Asylumlock
Ahhh asylum AU is like literally my favorite but I can never get people to stay XC
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You: [asylum AU] John Watson was going to school for psychology, and for his field experience, he had signed up for a residency at St. Bart’s Mental Health Institution - he would essentially just be an orderly for a while, then he’d be allowed to sit in on actual sessions with a few patients. But first, of course, came the more basic duties. It was his first day on the job, and so far he was just changing linens in each room while the occupant was away at therapy or a meal. He was currently in the wing where they housed the particularly dangerous patients, and when he slid the key card into the scanner of the next room, the door popped open no problem. John backed into the room, arms full of sheets and blankets, but when he turned around....the room was very not empty.
Stranger: ((Responding now. Btw, I'm on my phone so it won't say I'm typing.))
You: ((Alrighty! Thanks!))
Stranger: It wasn't very difficult to avoid some of the routines other patients often were put under. The patterns were so dull, therapy, talks, disgusting food... Naturally, coming from a well known background, even Sherlock Holmes was able to do things as he pleased and receive little punishment. This was one of those moments, as he sat in his own world, his mind palace, before suddenly the walls came crashing down as a man entered the room. He glanced up from where he was seated. Fresh meat. How intriguing. "If you utter a word, attempt to call for anyone, or do another stupid move, I will have no trouble in stopping you," he said abruptly. "I could use the exercise. Close that door. Now."
You: John was frozen in his tracks. His eyes darted to the door, as though debating whether or not to take his chances....but then it was already swinging shut, closing on its own without his foot propping it open. He looked back to the patient warily, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. "Sorry, you weren't....I mean, there wasn't supposed to be anyone in here," was all he could think to say.
Stranger: "No, of course not," Sherlock interrupted rudely, waving the topic away with a flit of his hand. "Because you assumed, stupidly, that I was like the others. You instantly thought I was nothing more than a lunatic psychopath." He stood and gracefully, slowly approached the other, predator advancing upon prey so carefully that it was hard to notice until Sherlock was standing right before him. "You are the one at fault here. I hope you intend to make up for it. Especially since my concentration has been /destroyed/. I'm very bored these days..." he purred, absently letting his eyes drink in the sight of such close flesh.
You: John watched him with wide eyes, unsure what the best course of action would be. John leaned away when he was suddenly standing close, clutching at the blankets in his arms like they were a life raft. As it was, they were the only thing standing between himself and this patient. "Sorry!" he tried, his voice coming out in an embarrassing squeak. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I'll....pay more attention next time. I'll just...drop these off, and leave you to....concentrate again," John said hopefully.
Stranger: Sherlock suddenly slammed his hand against the door, just missing the man's head. The slam was loud but not enough to catch attention to the guards. "No you won't," he said simply. "You'll help me release some tension. Experiment. I haven't had a real body to play with for a while now." His fingers dragged over the man's chest, tugging at his collar and bringing him over to the bed. "But do sit down. I prefer a comfortable guest rather than an uncomfortable one," he said kindly, a smile on his face as he unceremoniously sat the man on to the bed. "Your name is John Hamish Watson, is it not?"
You: John swallowed, the linens falling to a pile on the floor as he was yanked forward and forced to sit on his bed. His eyes widened for a moment when the patient somehow knew his name - his /full/ name, including the embarrassing middle name he never told /anyone/ - but he steeled himself quickly, and tried to sit up a little straighter. "That's right," he confirmed, determined not to look as uneasy as he felt. "How'd you know that? And you're...Holmes?" he guessed, suddenly recalling another resident's description of the man in this wing.
Stranger: "Sherlock Holmes, in the flesh. As for how I know you? Connections. People give me details," Sherlock replied easily. "A simple name for a simple man, but you're not very simple, are you? You have a decent bone stucture, at least. A tad short." He walked over and grabbed the linens, tossing them near the bed besides just one. Fiddling with it, he went on. "You're new. I examine all things new, they go through me first. I do hope you know that and if you didn't then you do now. Don't pretend you're not afraid of me. Tell me how much you fear me. I need to hear it."
You: John just nervously watched the patient - Sherlock, what an odd name, but it was familiar once he'd said it out loud - able to look past the 'short' comment in his uneasiness. Looking back, he did recall one of his superiors mentioning Sherlock, but telling John that he'd learn more about the patients in the next few days. By the looks of it, some information would have been helpful /today/. "I...I don't know much about you," John confessed, trying to be honest. "I haven't been here long. I mean, you're in the Dangerous Persons wing, so....I know you're, well, /dangerous/, but..." He swallowed again, still watching Holmes. "What do you mean, 'examine'?"
Stranger: "Oh, boo, anyone can be dangerous if they put their mind to it," Sherlock scoffed. Tying one end of the cloth to the bedframe, he distracted John by continuing to converse. "Did you know that a very large percentage of psychiatrists are heavily influenced by their own patients? Their mind rots away, turns to madness. Or perhaps is simply triggere by another, such as in a chemical reaction. Are you catching on to what I'm saying? I hope you are, it could be useful later to you." Without warning, Sherlock had grabbed both of John's wrists and pulled them to the tied linen. He was quick, shoving him down, sitting on his chest as he fought to get his hands restrained. It was relatively easy and soon enough he had the man right where he wanted him. "Apologies if I damage you in ways I don't intend," he huffed. "Examine. To study each and every feature. To take in such information and keep it safely stored."
You: "W-wait!" John cried when Sherlock snatched his wrists and bound them with the sheet, his heart thudding rapidly in his chest as he started to struggle. But Sherlock was much stronger than he looked, plus he had the element of surprise on his side. John tugged at his arms and squirmed underneath him, but with Sherlock on his chest it was getting difficult to breathe when he moved around. "I know what examine /means/!" John exclaimed, his voice going high with his anxiety. "I meant....what the hell are you /doing/?"
Stranger has disconnected.
I'm just going to hope it was their internet....
