jumpthegun | IC Inbox (v1.0)

[It's about twenty minutes later, perhaps a bit less with how fast John has been moving through the snow, that he might well see a familiar figure stalking through the snowdrifts. Collar up, scarf done up tightly, eyes fixed on the middle distance.

He doesn't even see John, sweeping onwards as if to go straight past him.]

[It's difficult to judge how far Sherlock is actually away, but the Belstaff coat and blue scarf are unmistakable. Relief floods through him, though anger is hot on its heels. John raises a hand and his voice to catch the other man's attention.]

Sherlock!

[And he'll veer off his own course to intercept Sherlock.]

[Gabriel has burrowed under his skin, much as Sherlock would like to deny it, and drawn out all of the fear that threatens to destroy him from the inside out. Fear of being unable to protect his mind, of being unable to trust his deductions, of being useless.

He barely hears John, though he has enough self preservation instinct not to completely ignore a sound out here in the snowy wilderness. He stops, looks over at John, and sighs.]

Spare me the lecture, please.

[Well, okay, if it's going to be like that...

John's slog through the snow carries him relatively quickly to the other man. He nearly bumps into Sherlock, in fact, but manages to avoid that. Of course, it probably would have been preferable--to Sherlock--to what happens next. The doctor aims fist at the consulting detective's face, avoiding the mouth and nose, but not pulling the force of the punch.]

There. That'll spare you the lecture, you bloody cock.

[The punch takes him completely by surprise.

It hits him square in the jaw and knocks him right off his feet and onto the floor, leaving him sprawling in an ungainly tangle of long limbs in the snow. One hand comes up to massage his jaw, and for just a few moments his expression is totally wide-eyed shock. John just hit him. John hit him and hadn't been asked to.

He supposes that he might have deserved it.

Slowly he gets to his feet again and flashes a smile at John.]

Good aim.

[John gives Sherlock a Look, but it's difficult to stay angry when the other man is grinning and seems to have taken it well enough.]

You're impossible.

[The punch is followed by a hug that John pulls back from quickly.]

Do me a favor and don't actively antagonize unstable serial killers when I'm not around. Especially after everyone's spent last night murdering each other.

[He sighs before motioning in the direction that Sherlock's come from and that John was heading. He'll start them walking again if Sherlock doesn't object or stop him.]

How many- [John had been about to ask how many Sherlock had killed, but decides against it.] -d'you reckon were on each side last night? Even split?

[The smile is gone immediately. The hug was awkward but not too unpleasant, but the mention of last night and the way they lost control of their minds is enough to set him firmly back on the path toward a funk.]

Two.

[His eyes dart to John's face even as he strides out with longer legs swiftly.]

I killed two.

[He doesn't need the question itself to answer it, especially not with a recovery that clumsy.]

[Sherlock is quick to outpace him, which is a little frustrating. John hurries to keep up.]

You didn't do anything, Sherlock, it's whatever was controlling us. [And because he wants to get his friend's mind on the puzzle and off the specifics of his own situation.] Might be what happened with Jia-!

[John cuts off abruptly and swears under his breath as he misjudges distance and plants his foot in a low spot. He stumbles forward and has to grab for Sherlock's arm to keep from going down fully. This has happened a few times, and his jeans--starting to look wet from the knee down--are testament to the three or four spills he hadn't been able to avoid.]

Edited 2016-12-09 16:37 (UTC)

[He snaps his hand out to try and grasp hold of John to keep him upright, not so oblivious that he would let his friend fall when he can help him out.]

It shouldn't have happened to me.

[Anger laces his words. Not at the deaths, that's already been mostly forgiven internally.]

They took control of my mind, John. My mind.

[John steadies himself and starts off again. They're going to pretend like that didn't just happen, as far as he's concerned.]

It's what they do here. [There's no real two ways around that.] You just... you can't let it get to you. It's not you being weak-willed or whatever. They've got machines inside you body, in your brain, that can muck everything up.

[Honestly, John's not sure what's going to help here. He's still not much past that first incident he'd been a part of... seeing the Hound everywhere.]

I'm gonna ask the Admin when we get back what happened, okay? Or at least what it looked like happened from their end. Might not get much, but there could be something to go on.

Maybe it's what they do to you, John, or the droves of other ordinary people here. I'm fully prepared to believe that the average mind has no barriers, or ones as thin as paper sheets for protection. Not me. Not my mind.

[It's sharp as glass, immediate, and covering over the fear that threatens to overwhelm him. He is nothing without his mind.]

I'm not letting it "get to me", don't project your insecurities about whatever harsh words you spat at your friends last night onto me.

[This is how Sherlock copes. He lashes out at people. In most instances, this would be the point where John would just step out to the grocery or the pub to let his friend work through some of it on his own. Unfortunately, that isn't really an option here. He sighs and glances up toward the cloudy sky for a moment, asking for patience. The initial anger at Sherlock has burned out.]

Sherlock, you're a human being. Your mind and everything about you is amazing, you think differently, you're cleverer than anyone else I know. You are brilliant.

But at a fundamental level, you have a brain that physically functions like other brains. And if there's something physically influencing the chemical balance or structure of your brain, it doesn't matter what mental barriers and defenses you have. This is physical. And last I checked, you haven't got titanium shielding in that head of yours.

Edited 2016-12-09 17:39 (UTC)

I know how to control the physical chemical balance of my mind.

[He scoffs, words too fast and too terse. This isn't John's fault, he's even said something complimentary (and accurate) to try and soothe him. It doesn't make a difference, he's scared and John is the only one there to bear the brunt of it.]

I've been using recreational drugs to enhance my thinking process for years, I'm well aware of exactly how to control the chemical balances of my mind. I can control my whole body, I know my body, I know when anything is out of place.

[User, not an addict, thank you.]

You managed to resist, you managed to have yourself restrained, you!

[Urgh, he sounds so disgusted, how could John have done what he couldn't?!]

[John stares ahead, mulling that response over. When he speaks, his voice is level.]

Is that what it's really about, Sherlock? Are you jealous?

I'm ordinary; you were very nice to say it earlier, but we both know I'm an ordinary bloke next to you. I resisted because I had people around that I cared about. It was easier at the start of the night. I had Kid there to remind me there was something wrong with the way I was thinking. That's the only reason. What do you think might've happened if we'd been together and I'd've been one of the people with glowing eyes? D'you reckon you would've let me cuff you?

[Would he?

It's an uncomfortable question because he doesn't know the answer. Of all the people he knows, John is the most likely to have him agreeing to be tied up, but he also knows his own stubborn nature. He's struggling to find the answer, not a common or pleasant feeling, when something hits him out of the blue.

He stops walking and whirls on John, eyes intense.]

Say that again.

[Well, that's a little sudden. John starts, half-turning with Sherlock's motion to look behind. He almost expects to see an anomaly coming at them, but it's just white and Sherlock's words. He turns back to the other man, confusion plain on his face.]

Uh... D'you reckon you would've let me cuff you?

Not that bit.

[Bite of impatience, now is not the time to be playing the fool.]

The bit about you caring and something about a child.

Kid, yeah. He was with Stein when we got there to do the amputations. I've known him for a while. He helped me out of the body bag after... [After is sufficient.] He's a good boy. I couldn't... I mean he's just a teenager. Thinking he deserved to die? It was just wrong. I cuffed myself and took another Fentora to keep him safe from me.

A mental form of hysterical strength, stemming from your sentiment.

[That's both interesting as all hell and irritating. It means John does have an advantage on him here, he never thought that sentiment would ever be an advantage anywhere.]

Fine, then you'll just have to stay with me from now on.

[John rolls his eye a bit at that.]

And here was me, planning to run off and away into the snow with someone else.

[He's honestly more concerned with Sherlock running off to do an experiment.]

Dreadfully sorry, but you'll have to postpone those plans.

[He wouldn't put it past John to run off with a pretty face, joking aside.]

I need you. If the key to overcoming the mental assault is with sentiment, then I stand the greatest chance of combating any urges if you are with me.

[That's almost a roundabout way of saying he cares for John.]

[Sherlock is just filled to the brim on rather shockingly direct admissions and compliments today. John wonders if part of it isn't just comforting him after what happened with his eye. But, well, Sherlock really isn't all that good at comfort. There was that beer he'd bought after the break-up with Sarah, but he rarely offers verbal reassurances unless they're meant honestly.]

The only time I'd leave you is a night, or something to take care of a patient. Or if we needed to head different places to solve a puzzle. You're not getting rid of me that easily, Sherlock.

[It's said fondly, even if there's a sarcastic bend to it.]

What's our next move from here? North?

[This is what he likes about John, the brushing past of sentimental moments to get back to what's important. It's why they work well together.]

Briefly. I'd like to visit all the houses where unaccountable noises have been heard and take a recording of each for analysis.

[Doesn't that sound thrilling?]

I suppose we should go back for Gabriel first.

I suppose. Could just leave him there waiting. [But they're walking that direction.] How long d'you think he'd stay? [John isn't mean enough to leave the man there without word, and he'd like to knock him about for good measure, anyway. So.]

Might take us a while for the houses. I'm not sure they're consistent, either. Dr. House already has a recording of the humming from the nursing home, so we can skip over that. Could stay at the pharmacy heading up north to see if we hear anything there. And I've already got recordings of the dog barking in the fire house.

Then we should stay in one of them long enough to map the inconsistencies.

[There will be a pattern hidden in there somewhere, and even something as small and seemingly obscure as that could hold the key to unravelling the mystery of this place.]

But that's a little boring, see if you can find us some other cases we can do along the way.

[Not that he feels for the people trapped here, or wants to help with their problems out of the goodness of his heart. He's just bored. Totally.]

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