Day 114 [locked to John Watson]
Jun. 21st, 2012 09:35 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
highfunctioningSherlock was back in the lab. Granted, he was accomplishing basically nothing, but staying in his room was garnering too much unwanted attention. So he decided a return to form was the only remedy, however mechanical. Currently he was running tests on a blood sample Mystique had been kind enough to furnish him with, and it served a double purpose; he'd been genuinely curious about her mutation, and she had been one of the over-interested parties who had demanded he "stop sulking." She had even been so bold as to suggest he "do something, anything", and far be it for him to deny her if she'd prefer to be stuck with needles. She had, however, made a funny "joke" about hunting him down if he allowed it to change ownership.
Mycroft would be pleased to note that he was not, in fact, high. His brother, rather unintentionally, had put Sherlock totally off the idea for the time being. It was no good transcending the mundane if Mycroft was lurking around the corner, watching him. Moreover, his brain had been so pathetically stagnant since Venice that he could hardly justify wasting the tiny phial on what currently passed for his life. But he made sure it was on hand at all times, in a pocket even as he slept. For security, though not entirely security from the threat of Mycroft finding and disposing of it. He would reach out and touch it intermittently, and he found the option implied by its proximity comforting.
The door opened, but he didn't bother looking up. The last thing he needed was to be drawn into a conversation with any of the other "scientists" on board. The only one he respected he had no designs on speaking to again, though his reasons were less than logical.
Mycroft would be pleased to note that he was not, in fact, high. His brother, rather unintentionally, had put Sherlock totally off the idea for the time being. It was no good transcending the mundane if Mycroft was lurking around the corner, watching him. Moreover, his brain had been so pathetically stagnant since Venice that he could hardly justify wasting the tiny phial on what currently passed for his life. But he made sure it was on hand at all times, in a pocket even as he slept. For security, though not entirely security from the threat of Mycroft finding and disposing of it. He would reach out and touch it intermittently, and he found the option implied by its proximity comforting.
The door opened, but he didn't bother looking up. The last thing he needed was to be drawn into a conversation with any of the other "scientists" on board. The only one he respected he had no designs on speaking to again, though his reasons were less than logical.
no subject
Date: 2012-06-25 02:53 pm (UTC)John knew it wasn't as simple as all that. There was still the question of how Sherlock had ended up here, his insistence that there was more to his death than John could puzzle out, and the knowledge that eventually Sherlock would demand that he recount that day's events exactly as they'd occurred. He would have to steel himself to be ready for that when it came. But for now, it was enough that Sherlock was (if you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however unlikely, must be the truth) here, alive, and safe.
It was more than John could have hoped for, to come to this impossible place only to find it was more like home than the place he'd left behind. He didn't know how long he'd be here, but however long it was, he didn't intend to waste a minute of it. "Alright," he said when he'd got himself under control again. "Show me how to work this food machine, and then we can go get you another phone."