, he opens an empty hand, palm up, expectant. Lighter, please.

Here's his counter-offer, of a sort. Three months ago and John doesn't think Sherlock would have got it, nor would John have been inclined to do it. Now, though, he thinks the younger man might understand. ]

[Once he goes into his room and realises it has been gone through, there will be a momentary worry. After all, he has something secreted away there. Not for use but to avoid a row likely to be far more vicious than any over cigarettes. Especially so early. But he was extremely careful in choosing to hide the lone syringe that had found its way here. He hadn't even been looking for it-- it had been in its place in his evidence kit. A reminder of where he'd been before here.

Nothing had come with it, and he hadn't had any interest in finding either of the powders that should have accompanied it, been tucked away in a pouch of the kit. He was bored enough to smoke, but the situation wasn't yet dire enough to require anything stronger than nicotine. Working alone, hunting Moriarty and his assassins alone... that required more. But, even with Moriarty here, this place was... safe enough that he didn't need those.

But he wasn't sure John would believe him if he found the syringe. (Maybe, he considered, he wasn't being totally honest with himself. If he didn't think he'd ever have use for it, why keep it? ...But that's a question for another day.) Logic will dicate, though, after the initial concern that if John had found the syringe, he would have taken it from its hiding place and confronted him with it now.

As it stands, he looks at John holding the cigarette. Perhaps he has some idea what the game is. Perhaps he really is lost. Either way, his reply is simple, neither angry or dismissive. He's almost confused.]

You don't smoke.

[And always protest smoking quite a lot, in fact.]

You quit.

[ A simple retort for a simple statement. John's eyes track over the world outside the window for a moment, fingers pulling the cigarette out and rolling it between them with the delay. But then his gaze shifts and his brows heft as he stares at the other, asking for the next step and seemingly ready to follow through on the turnabout. ]

[His reply to Donovan can't be called on here. He can't just shrug it off, even if John knows better than her the erratic nature of his need for a cigarette.

Recalling Mycroft's answer when he mentioned smoking indoors won't help. John will just list off all the damage he could do to himself. Probably invoking the (irritating but perhaps not inaccurate) potential to slide into worse habits.

Pointing out that he's done worse in the months since he "died"... is precisely what he wants to avoid. He's sure John could guess, but he came here clean and he doesn't intend to undo that. One cigarette doesn't count.

Damn it.]

I'll quit again.

[After this one.]

[ John can see the internal debate going on here, or at least the fact that one is present. ]

Okay.

[ His palm is held out again. If it's just one, Sherlock... If it doesn't really count... If it's that important to you... ]

[Sherlock can identify sentiment when he sees it. Of course. He may not always understand the cause of it, but sometimes he can-- cutting the wife out of a picture, giving away a gift. This, though... It's sentiment of some kind.

He's trying to make some sort of point. Even if Sherlock can't quite deduce what it is.

John is the doctor. The one with all the objections to smoking.

Sherlock does retrieve a book of matches from his pocket. More useful than a lighter, he's found. Much more manoeuvrable, which makes them much more suitable for a variety of situations. He doesn't hand them over yet, though, just watching John.]

These are poor quality. Hardly what someone should start with.

[Bluff? Excuse? Or is he being serious?]

[ Have a flat look, Sherlock. That's what you're going for? ]

All cigarettes are shit. Besides, it's good enough for you. I don't see why I deserve any better.

[ And John doesn't mean to pick up the habit. He doesn't want to do this. But he will.

His fingers twitch and extend toward the matches, but he doesn't reach. Sherlock will have to give them to him. ]

[...Damn it.]

Good enough for a smoker who hasn't had one for awhile. Not something to start on.

[But it's weak. He knows it's weak.

It's not that he objects to John smoking. Not really. But John doesn't approve of smoking. So him picking up the habit... or even acting like he intends to pick up the habit.

Why should he care? He's always firmly told his flatmate (while sometimes listening to him, nonetheless) that what he does is none of John's business.

The reverse should be true.]

You won't like them.

Does it matter?

[ This is a development, or at least John is reading it as one. He doesn't think the other man would have protested months ago to this. He doesn't think Sherlock would have cared enough. But he will now, or that's what John thinks. And whatever Sherlock chooses to do about the matter may be telling to them both. ]

I wouldn't let a non-drinker start with Corona.

[That's his argument: If you're going to have a first something, it should be good.]

It's not the first time I've smoked.

[ College absolutely counts. What now, Sherlock? ]

You don't need to smoke.

[But he does. Needs to think. Needs to sort out the thoughts that he can't discuss. Figure out what to do about Moriarty, how much can be done without bringing John into it.

Without risking his friend more than necessary.]

If you smoke, I smoke.

[ There it is, Sherlock, this much and more out in the open. No more argument: this is how it's going to be so far as John is concerned. Now is the time for a decision. His hand is open. ]

[He's half tempted to give John the matches and watch him try to smoke the cigarette Sherlock already knows will be a disappointment to him and likely a choking hazard to John.

...Okay, so probably not that bad, but still...

If he doesn't hand over the matches and instead hands over the cigarette he's holding... John wins, and he's revealed more than he likes.
If he does hand over the matches and smokes a cheap American cigarette with John... he's still lost.

Damn it, John.

He says nothing, keeping his eyes locked on John.

Are we really going to do this?]

[ John is aware of the position he's putting Sherlock in. It's a game of hands now, if even that. He'll meet the other's stare, steady, waiting.

Looks like. ]

[Fine.

The matches are between fore and middle finger of his right hand, almost as if to be offered out... then it's back into his pocket.

He hasn't let go of his cigarette, though.]

[ Fine.

The top of the cigarette pack is thumbed open, and the cigarette between his fingers holding it, but John doesn't replace it. He also doesn't drop his open hand. Something needs to go there. ]

[Sherlock looks at John's hand, then at John's eyes.

He changes his hold on the cigarette, about two things from the end he'd light. One nail sort of pressing into the paper but not enough to break it. Not yet.

Another offer at compromise. This one entirely silent.]/small>

[ John's eyes go from Sherlock's to the man's hand and his silent proposal. After a moment's consideration, his own grip on his cigarette shifts to mirror Sherlock's. ]

[...Fine.

Fine.

With all due reluctance, the whole cigarette is put in John's hand. Sherlock's expression? Not a happy genius.

Not happy at all.

There will be sulking involved. And plotting how to get that box back. Without John noticing.]

[ There's a blink as the cigarette lands in his palm, a few milliseconds of staring at it before John's eyes move up to Sherlock's face. This had been a possibility, but not what John had expected. For a moment, the former soldier's expression is quite open with shock. The detective is playing his part, looking well and truly miffed at him for being denied the pacifier. John's role is to play a man who expected this outcome all along, because it was the right thing to do, but it's just not working out. He's touched.

His fingers fumble slightly replacing the cigarettes in their pack, and he drops his eyes awkwardly to pay attention to what the hell he's doing. His throat feels thick, so he clears it, softly. Instinct to not make a scene very quickly makes him move away from the window, though not... without reaching out to brush a hand across the other man's shoulder as he passes. ]

Dinner?

[Sherlock tells himself that he will simply find the pack later and sneak one of the cigarettes. John's mind isn't as acute. He won't remember that there's only one missing (smoked by the pack's previous owner, not by the detective) instead of two.

He'll sneak one in the middle of the night, smoke it outside. On the roof. Yes. It's decided. On the roof. He still has to prove to himself that he's not going to flinch away from heights, or train himself out of it if he does.

The question, though, pulls him out of one thought and into another. A thought about the mobile in the drawer. Of blood-red lips. His answer is automatic.]

I'm not hungry.

[And in a heartbeat, he remembers where he is and who he's talking to, and the tone is a little more relaxed. Somewhat more natural.]

I'll grab something later.

You're busy now?

[ Skeptical if curious. That box goes into his inner jacket pocket for now. Sherlock will try to lift it from him later - he can guess that. He'll have to think of somewhere good to put it, but for now he'll just be patting his pocket if Sherlock gets close or tries to leave the flat. ]

Appointments

(Luceti) [action, 2-21 : April 22nd, afternoon]

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