T-plus 50 hours

[highfunctioning]

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.

Comments

[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."

[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.

[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."

[wholeworldoutthere]

Highly unlikely, but wouldn't it be a lovely twist, Klaus thought. He didn't feel like answering something that hadn't been aimed at him, but there was something else.

"No, but break into the wall and we might eventually be able to catch whatever keeps making these skittering noises." Some of them were inside the walls, after all, and perhaps the slowest ones? He highly doubted that anyone was going to manage to break into the wall with pieces of chairs and ottomans, however.

Klaus doubted that finding out about the critters would change much in the great scheme of things, but far from being frightened by the noises, they made him curious. And he did love to indulge his curiosity.

[highfunctioning]

"Space food not to your liking?"

It was mildly amusing to think of everyone having reverted already to a hunter/gatherer society, stalking the space rats for food.

That's what his mind had decided to call them, anyway. Their scratching seemed epidemic throughout the areas he could access, but not of any real importance. He felt certain they were not in charge, numerous though they may be.

[wholeworldoutthere]

"Oh, the space food is most decidedly not," Klaus agreed, amused by the irony of Sherlock's words, much as he was far from ready to stoop so low as to drink from animals. As he had told Mycroft, that was one difference between his family and that of Lestat; no one in his drank from rats.

[highfunctioning]

Sherlock nodded, mocking the idea of total alignment between them.

"Well, I'm just in the process of addressing the kitchen staff, as it were, if you wanted to give me a hand with that panel."

[wholeworldoutthere]

"All of this for a good meal," Klaus answered, his smile as sardonic as his tone, and pushed off the wall to come closer. "Actually, let me have at it."

Sherlock Holmes did not seem to be a very strong sort of man, from his build alone; it would be a good test of exactly how strong Klaus was now. He picked up one of the sturdiest looking bit of furniture he could find, waited until Sherlock had moved off, and started to hit at the wall right by the panel, so that a hole might make it easier for them to pry off the panel cover.

It took him quite a few attempts, but there was soon a significant dent in the wall. However, Klaus was also out of breath, which he was not used to, and did not enjoy in the least.

[highfunctioning]

Sherlock was on his feet as soon as he saw the progress this suddenly-less-annoying fellow was making. He'd abused the wall for an hour and hadn't made more than a really mild dent. He wasn't the most athletic person in the world, but he wasn't exactly out of shape either. This man had to be quite freakishly strong.

But that was a point to consider later. For now, Sherlock was too enthralled with the newly exposed wiring and blinking lights, which he commenced immediately to studying.

...

He didn't recognize a single component. Nothing looked even the slightest bit like anything he'd seen before.

So he did what seemed to make the most sense, and started randomly fiddling with wires. It only took a few minutes for him to cross a pair that knocked him on his arse and killed the power to the hall they were standing in.

[wholeworldoutthere]

"Well," Klaus let out, standing in what seemed to him like half-light. His sight was not what it was once, but his eyes still acclimated better to obscurity than a human's, much as he did not realise it. He held a hand out to Sherlock, expecting him to see it and take it so he would help him up. "I don't think that's going to improve my diet any. Remind me to be more discerning about helping you in the future."

[highfunctioning]

I get that reaction a lot.

Now in total darkness, Sherlock tried to feel his way back to the torch he'd been carrying.

The villagers will probably be pretty irate if this is a widespread blackout. Though he doubted it from the strength of the shock he'd received -not enough juice there to power the whole ship, anyway.

[wholeworldoutthere]

And now Sherlock was crawling away from Klaus's offered hand. That made him frown, a frown which cleared when he noticed that Sherlock seemed to be feeling his way across the floor, as if he could not see a thing.

Oh yes, his frown cleared. He might not have his usual eyesight, but he still had better eyesight than a human. That was certainly good news, after his little show of strength.

Now that he'd realised the problem, he pulled a flashlight out of the pocket of his hoodie and turned it on. "Here."

[highfunctioning]

Now that he could see, Sherlock felt very silly crawling around on the floor in front of the vampire. Who else could he be? He was quite close to believing Mycroft's assessment of him as well, but that could wait.

He stood and snatched the torch, went back to fiddling with the wiring.

When in doubt, try everything.

[wholeworldoutthere]

Fine, then, not like Klaus absolutely needed the flashlight. He rolled his eyes, taking in a deep breath, and turned on his heels. "Try not to make anything explode," he recommended over his shoulder, although he did not sound very concerned.