jumpthegun | IC Inbox (v1.0)

[Thankfully, the note he has written on his tablet has reminded him to check back now that it's working again. It means he's in a constant state of panic and sorrow over his lost memories, but he's doing his best to work around it.]

I need you to tell me what happened yesterday. There are no records from the tablet for me to draw on.

[It takes a lot to admit that much weakness and ask for help, and he wouldn't with anyone but John.]

[Well, thank god Sherlock's all right. It takes John a moment to figure out how to enhance the size of the text on his screen. This blurred vision isn't much helping the one-eyed issue.]

We were transported into what seems like it might have been a memory. Like your mind palace, but something physically there. It was a white facility made in the shape of a spiraling set of corridors. At the center was a big round room where we had to break through the ceiling and use a key card Mr. Andersen was given to get out.

The air tasted like blood in some places. And there were feet just outside the walls in others. Shuffling along. Does any of that sound the least bit familiar?

[There's a fair silence as Sherlock wracks his brain desperately to try and dislodge any memory of what sounds like a fascinating few days. It's hindered by him having to keep re-reading the message to keep it fresh in his mind, but he comes up with nothing. It's just a blank, as though he were a non-functional recording device during those days.]

No.

[Just no. It's so frightening to him, so upsetting to not have his mind as he's used to. What else has he forgotten that could be vital? He must have made deductions those days, he must have had answers.]

Thank you, John.

We met while we were in there. Do you still have the marks on your hand? You scratched messages to yourself. We were separated before everyone figured out heading to the center.

[There's a pause as he checks his hand. Oh-- some of that is pretty interesting, actually.]

Yes. I have the scratches and one of those damn hats.

Wear the hat. You've been needing one since you got here and that one's specifically for this sort of weather. I don't want to have to cut off pieces of your ears for the frostbite.

I got my casebook.

I'm not wearing the hat.

[End of that discussion.]

You can show me when you get here. Wherever here is.

She gave you the hat for a reason.

Want to show me on video. Or have you looked at the map to get a read on your location, yet?

[Of course he hasn't worked it out on the map, his orienteering skills are atrocious.]

It's a building surrounded by snow, I'm sure I can work it out from here.

[John's expression flattens, even if Sherlock can't see it.]

Perfectly sound description, but I was hoping you'd go deeper.

[The sarcasm is oozing off of John's own reply as he misquotes one of Sherlock's own lines at him.]

Turn on your camera, I'll help you figure out where you are and where you need to go.

I said I could work it out from here.

[He's a little touchy about needing help right now, what with his mind being so unreliable.]

Goodbye, John.

[Huff. And he hangs up.]

IC Inbox (v1.0)

@309_W1C_2DZ; text; morning of 195

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