IC Contact

[unpuzzling]

Hopefully, this will be important.

[leave all means of private IC contact here. as a warning, Sherlock has stupid texting habits like a teenage girl. be prepared for really ridiculous acronyms.]

Comments

audio.

[grimmig]

[ what. Watson? it was Watson who had Moriarty tumble? that she tumbled at all is news and he'll have to bring it up, but Watson? it sits alien in his head, lies contrary to any understanding he's laid over the name. Watson: threat. a Watson. a Watson, a threat.

my.

immediately she rockets into his field of vision as a piece elevated from its board, the potential of a pawn being something else entirely. he might be a man well in touch with his own majesty but he's never blinkered, he didn't get there wielding stupidity. if she's something, she's something. and he'll find her out. she, Joan Watson, newly listed to be examined as something other than a tool for mangling Sherlock Holmes. it's fascinating. annoying, horribly annoying, and he's predisposed by sheer force of bafflement to the notion that they're all just a lot more touchy feely a universe over and it's to blame for absolutely everything else— but fascinating all the same.

and it's absolutely not what he came here to discuss. Sherlock's suggestions are perfectly sound on that front: he'll get better talk from his counterpart and the woman herself.]

Nice, nice, nice. Lovely, really, thanks for that.

[so, onwards to what brought him lurking... ]

Question, though: why did you bother to tell me she didn't exist? She was perfectly safe worlds away, but you still gave me a "no" when I asked you if you had one.

audio.

[unpuzzling]

Ah, that.

[If this were a video, he would shrug. He does shrug, even if it's only for the benefit of himself.]

I wasn't under the impression that you believed me. But it was an open-ended question: she was not here, after all.

audio.

[grimmig]

Well of course not. But you bothered, and that's fun. Why did you? To be difficult? To be clever? Or maybe it just slipped right out.

audio.

[unpuzzling]

[A string of questions. It was, ultimately, a means of protecting her in advance, but he gave up on all notions of that the moment she arrived of her own accord and became familiar with Moriarty.

There are some things that Sherlock himself cannot prevent, and he is, if nothing else, practical. He is eccentric and rash and a list of other things, but he does believe in practicality to some degree.

Still, he wonders whether Moriarty is simply blind, or if he just wants the benefit of Sherlock telling him. Either way, he refuses; that part is certainly being difficult.]

Given the nature of the question, how would it merely slip out? Wishful thinking, perhaps?

audio.

[grimmig]

[as always, as ever, James Moriarty cannot quite understand. he knows what he's found, knows exactly why, but that Sherlock Holmes is so weak to succumb to it is always one bruise too many. it's a bruise he can take, of course it is, he'll be a pulp six feet under before he shrinks from a blow, but it's the one that makes him flinch. so, because he can't but wish for something better from the one (now two) mind(s) that have enough promise to give him something worth chewing over, he has to ask. has to look for something better than to keep her safe.

god. this is where it all went downhill. and already, before we've even begun, you're a w a s t e.

Jim is softer, somber.]

I should be so lucky.

[oh, for a world where a Holmes resents his Watson. cities would burn. angels would fall. it would all be so much better.]

audio.

[unpuzzling]

[The crispness of the words makes it clear to Sherlock that Moriarty has found himself with something that he doesn't necessarily want to understand or accept. The lack of acceptance does not necessarily surprise Sherlock; in some way, Sherlock and Moriarty (in his world) are not so different. They are obsessed with what makes them unique, and a bond with someone like a Watson, so human and full of compassion, might seem weak.

It might seem ordinary.

And in that way, Sherlock is willing to accept it. But he has learned a great many things about being so obsessed with that aspect of himself. Joan has helped him along, but more than anything, his own, lingering interactions with his friends in New York have helped him along.

Instead of remarking upon it directly, he takes a different angle.]

You and her are not so different. [Not Watson, obviously.]

Perhaps I can make a recommendation. Perhaps what you seek ... [He feels rather pleased when he pauses.] ... is in each other? And not some man who could be great.

audio.

[grimmig]

Oh.

[the tone is changed almost immediately. a delicate little laugh. oh. o h. isn't that cute? isn't that absolutely quaint? perhaps what you seek...] Are you trying to set us up? And here I was under the impression you'd rather we didn't get too intimate. Sherlock, your concern for the both of our future happiness is heartwarming.

But I've always loved me. That's never been an issue, and I'm sure she and I will take great chunks of each other and savour the flavour - and when we're done, when we're sated and rubbing our bellies and licking our wounds and giggling over just how much fun we had, there'll be that little ache. That little, hhhhungry ache, that little craving sitting in our bloated guts and whispering into our ears, "feed me feed me feed me". And I'll think back on a time not so long ago, of a shelf full of ingredients sitting next to the perfect recipe card, and I'll be so disappointed to remember how they were spoiled before I had chance to properly prepare the dish.

[there. there we have it. he hopes, perhaps, that clarifies a little his position. you can bite and bite and bite at forbidden fruits, feast on something sumptuous, but it'll never wipe away the hunger for the one thing your tongue never touched, your knife never pierced, your teeth never tore at.

the longer the wait, the more divine the scraps that line your belly, the more ravenous the need for that one thing you'll never taste. and the more that needs drives you m a d.]

I'm not hungry, Sherlock, see? I'm not hungry. I just like to eat.

audio.

[unpuzzling]

Ah. I'm not interested in playing with your metaphors, Jim. They bore me. [Jim instead of Moriarty, a separation. He is not her, and it suits what he is saying. He is careful, to some degree, to ensure that remains true. Moriarty is correct in assuming that Sherlock wants them to have nothing to do with one another, but he will not give them that satisfaction. He knows it is unwise to let them conspire with each other, to let them run free, but as of right now, there is little he can do to stop that.

Kick up a fuss like a child in a grocery and he won't get his way. As much as it is tempting to act in a temperamental fashion, to let his emotions get the best of him, he cannot let them.

Because those emotions will be a weakness. She is his weakness, his lack of clarity, and he cannot allow that clarity to double so far that it becomes an overwhelming fog. Emotions will lead to that. Humanity will lead to that. Some things cannot be helped (his high regard for Joan which leads to a protective instinct is one of them), but others can. He can control that.]

You seek what it is you enjoy. You do not enjoy those who don't meet your expectations. The only reason why you might desire a Sherlock is because of what might have been. It's the last slice of pizza even if you weren't actually hungry. [He bunches up his face at the thought. He hates bringing up food, bringing up the metaphor.] But there is no Sherlock Holmes without a J Watson of some type. I believe it more accurate to think that our lives are spent waiting for that moment. Not your moment.

That is the universally frustrating truth.

audio.

[grimmig]

[as much as he's loathe to admit it, the bitterness of it helps the ring of truth. it's likely accurate to think that Sherlock's stumble around the world without a single clue about themselves until they meet their Watson and realised, yes, I too could be a pathetic sheep and wander through these flocks and maybe I'll never follow the rest but I'll follow this one so I'll be heading in the right direction anyway. that the life of every Sherlock Holmes is built around that moment is an unsavoury fact, but one that Jim doesn't mind recognising given the hindsight of everything he knows. because the fact remains that if a Moriarty were to swoop in just a little sooner, lay its eggs and murder any pesky parasite that came to nibble away at the uncarved man to ~find the truth within~, any Holmes could be incubated into so much more.

but such is life. never seems to work out the way that's best. or perhaps it works out the way that's best for humanity, just not the way that's best for him. and the more time that passes, the more he talks to these familiar unfamiliars, the more it dawns on him from beneath a thick haze of what might have been (very good, Sherlock, nail on the head) that he barely even cares.

if Sherlock Holmes was born to be worthless, let him be worthless. it's no skin off Jim's back.]

True. True.

[in the privacy on his room, his face bends into mock regret despite the fact there's no eyes to see it.]

Unfortunately, I'm a compulsive eater. So the chances are I'll go for that pizza anyway.

audio.

[unpuzzling]

[What an unsurprising conclusion. Sherlock could say a great deal more about the matter, but he chooses not to. There is no arrangement here where he can lend Moriarty an understanding of the true wonder of Watson, and frankly, he isn't interested in offering her up (or him up) in such a way to make this man see that.

There's really no point to it.]

It's a good thing I believe myself to be a far greater man than simply pizza.

[An odd statement, to say the least.]

But the other Sherlock. He likely believes himself to be the same, but is too boring to be anything but. You're a match for him, I do believe.

audio.

[grimmig]

[the bites and bluster roll over like water off a duck's back. oh, these holmes. their patter, their ways of working things to suit their own dreary needs, their own elevated but still dangerously patterned thought trains. this Sherlock, at least, still humours him wonderfully: it's something to be appreciated. but it's nothing fresh, a bland sort of goading - recognisably Holmes.

fun enough to play along with. it's a dance he doubts he'll tire of until the repetition really makes it old, and since the music here is entirely different it shakes off that threat, pushes it back some.]

You do change your tune, Sherlock. First you're pizza, then you're not. First you're lacking, then you're greater. I'm starting to get whiplash. Do you want me on your tail or don't you?

[and then, because he's curious, because it'll inform the tone of these little detours:]

Did John tell you the story yet?

audio.

[unpuzzling]

To me, I changed nothing. [It's clipped and simple, direct enough.] And I gained enough information to be suitable. But I find myself lucky. Two Watsons as resources. [Resources. It's indicated for a reason. Not just to show his hand (he doesn't care about that), but to show that he's willing. He remembers the shock on John's face when he indicated that he would accept his offer for help.]

audio.

[grimmig]

Oh yes, oh yes. Two Watsons. Lucky, lucky.

[ he's all slimy sarcasm and empty enthusiasm, but underneath it he's gleaming. that's a few more players on the board, waiting for such a time as he decides to set the rules and start play. nice to know you're appreciated. ]

Always good to have your mascots on hand.