OOC: You have absolutely no idea how hard I have tried to re-find you after a year of no you. FINALLY, here you are. Thank you for coming back Brianna o3o
OOC: Oh my goodness, hello! You have no idea how stupidly happy it makes me to hear that people actually cared enough about my cosplay things to seek me out! I gave it up due to some fandom drama and real life complications, but I’m so glad to be back. I have grand plans and hopefully some neat things in store, so thank you so incredibly much for your support, you lovely human being!
There's something irrevocably dull about going home, Jim thinks, sinking back into his armchair. Home is safe, and secure, carefully and completely removed from his everyday life. Truly, no one does--and no one could--get to him here; it's separate entirely from Jim Moriarty, not even connected by the slightest trace of reference or homage. There is no deftly wound path leading through a thicket; there is no path at all.
This place isn't a part of him. Not a part of his present, nor a remnant of his past, and there is no future to speak of. It's stagnant and dusty and filled with the smells of a place unlived-in, abandoned to all but the housekeeper who comes round twice a month to keep the vermin out and Jim himself, when there is a moment of spare time in which he finds himself at loose ends.
It doesn't happen often; he is a busy, busy man.
The furniture, the decor, even the vinyl collection on the mantel above the unused fireplace--they all belong to another era, something before his own time, and he doesn't care to update it. There would be little point, little value, and something of himself would most certainly find its way in. He has to be careful not to create any links. As much as coming home is a bore, not having anywhere to go on those few occasions he finds it necessary would be even more onerous.
He reaches to the side table, picks up the apple and the knife and carves out a slice. It's crisp, riding the knife's edge between tart and sweet, and delicious. The snow is coming down outside, cold and wet, and he considers tossing the apple in the oven to bake. It's a brief thought, spurred by a memory of cinnamon and apples and hot cocoa, but he dismisses it quickly. Cinnamon is a distinctive smell, and has a tendency to linger. No links.
He finishes the apple, setting the core down with little regard for the lacquered tabletop. He stares at the light glinting off the edge of the blade. It's sharp, dangerously so, and drawing blood would be easy. Too easy, in fact. He sets the knife down as well, sips his tea, and stares, instead, at the snow drifting down outside his window. (drabble by tseecka)
If you're here looking for something as dull as larceny, forgery, blackmail, or even a nice clean murder, kindly seek out one of my agents. They will pass on the necessary details to me.
On the other hand, if you have something interesting for me to consider...by all means, you have my attention.
You’re never in the mood, love. To be fair, though, I’m not exactly in the mood for your whining either. Normally these headaches go away after a few hours…
You assume that you’re right, but offer absolutely nothing to support that claim. I think you’re afraid that in a true test of intelligence I would outwit you.
You’re never in the mood, love. To be fair, though, I’m not exactly in the mood for your whining either. Normally these headaches go away after a few hours…
You're never in the mood, love. To be fair, though, I'm not exactly in the mood for your whining either. Normally these headaches go away after a few hours...
I would suggest it is more a case of my mental capacities being devoted to more worthy pursuits. Your focus on avoiding illness may well be the reason you have yet to entirely stump me with any of your little games.
Feisty today, are we? Darling, if I really wanted to stump you, I would have done it ages ago. The back-and-forth is a necessary part of this game, and if I challenged that cute little mind of yours too much, I would be down a player. You see?
I would suggest it is more a case of my mental capacities being devoted to more worthy pursuits. Your focus on avoiding illness may well be the reason you have yet to entirely stump me with any of your little games.
Feisty today, are we? Darling, if I really wanted to stump you, I would have done it ages ago. The back-and-forth is a necessary part of this game, and if I challenged that cute little mind of yours too much, I would be down a player. You see?
I would suggest it is more a case of my mental capacities being devoted to more worthy pursuits. Your focus on avoiding illness may well be the reason you have yet to entirely stump me with any of your little games.
Feisty today, are we? Darling, if I really wanted to stump you, I would have done it ages ago. The back-and-forth is a necessary part of this game, and if I challenged that cute little mind of yours too much, I would be down a player. You see?
I could say the same for you. I distinctly remember John complaining to a few members of the Yard about a certain consulting detective with a bit of a sniffle. I may have saved the recording.
I’ve never denied that I make a miserable patient. Unfortunately the hours that I keep, and my diet, along with my sleeping schedule, make it…difficult to maintain my immune system.
You say that like it’s an excuse, but you’re forgetting that we live somewhat similar lifestyles. It’s mind over matter, Sherlock, and it appears my mental capacities are significantly more apt at warding off disease.
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