highfunctioning | T-plus 50 hours

Sherlock had been among the first to leave the customs area, due in part to the fact that he didn't announce this plan to anyone. Just tried a door -found it unlocked. He didn't have time for decision by committee, nor for continuing to listen to them all snivel about being homesick.

The ship was dark and, just as the room he'd left, untouched for a significant length of time. He trawled in semi darkness and tried every door he bumped into with no success. He wasn't able to walk far enough in one direction to guess at the shape or size of the ship, which was incredibly irritating.

At last, a door yielded to him, and he walked a few steps into a room before cracking his shin on an unseen piece of furniture.

Oh bloody hell goddamn son of a bitch fuck!

As he reached out to see what needed to die, he bumped quite accidentally into the safety torch [so it seemed to him, having no buttons or sharp edges] which blossomed to light at his accidental graze. It gave him a good enough look at the room.

Welcome to outer space, furnished by IKEA. He for one didn't plan on staying, and as such wasn't all that interested in checking out the space loo. He grabbed the torch and moved on.

---MANY HOURS LATER---

Snarling and beginning to look damn rough around the edges [two days unshaven] Sherlock sat in a pile of debris in the hall outside one of the bedrooms. Space forks, space ottomans, and space chairs lay all around him, the discarded tools of his would-be breaking of the panel opposite him. It had seemed more likely than the ones in the customs room, but had rebuffed him thoroughly.

He had long since ditched the hooded shirt [it was part of the pile] and was gathering his strength for another go at the wall. Capitulation was not an option.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

girl_who_waited

"Oh." That was all. One word, when Amy walked into the hallway.

Wide eyes. Surprised - well, of course she was surprised. "Need some help? With something. I mean, if I... can." What was he trying to do anyway? "Amy Pond." She opened her mouth to say something else, then closed it, looking over at the pile of things, and then back at him.

He reminded her - no words spoken, mostly sight unseen - of the Doctor. For some reason.

From:

highfunctioning

Sherlock's eyes only rolled toward the Scot. An odd, painful childhood looked back at him, but he was too tired to tell her all about it.

"Yeah, thanks. If you could just pop that panel off for me, I need to check the guages."

From:

girl_who_waited

"How do you know that there're gauges? And d'you have a crowbar or something?" She moved closer, looking at the pile of rubbish that Sherlock had amassed. "Who are you? That's usually how this goes. I say my name, you say yours, I try and give you a hand, and hope that whatever's skittering about doesn't decide we look delicious."

She turned the flashlight in her long fingers, her brows furrowed into a frown, but she moved closer to the panel anyway. "Have you been beating up on this? That's not going to help you, with how hard you're hitting it now. You don't happen to have a hairpin or a screwdriver or anything at all? Just a chair."

From:

highfunctioning

Sherlock fixed her with a look that John would have recognized instantly: you've said something insufferably stupid.

Asking if he had thought to use anything before the chair was like asking if he'd considered using a boat to cross the Channel.

Nah, thought a chair made more sense.

Actually, the Watson-esque simplicity and helpfulness was mollifying, so Sherlock was able to reply rather than bark at her to bugger off.

"Screwdriver? Of course. It's just by your foot; the one with the tines."

From:

girl_who_waited

Amy rolled her eyes. "Right. Well, you never know, you might have actually found something useful in the time you've had." If he was going to get shirty, well, she'd do the same.

Still wouldn't stop her from helping him, although- "Alright. I'll bash the chair against the wall just as much as you did, but I'd like to know who you are, first. Who are you?" She'd already walked over to the chair, and crouched, looking at it, and then at the panel. There were shallow dents already, and one big skidding scratch. "D'you think that there could be somebody who could hit it harder than you or I? There's a couple of the guys here who are bigger than both of us. And a Vulcan."

From:

highfunctioning

Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

Well, harder than you anyway. Acting a little tough probably makes you feel less lonely when he doesn't live up to your expectations.

Sassy women were entirely over-celebrated in modern culture, as far as Sherlock was concerned. So he responded to the only part of her little ramble that he didn't find irritating.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes."

And if you can so much as lift that chair I'll eat that bloody deerstalker.

From:

girl_who_waited

"Do you ever answer all of the questions that are asked of you?" She said it even as she lifted with her knees, making a face at the weight of the solid metal chair - but she did lift it, and turned her body to swing it at the panel with very very loud clang. The wall dented a bit more - less even then when he'd done it, and she set down the chair with another large clang.

"And of course you're Sherlock Holmes. Of course you are." She looked at him sourly, knowing full well that it meant he knew all sorts of nitpicky things about her, and he was a detective, and... well. She'd not read the books, but she'd seen the miniseries on the BBC when she was younger. "You know, I'd always thought you'd be older." And less skinny, really.

"And shouldn't you be detoxing or something?" She realised then that she was being ridiculously rude, and bit her lips together looking back at the chair. "You know, you could probably get one of these legs off, so you could pry with it." Changing the subject, because she'd just sort of rolled right over acceptable to ridiculous.

From:

wholeworldoutthere

Klaus had refused to sleep for as long as possible, in case they needed to reinject him to keep his powers at bay, but it seemed that he was a lot more easily tired, along with weaker, slower, and all around more human that had plagued him since his arrival on Proserpina. He had finally fallen asleep, and only just now been awakened by repeated thuds coming from somewhere close. He got some blood from the food-providing machine, once again wished for a proper drink (be it alcohol or actual live blood), drained the damn IV bag and discarded it before heading out to track down the origin of the sound.

And who did he find in the hallway but one Sherlock Holmes. He'd watched Mycroft after their release from quarantine, and there was no doubt in his mind. Sherlock Holmes, dirty, scruffy, sitting in the middle of... cutlery and furniture, it seemed, not all of it in tip top shape.

Of course it put a smile on Klaus's lips, never mind that it had roused him from sleep. It was something to behold, and so he paused a few feet from the detective, hands in his pockets, and leaned his shoulder against the wall to watch the show, ankles crossed in the most nonchalant of postures.

From:

highfunctioning

It took Sherlock a few minutes to realize he wasn't alone. Well, that there was a spectator to his grudge match with the wall. His head rolled to one side, and he looked without much interest. There were one or two things that struck him as odd immediately, but he was too drained to dwell on them.

"Do you want something?"

From:

wholeworldoutthere

"The sun, to be back with my sister, a nice single malt," Klaus offered with a half-smile, not in the least deterred by the abrupt tone. "In no particular order, but since that's all out of reach, I'll settle for watching you try and beat a wall down. They've done worse entertainment than that in reality TV - by far."

From:

highfunctioning

And they say I don't pick up social cues.

Sherlock hadn't wanted an answer, of course, just for the gawker to leave. The reference to crap telly made him think of John and Mrs Husdon, which didn't improve his demeanor.

"Well. Glad to be of use and now if you wouldn't mind. I'm working."

From:

wholeworldoutthere

"Oh, not at all," Klaus assured him, without moving. "Please go on."

It wasn't every day that one was face to face with Sherlock Holmes, after all, even if it was a more modern version than the one he had read of. Not that anything in this man indicated it, but Klaus's time with Mycroft had left no doubt as to the matter.

Social cues were only worth anything when you care about them, after all.

From:

highfunctioning

Sherlock was basically talking to himself when he spoke again.

"Don't know what I was thinking anyway. It's not as though I'm going to lift off the panel and it's going to say 'Made in Myanmar' on the back."

You're All Idiots

T-plus 50 hours

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