Appointments

[theblogger]

This post is for IC threads that don't fit in logs or network posts (aka this is an excellent choice for a private thread).

Games: Ataraxion and Luceti

Please indicate the date and the game you're from in the subject line!

Comments

ax (permaction)

[logicals]

<sub>[ They haven't spoken since their most recent differences, and Sherlock had been told point blank to make sure he keeps an eye on Alpha John - which he has been, in his own little way. Subtly following him when he doesn't have much else to do, keeping his distance and using the skills that allow him to stay hidden within plain sight. He doesn't want a repeat of their conversation, and he wasn't entirely certain how long he should leave it before he tried again. It's been a few days by now, and Sherlock has been reminded quite forcefully just how bad he is at acting like a normal human being.

He's been trying to think of an appropriate way to get back into his good books, and for the most part, he'd come up with nothing (or at least nothing appropriate).

But then he discovered that there's a cow in the oxygen garden. Surprisingly enough, it's actually quite difficult to milk a cow when your hands are predominately cold, but somehow he managed. And after making a cup of tea with John's metaphorical name on it (not to mention with real, genuine milk), he makes his way through the ship and towards medbay to catch the doctor in a better mood than the last time they spoke. ]</sub>

[theblogger]

[ John is working. A week and he's back, for better or worse, and no one says anything about it. He outranks the other personnel by seniority and he (the other John) seems to know well enough to leave himself to it. Truth be told, if this was home, John doesn't know if he could have done it, but he's been here for over half a year now, and here isn't London. When things happen here, this medbay is the last defense; there's no A&M, no little clinics dotting the city. There's only seven of them - what they do matters. And, well, he doesn't have much else to do anymore, does he? This is sort of what he imagined life would have been like after the war, had he never been up to the prospect of having a flatmate. Work, day in and day out. And John's been given a project. He throws himself on it.

There's a pile of thumb drives next to John, who sits at one of the counters flicking through his communicator to read each. The print on each are frankly tiny, but there are a few consistent words: 'gene', 'recombinant', 'embryonic', 'medicine'.

John glances up when he hears Reaper, his assigned bodyguard (not John's choice), shifts. A second later, Sherlock walks through the door. For a moment, John's face slackens to see him, surprised, but then his eyelids dip, head tilting just so slightly. Maybe Sherlock recognizes the look, maybe he doesn't: it wasn't who John was expecting.

But the doctor tilts his head in a subtle sign of invitation, reaching one-handed to rub at his eyes as he sets the communicator down. ]

[logicals]

<sub>[ He notes the man sitting close by, keeping an eye on John and his general surroundings. He knows a guard when he sees one, the man's keeping close tabs on John whilst John remains pointedly oblivious in regards to Reaper's existence. That's a cue Sherlock can take on, so whilst Reaper makes a noise to signify Sherlock's arrival, the detective merely offers him a nod before all of his attention is turned back onto John. He looks as though he hasn't slept for days, and who could honestly blame him? His best friend turned up dead a mere week ago, and whether there are duplicates or not on board, that's hard to cope with. Sherlock understands, he does. Even if he was the one to leave John by stepping off of that building, he still knows what it's like to lose the one person you've always thought you could count on.

He may not be especially good at being a being of sentiment, but he's not quite given up the ghost just yet. Of course, he's doing it all wrong - there's no google here to aid him towards being socially acceptable, and he's not about to go around and ask his peers. It was difficult enough trying to reason with his own John regarding this one - he knew he needed to keep an eye on him, but how could he, when John's too busy shaming him for the death of his other? He'd do his best, but there's only so much Sherlock is willing to do in order to make an idiot out of himself (and that's precisely how he feels right now - like an absolute prat, practically begging for John's attention despite the argument they recently had.

He's not usually the one to overlook his ego, but this time it couldn't be helped.

Sherlock offers a small smile by way of a greeting, carefully glancing over John and trying to read into his body language everything he doesn't want to ask. ]</sub>

I brought you tea.

_{[ A peace offering: he holds it up before setting it down in front of John, looking expectantly at him as he waits. He stands just beyond the table, hands snaking into his pockets as he overlooks the thumb drives stacked beside the doctor. ]}

[theblogger]

[ He brought tea. The doctor's eyes rest on the mug placed before him, then flicker up to Sherlock. Even if he doesn't do it, an arch of a brow is implied. The last time Sherlock tried to apologize to him with such a gesture, he'd laced the beverage in question with what he thought might be a hallucinogen. He was wrong, of course, but it was the thought that counted, wasn't it?

It's the thought that counts.

John reaches for the drink a moment later, lifts it to sip. His brow furrows just a tiny bit, but he swallows. ]

Mm. It's cold.

[ But he doesn't give it up, even takes another begrudging sip. He knows why Sherlock is here. He's also aware of how he himself acted and he's a bit sorry for it. But just like Sherlock isn't outright saying it, with being here, with giving this, neither is John. ]

What do you need?