jumpthegun | IC Inbox (v1.0)

[He taps away for a minute or two, writing a message to the admin, ignoring John's warning because there must be a way to delete old posts made.

So after he's sent the message, he quickly navigates through the settings to attempt to delete it. Whether he's successful or not, he'll send a further message out which he won't delete as a red herring.

To @309_W1C_2DZ:
Reminder. Contact Greg.

After which, he will hand it back, safe in the (presumed) knowledge, that John will only see the second and more innocent of the messages.]

[John sees the most recent message sent out, but Sherlock was holding onto his tablet too long for that to be the sum of it. He checks his other private messages. What luck that the ADMIN already told him messages can't be deleted from the network, only screened.

And there it is. He taps out his own messages to cancel the prescription and ask about what others Sherlock might have.

He steps away for a moment after that to go put his tablet away. When he approaches Sherlock again, it's to grab him by the collar and yank him down, if he can. Regardless, he'll issue his warning.]

If you ever try to use my name to get your fix again, Sherlock, we're gonna have a problem. Is that understood?

[He's too busy feeling self congratulatory and preparing to turn back to his experiments to notice a little thing like John's body language being much less relaxed than it was a few minutes ago, so he's quite easily grabbed and pulled down.

There's no guilt.

There's annoyance for having been found out so easily, irritation at his own apparently sub-par skills - especially if John, technology novice, can find his deleted messages - and perhaps a slight tinge of regret for not covering his tracks better.]

My fix, John.

[He repeats it with a raised eyebrow, not bothering to try and remove his collar from John's grip yet. He doesn't want to actually get punched.]

I'm not an addict, I'm only taking precautions. If the supplies are running low, it makes sense to have some painkillers in reserve in case of further injury. Unless you think it would be more sensible to wait until injury happens, and then be told they're out of stock?

[John lets go of the other man, but glares up at him, hands on his hips.]

How many more prescriptions d'you have, Sherlock? I've asked the Admin, expect I'll be getting an answer there in a bit, but I'd like to hear it from you, the not-addict.

[So perhaps he's been taking a few more drugs in his time than in John's time, but it's all been for a good cause. For Magnussen, to trick him, and perhaps it aids his thinking too. Perhaps it's not such a bad thing. Mycroft and John are needless worriers, he's not a fool, he knows how to calculate the chemical compounds in a safe manner and regulated drug use is rarely fatal.

There's a moment's pause as he weighs how likely it is for the admin to be honest. Unfortunately, he thinks it's likely that the response will be very honest, so there's no real use in lying here. Perhaps evading, though.]

You're as bad as Mycroft, listen to yourself. I just use it as an aid to thinking, it's all controlled.

Sherlock! [His name is a snarl, frustration and fear for his friend mounting. John recalls that they're not alone and lowers his voice to a furious whisper.] Listen to yourself. Deduce yourself! You went behind my back and tried to trick me to secure your drugs. What the hell are you thinking? This isn't the place to muck about with narcotics. I don't care if it's controlled. You need to stop.

Edited 2016-11-14 01:50 (UTC)

Of course I had to trick you, you never would have prescribed them to me otherwise, you've spent too long listening to Mycroft and his opinions of my life. I'm not an idiot, John, I know what I'm doing.

[His body language is irritation and defensiveness personified. Do they think that he doesn't know that they collaborate in the shadows to monitor him as if he were a common junkie?]

You're making a mountain out of a molehill. Do you want an apology for prescribing without a medical license? Fine, I'm sorry, can we move on now, please? In case you haven't noticed there are far more important things to do and discuss.

You know what you're doing. It doesn't make you any less of an idiot. I'm not mad because you prescribed without a license. I'm mad because you're my best friend, I love you, and I don't want you accidentally ODing because you're suffering from MN poisoning, or there's an effect that starts messing up our perceptions, or it just gets to be too much! You are important to me. That makes this important.

Edited 2016-11-14 14:51 (UTC)

[Just as he always is when confronted so overtly with the affection of another, Sherlock is stymied. He stares at John with a strangely wide-eyed look, before he huffs to himself quietly and steps back a little.

But he isn't about to back down when he knows he isn't an addict, no matter what Mycroft thinks. He isn't even dabbling enough to need to be making a list.]

I am extremely careful, John. I only use in order to accentuate the thinking process when it becomes necessary, and always in controlled circumstances.

[His voice is just a touch softer, this is his attempt at being comforting and conciliatory in the face of John's aggressive affection.

...and then he completely ruins it.]

I've changed my mind, you can't take any for your surgery. Since, as I suspect, you have cancelled my prescriptions without my consent.

[He knows John, he said he asked about his other prescriptions, there's no way he wouldn't cancel them if he could.]

[John takes a deep breath, balls his hands into fists as he closes his eyes, and clamps down on the urge to take a swing at the consulting detective's face. He just has to remind himself that that's not going to help. It would be extremely satisfying, but it's not going to help. And he'd prefer Sylar not see them scrapping like schoolboys.]

Sherlock, you have four bottles of narcotics, at least. You can spare a few pills for someone who I have to chop fingers off of. [There's a pause, and he opens his eyes. His expression is repressed fury.] Please.

[The mini twitch of Sherlock's lips, that almost self satisfied air at outwitting the system, should be telling that he has more than four bottles. But his expression smooths quickly, he can see the danger zones and he doesn't actually want to be punched.

He sighs and pushes his hand into his coat pocket, bringing out a pill bottle. If John is looking closely, he might be able to see his own name as the prescribing doctor, but the pills shaken out are clearly not morphine, but Fentora.

Sherlock holds out a small handful of around six pills.]

This should be more than sufficient for a short surgery and convalescence period.

[The unfortunate thing here is that John is a doctor. The especially unfortunate thing is that he's the doctor who prescribed these drugs, in particular.]

Sherlock, this is Sergeant Barnes' medication. I prescribed this to him. [He holds the pills in his hand.] I'd like the rest of it, please.

No, this was the spare bottle of medication left unclaimed in the pharmacy, the name on the label is irrelevant.

[He found an extra bottle of morphine prescribed to himself too, that's what led him to believe there were spares. Duplicates.]

That's not a spare, Sherlock, it's a recurring prescription. If you found it in the pharmacy, it was put there-

[He breaks off, realizing what that means.]

How many other prescriptions did you take from the pharmacy?

Must we keep discussing this?

[He is so done with this conversation.]

There is a creature, a monster lifted from Grimm behind that door, and you wish to discuss the merits of my pharmaceutical habits? Perspective, John. Priorities.

[John glares at Sherlock for a long moment, his best 'I'm disappointed in you' expression on full display. But Sherlock is right to a degree. The drugs haven't impacted him yet, just as Sylar hasn't attacked them yet. The doctor's waiting for the other shoe to drop there. He'll just have to deal with it when it comes.

Eventually the glare breaks and John pockets the Fentora before crossing his arms and looking away toward the bathroom door. His body language says this isn't over.]

What sorts of tests d'you want to run on it?

[He sees that look, but it just annoys him. There are times that he dislikes disappointing John, and times when the other man may even exert influence over him, but this is not one of those times. He knows what he is doing and he resents being treated as though he is a foolish child or uncontrollable junkie.

But at least they're moving along, so he'll focus on the task at hand.]

The most useful thing that could be done now is to gather a blood sample from it, we need to test if it also has nanomachines present in some concentration.

I'm not sure it even has blood. There was a girl who managed to stab one, but it didn't seem bothered by that. No blood on the video.

We won't know unless we go in and try to collect a sample.

[He shrugs slightly.]

There's only so much we can gather from a distance.

You're not going inside, Sherlock. Figure out another way.

[It's said in a tone that brooks no argument. Apparently John's spine is going to be coming out a lot in the next several minutes.]

[He glances sideways, but John is leaving tomorrow so he can just go in then without a whole heap of added argument.]

Do you recall who it was originally chasing?

Kunsel, Zack, Jim, and Zell. Came out the mirror when they were in there.

[John frowns.]

I'd never heard of them appearing inside one of the houses like that. It was strange.

Stranger than the standard strange.

Four of them.

[That's annoying, and it shows in his voice.]

Larger groups seem to attract more general anomalies, it would be a more useful specimen if it resembled something familiar to one of the initial pursued. I may contact them all and ask if they recognised anything on it.

Not sure if they did. Kunsel did have an initial post about it, if you wanted to check that before having to talk to him. [Before inflicting yourself on that group, he really means. John considers the rattling door.]

We might be able to lop off a piece of it if I can cover my palette knife in dust from the rubble. And we can get that thing to stick its leg out for long enough.

[He will definitely consider that later, even if just to test exactly how much the rubble really does hurt the beast. But he needs to talk to Kunsel and company first, or perhaps glean the information he needs from their post.

He gathers up his tablet and turns away to go and sit down, engrossed in his task already. He means to say thank you to John, and commend him for a good idea, but somehow it never quite makes it from his mind to his mouth.

Ah well, research time.]

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