jumpthegun | IC Inbox (v1.0)

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.]

[John sighs as he watches Sherlock go. Right. He'll work on the idea himself, then. And continue to be quietly frustrated with his drug addict best friend. He hasn't forgotten that, and it's a war that's not over between them. For now, the battle is done. John goes to find some rubble to start grinding down.]

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