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[jumpthegun]

You've reached Dr. John Watson. Please leave a message.

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[howdull]

[The only response is a very long, very shuddering sigh before the audio is flicked off and nothing more comes through for almost a full minute.

If he were the sort to believe in God, then he would thank him from the bottom of his heart, but he doesn't. The very concept is ludicrous to him, the idea that something governs their world from another plane and could grant the heartfelt prayers of others makes no sense. This is the work of the Admin. Perhaps she heard his demands earlier, perhaps-- or perhaps this was always intended, a cruel trick to make sure they were not brought back together.

He feels the world sway. His kidneys are working, at least, but he's still malnourished with withdrawal causing havoc in his system. He doesn't know what to say. He knows it has to be the truth, he's already discovered that particular death price, but the truth is a very flexible thing.

Lie. Why is he already contemplating how to lie to John?

It's the answer. Brusque, angry- at least, that's how Sherlock reads it. How can it be anything but when he must have seen those messages and his only response is a request for his location? Is he angry because of what Sherlock did? Or because his calculations were somehow off and John died despite it all?

His hands are shaking like a leaf when he lifts them to reply.]

That doesn't matter right now. [Not a lie.] You're alive. Tell me what your price is.

[jumpthegun]

[John rolls his eyes--eyes because he has two of them again... has had two of them for years. This is really not working for him. In any case, he switches to text.]

I dunno. I think I'm dreaming.

[Culverton is the dream, Mary is the dream... or this place is. John has a preference for Mary being real, so he'll stick to that.]

What's the last thing you remember?

[howdull]

[He feels a tidal wave of relief. John isn't angry because he doesn't remember what there is to be angry about. He knows this may be the most selfish thing he's done, to greedily seek out a moment of normalcy with a man who's wife he killed, but he can't help it.

That question is dangerous, however, because he has to tell the truth and he doesn't want to. Not when the last thing he remembers is Culverton's hospital. Maybe he can circumnavigate the truth by telling a different but equally valid truth.]

The very last thing I remember is messaging you after spending most of the afternoon speaking with the other residents here.

[jumpthegun]

[Mary tilts her head and narrows her eyes. He's hiding something.]

What are you hiding, Sherlock? You wouldn't be that literal if you weren't evading the question.

[howdull]

[That is the worst question he could be asked. It's too broad, and he's hiding a lot.]

I'm not sure what answer you want from me, John.

[That skirts the border of truth, but it's sort of there. Does he mean what does he last remember about Norfinbury, about the ice caves? Or what does he last remember overall? It skirts the edge because Sherlock is relatively sure he means the ice caves, John could have no way of knowing that he's been home and come back.]

[jumpthegun]

Sherlock, I'm really not in the mood. Tell me what you're hiding. We've done this enough.

[howdull]

[It would take literal weeks to list off all the things he's hiding, because John doesn't even specify what he's hiding from him. Sherlock is a man of many secrets.

He's still thinking on how to answer this when his fingers move of their own accord to do it for him.]

I'm hiding my death price, I can't tell a lie. Don't ask me any more, John.

[jumpthegun]

[The liar can't tell a lie. Ironic.

Poetic is the word you're looking for, darling.

John casts an irritated look at Mary, and she glances away.]

Suppose there's no point asking if you're lying about that?

[howdull]

I'm not.

[Imbecilic. He's embarrassed to have that reply connected to his name, but it's the truth and so out it popped.

He rubs a hand down his face again. Tired, heartsore, grateful.]

I'm not trying to lie to you, John, but broad questions might have answers you don't want to hear.

[jumpthegun]

And you know what I want. Clearly.

Look, this is a dream, anyway. Which means I've probably crashed and am in a coma at the moment. It doesn't actually matter.

[Except this feels real. John looks over at Mary again, then down at his hands. No wedding ring.]

[howdull]

[Crashed? A dream?

Sherlock squints at the screen for a moment, is this somehow related to his death price?]

I can affirm that this is neither dream nor coma. Tell me why you believe it is.

[Yes, keep the questions on John, stop him asking any more himself. John is smart, he could winkle anything he wanted out of Sherlock right now and that has to be avoided.]

[jumpthegun]

[Well that's exactly what a dream WOULD say.]

You're funny. That's not actually helping.

[It's your sense of humor. Mary puts her hands up. Ask him something else. He's deflecting again.]

You're deflecting questions onto me, Sherlock. Are you really that worried about me taking advantage of your death price?

[howdull]

[Damn it, John. Sherlock doesn't respond for nearly half a minute, staring at the wall as he thought for a way around this. But it seems fate isn't with him. Maybe it's right, he doesn't deserve the selfish succour of friendship after what he's done.]

No, I'm frightened of you learning the truth. I will lose you.

[He glares at the word 'frightened' as if it personally betrayed him.]

[jumpthegun]

The truth that Mary jumped in front of a bullet for you, and then told you to go pick a fight with someone via death DVD?

[howdull]

[No.

How could he know this? That's impossible. The John here was from a time before he had even met Mary, but then-- Sherlock had been returned home, why not John too? His tablet slips out of his hands before he even realises that he's laughing without humour.]

Yes.

[That about sums it up, what can he say?]

[jumpthegun]

[Yeah. Well, it'd make sense for his dream Sherlock to have the same knowledge.]

What are we doing right now, Sherlock?

[howdull]

[Again, a question with so many answers. Obviously John does not mean right now in a literal sense, so here? Home?]

Adjusting to Norfinbury again.

You saw the DVD? When?

[jumpthegun]

[Unfortunately, that's exactly what he means.]

He really is an idiot.

[But he's ours. Did you really think he'd pick up on you not just hanging up when he didn't get the coat?]

No.

[Tell him.]

He's not real.

[Neither am I.]

Mycroft sent a car for me after they got you set up with a room at Culverton's hospital.

[howdull]

[This feels oddly unreal.

It seems so convenient that the man who had been so far behind him had suddenly caught up, that they were from the same point in time. Or near enough, from what he can tell, though he didn't know Mycroft had sent a car for John. He's still awaiting Culverton's attentions. Is it punishment for what he's done, so he can't hide from his sins? Or is this just a dying brain firing off nonsense while Culverton kills him?

He discards that at once. Nobody knows his brain like Sherlock does, and he knows this is real. He's not in his mind palace, he's not dying. Which means this is some hilarious penance for Eve, maybe even for trying to get drugs out of her, who the hell knows? It would be the truth and not the truth to say Culverton is going to kill him. He might succeed, it's not completely certain that John will get there in time, but he might not. Sherlock isn't sure whether he honestly cares one way or the other, and that's a truth to keep to himself.]

Mycroft is always meddling.

[Such an innocuous truth. It's amusing, in its own way, that Sherlock is so acquainted with lies that he can do it with the truth too.]

You have to be missing something, what is it?

[The death price.]

[jumpthegun]

I don't know. I've got all my senses. I've got more memories than I know what to do with, and everything's working.

[Which is another point in favor this all being fake. There's always a death price.]

Maybe my sense of direction's shot to hell. I won't know until tomorrow.

[howdull]

Where are you?

[He won't want Sherlock near him, but he can make sure someone goes to John.]

[jumpthegun]

A morgue.

[John, don't be like that. You know what he did for you. What he's done for you. What were you driving to Culverton's hospital for?

John sighs to himself and it's a short while later after searching around that he adds more.]

Police station. Found four extra sets of handcuffs in a drawer. Where are you?

[howdull]

Nowhere near there, south of the chapel.

[Is that a relief, or not?]

Contact one of your friends, Solomons or Barnes.

[jumpthegun]

[John stares at Mary for a long moment.

Talk to him. John, you need to talk to him. He's dying. He's died for you. He'll keep killing himself for you if you don't say something.]

Bucky's been turned into Pierce's pawn. He was the Winter Soldier when I called him the other night.

[howdull]

[He rubs at his head, slotting that piece of information into place to be worked on later. He will bring down Pierce, but he's not overtly dangerous enough to go after Sherlock himself, and so he's no good to help him save John.

All his work with Culverton gone, destroyed. Only a few drugs left to him after using a lot to overdose. He'll have to go after the Joker, it's his only recourse now.]

Sorry.

Solomons, then.