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And now for Reichenbach art coming your way.Â
Sherlock~
Loki.
Screencaping for the perfection of this set and the amount of notes. B|
[[ Semi-Hiatus announcement. ]]
[[ As much as I've tried, my muse for this account has pretty much dwindled down to a bare minimum, and I'd hate to force myself to reply here and only give half-assed characterization. What this means: - I will be here, on and off. I will be slow, and I don't promise I'll be on for more than an hour or two a day. - By no means am I abandoning the account completely, I'm hoping to dig out some of the books, maybe think up a plot, rewatch the series etc. - If there's a post you really want brought to my attention, you can use one of the contacts to talk to me. - I love everyone who has stuck around for this ridiculous brain-dead time of mine, and I hope I'll be back to normal soon enough. Contacts: MSN - [email protected] Skype - thestarkcissist Personal Tumblr - betterclenchup-legolas Include your URL when contacting me, and take care. ]]
The outburst caught him off guard. John had maintained composure in the most stressful of situations, and yet somehow this had set him off more than each of those. However, it did nothing to drive the point any further home than heâd been doing previously, and Sherlock took a step toward, keeping his eyes fixed on the doctor and lowering his voice. âYou do not get to decide which of us deserves to live more, is that understood?â There was a firm tone to his voice which didnât give way to the sharp stab of distress the idea caused him. Of walking away, of finding out that the other man might have harmed himself if he hadnât been there to distract him. That he truly would have preferred to die, than harm someone else. âThe world will always have detectives, but it will always need doctors,â Sherlock said calmly, lifting his hands and setting one on either of Johnâs shoulders, âDonât argue about this with me, we both know once Iâve made a decision, there is little someone can do to dissuade me,â He said firmly. âI have no interest in finding you dead some day due to my negligence.â
John felt the hot thrum of anxiety and shame of his illness. Something he had thought he was long past, but that was the tricky thing about a disease like that. One did not easily recover, there was always the chance of the psyche being dragged back into the pits of an uncertain hell. When Sherlock was there, there was always an outlet, a distraction but for those three years he had been gone, John felt his own shortcomings at his throat. And then the man tried to convince him that he wasnât simply replaceable.
âYouâre wrong you knowâŠ..Saying that the world will always have detectivesâŠ.maybe, but not like you. Youâre the only one in the world.â He finally pulled hos eyes up to meet Sherlockâs âYou have no interest in finding me dead, just the same as I have no interest in find your corpseâŠ.Iâve done it onceâŠ.imagine how Iâd feel If I were responsible for it Sherlock.â He knew the other man wouldnâtâŠ.couldnât understand. But he understood Sherlockâs stubbornness, the meaning behind it. Sherlock wanted to fix the problem.
âYou canât help me if youâre dead.â
"And I can't help you if you won't allow me to be present." Exhaling impatiently, Sherlock took a step forward, gripping one of John's wrists and tugging the man, urging him to meet his eyes. "You know what I do for a living, I have put myself in countless positions of danger, all for strangers, and the mindless-If you presume to think I wouldn't do the same for my friend then you have made a very poor deduction of my character," He said calmly. Amidst the conviction, and that sheer stubborn will, there was concern. The sick turn of his stomach which told him that he might one day find John hurt because he chose to turn his back. "I don't care for your approval in the matter-When you need help, you will come to me. It isn't a request, John."
Yes-Really, how are you having difficulty grasping that?
[Exhaling, he rolled his eyes, sinking back into the couch further.] Hm? Oh, no reason. Heâs annoying me. He keeps texting me about some kidnapped diplomats daughter, as if I should care. Itâs hardly my fault they donât invest in decent security, or that the ânot-so-secretâ service is so dull as to have missed all the obvious clues. [He kicked up his heels, propping them on the arm of the chair as he crossed his arms, dropping his phone carelessly on the couch beside him.] I donât see why youâre being so difficult over this-It wouldnât take you more than a few seconds, must you be so childish, John?
Iâm being childish? First of all, you want me to send a text you easily couldâve done yourself and saved all the trouble. Secondly; bloody hell, Sherlock! I know youâre not this heartless! You honestly canât expect me to know you havenât solved it in your head already.
Thereâs a poor girl out there, Sherlock, going through God knows what, and you have the audacity to sit here when you have the answers floating in front of your nose? If youâre so adamant on having me text Mycroft, just simply tell me where youâve deduced that sheâs at and Iâll tell him for you.
Of course I know where she is, don't be dull. And she's in no immediate danger. It's an attempt to rally sympathy for the diplomat in an upcoming election. She's staying with her Aunt overseas-Now, would you text Mycroft already. The confidence you have in me is truly staggering if you would assume I'd let a case go unsolved simply because I take issue with my brother.
âWell-I think about the important things,â Sherlock remarked, settling into his own chair and settling his hands in his lap, fingers bridging with one another, and an amused tilt to his lips. âI will endeavour to keep you informed of my movements, John, though do try not to worry. I have absolutely no plans on dying once more-It seems rather repetitive,â He said, moving his hand in a dismissive gesture, âAnd were Mycroft not so insistent otherwise, I would have had you accompany me-It was utterly dreadful, and more than boring,â He droned with an impatient tone to his voice. Really. He preferred having John about. Heâd grown used to the company, even to appreciate it. âI donât suppose anything of interest happened while I was gone?â
John had to physically stop himself from snapping at Sherlock for not being among the  âimportant thingsâ Jesus he needed to sleep, he hadnât in the past two weeks, worried out of his mind, terrorizing Lestrade to find Sherlock, not that the Inspector knew anything. It wasnât until Mycroft informed John that Sherlock was on his return flight home that he had been on a case in America.
âYea⊠your brother is a right twat sometimes it seems.â He murmured.  Normally John  wouldnât encourage the insulting of the elder Holmes, it only caused more fights but he couldnât be arsed.
âHave you not read the papers? I would have thought you would. Sâabit like Christmas come early for you I would think.â
"Sometimes? I hardly think so-That seems rather an underestimate, John," Sherlock corrected, looking sour. He'd never quite liked conceding to what his brother asked, or really, told him to do. This was no exception. "No, no. I've avoided it-To keep from the disappointment of the boring and otherwise dull amount of criminal offenses. I caught sight of a robbery on the first page-If they think that is news worthy, then there's likely little which would challenge my mind." He settled into his seat, fidgeting all the while. Back barely a day and already that boredom was settling into it's usual place in his mind.
Sherlock AU:Â Loki is behind everything
thewhiphandx started following you
jamiehoopershortforjames started following you
Sherlock Holmes.
I didnât think it would trouble you. [He almost looks as if heâs attempting to determine how it couldâve bothered the doctor at all.] I apologize. [It sounded like he was testing the phrase, though by assumption, itâs what he should be saying, and if it would spare him a lecture from the irate man, heâs willing to sacrifice a little of stubbornness.]
âOf course you didnât âŠ.youâre the bloody genius who doesnât think.â
John sighs and reclines back into his chair, running a hand over his face. He doesnât have the energy to fight with Sherlock, or to try and translate this into Holmes-speak as to why it was wrong. He knows he is being flippant and childish, but he still remembered the sting of hurt.
âItâs fineâŠfine nowâŠ.Thank you.â He knew that Sherlock was attempting to use the proper response through evidence of the past. John would have commended him for it, if he wasnât so bloody annoyed in the first place, still, Sherlock was tryingâŠeven if he monumentally botched things in the first place. âJustâŠ.a note in the future if youâre planning on leaving London? So I donât have a heart-attack thinking youâve gone off and died again.â
"Well-I think about the important things," Sherlock remarked, settling into his own chair and settling his hands in his lap, fingers bridging with one another, and an amused tilt to his lips. "I will endeavour to keep you informed of my movements, John, though do try not to worry. I have absolutely no plans on dying once more-It seems rather repetitive," He said, moving his hand in a dismissive gesture, "And were Mycroft not so insistent otherwise, I would have had you accompany me-It was utterly dreadful, and more than boring," He droned with an impatient tone to his voice. Really. He preferred having John about. He'd grown used to the company, even to appreciate it. "I don't suppose anything of interest happened while I was gone?"
âŠbloody bastard.
I suspect youâre cross with me, then?
Three years I think youâre dead. And then youâre not.Â
Then you go and disappear for two weeks. Two.bloody.weeks.
NoâŠof course Iâm not cross.
I didn't think it would trouble you. [He almost looks as if he's attempting to determine how it could've bothered the doctor at all.] I apologize. [It sounded like he was testing the phrase, though by assumption, it's what he should be saying, and if it would spare him a lecture from the irate man, he's willing to sacrifice a little of stubbornness.]