perfection sends a powerful message
Sep. 23rd, 2012 09:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
highfunctioningIt was Abed's fault, really. Sherlock would have had little more interest in a golden orb than he had in the miniature Taj Mahal, but Abed's warning against close contact or attempted entry was intriguing. No doubt he would decline to answer any questions about the movie, so firsthand inspection was the only option.
Sherlock waited until the dead of night, when he was usually at work alone in the lab [unless John had come round to 'help' and fallen asleep on the table, not the case tonight], and crept down to the Porta.
The sphere was immense, certainly large enough to enter, but without any visible seam or blemish indicating a door. Sherlock made several slow circuits of the object, trailing his hand up and down its surface, his reflection surprisingly clear in spite of the curvature of the sphere.
He stepped back, hands in his pockets.
"Open sesame," he murmured, voice dripping with sarcasm. He didn't have the patience to stand there all night and guess what this giant plaything might require of him, so Sherlock turned to leave.
Before he got three steps, the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end, and he turned back to see his reflection in the sphere, larger than it should have been at this distance. It winked at him, and began to rise up and over the surface of the sphere...
Some time later, Sherlock became aware that he was no longer facing the sphere. He knew he hadn't turned around, and concluded that the loss of time had to mean he'd somehow entered the sphere. Oh good, good. Yes now we're getting somewhere.
He dashed back to the lab to begin testing himself for anomalies.
Sherlock waited until the dead of night, when he was usually at work alone in the lab [unless John had come round to 'help' and fallen asleep on the table, not the case tonight], and crept down to the Porta.
The sphere was immense, certainly large enough to enter, but without any visible seam or blemish indicating a door. Sherlock made several slow circuits of the object, trailing his hand up and down its surface, his reflection surprisingly clear in spite of the curvature of the sphere.
He stepped back, hands in his pockets.
"Open sesame," he murmured, voice dripping with sarcasm. He didn't have the patience to stand there all night and guess what this giant plaything might require of him, so Sherlock turned to leave.
Before he got three steps, the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end, and he turned back to see his reflection in the sphere, larger than it should have been at this distance. It winked at him, and began to rise up and over the surface of the sphere...
Some time later, Sherlock became aware that he was no longer facing the sphere. He knew he hadn't turned around, and concluded that the loss of time had to mean he'd somehow entered the sphere. Oh good, good. Yes now we're getting somewhere.
He dashed back to the lab to begin testing himself for anomalies.
