jumpthegun | IC Inbox (v1.0)

I'm a doctor. I don't go into procedures to kill people.

[Mary's closer to him now, a hand on his shoulder as she nods in silent agreement.]

Is this guaranteed to be 100% fatal? You got that thing into your head without killing yourself.

[This isn't real. Maybe... there's some sort of bizarre dream logic he can work with. Or bizarre anime logic.]

If you had the right assistance, could you get it out without killing yourself?

[No. It's going to kill him. In order for this to work, it needs to kill him. But at this point, he doesn't have any other options. He's set himself on this course, and he's not backing out now.]

Possibly. It wasn't designed to be removed but it could be done.

[You're not a brain surgeon, darling, Mary points out, stepping back from him.]

But he is.

[Two massive holes in his head plus in his brain and you think that can be fixed?]

It could be survived.

[John, if this doesn't work out...]

I can help him. He'll be safer when he's not in pain. I can fix him.

[At least in dreams. He can do this in a dream, where it isn't real, where that thing could have been put in his head, in the first place, and death gods and vampires and monsters can exist.]

My condition still stands. Where are you?

[That's as good as a promise. Stein doesn't know what he's going to be like on the other side of this surgery, doesn't know how tightly he can hold his own leash without Death here to place the threat of execution on his soul. But he doesn't have a choice anymore. They aren't getting to the end of the spiral quickly enough.]

Hot water house by the school. Clayton's old clinc. Where are you?

[John, you can't fix what he is. Taking a screw out of his head isn't going to fix it.]

Best option we've got. I have to...

[Helping him isn't going to make up for putting Sherlock in hospital. I know that... so you know that. Better idea: Call Sherlock. Talk to him about this.

John ignores Mary's advice for the moment and replies to Stein.]

Police station. The aquarium's probably the best place to meet. Consistent hot water.

[You have nightmares about that aquarium and what HE did to you there.]

It doesn't matter.

I'll talk to the Admin.

When can you get there?

What supplies do you have?

[Four sets of handcuffs. One for each of his limbs.

John sighs as Mary frowns and moves farther away from him again.]

Probably by the end of the day. I can wait for you.

I have disinfectant, hand sanitizer, a sewing kit, petroleum jelly, forceps, a scalpel, and some morphine for you to take during the procedure and after.

[Not much. Not nearly enough, really.]

I dont know how long it will take to get to you.

I've lost my supplies. I don't have anything medically valuable.

How did you lose them?

[Probably tossed them out, Mary puts in snidely.

Honestly, it's not a bad theory. Stein had been about to do that when John had first met him in-person along with Ecks.]

Thrown some out, forgotten some, made poor decisions on what I actually need to bring with me.

I'm out of food. Do you have anything?

[So, close enough on the guess, then. At the question, though, John's mind turns not to his pack, but to his flat. What's in the fridge?]

Only beer.

[Mary is very suddenly directly in front of him.

John, focus. Not home. Here.

The food isn't real here, but John does check his pack. It's a few minutes before he replies.]

Sorry, no. I have food. I don't have any beer.

[Although, he could really do with a drink right now.]

Those are two very different things, Watson. Are you feeling all right?

[Call Sherlock.]

I'm not bloody calling him!

[John clutches his head for a moment as Mary goes silent for his raised voice.]

I'm sorry. Mm... He doesn't need to deal with this. He's already put himself through too much for me. I can't let him... he'll offer to do it himself, you know he will.

[Mary stares at him sadly, tears filling her eyes.]

He's dying I can't... This isn't real. It'll work. It's not real.

I'm fine. Sorry. I was having a dream when I woke up.

When you woke up from dying.

What's your death penalty?

I don't know. Don't seem to have one.

[That's what Sherlock said.

John goes to check through the rest of the conversation with Stein. Sure enough, he remembers writing everything there.]

Have I said that before?

No.

Is your memory faulty?

[Something in him bristles, thinking of Pierce, thinking of a character from a movie who is not real, either. But John doesn't snarl or snap like he might have years ago when he was younger. For now. It takes a bit more to outwardly rile him.]

Not that I'm aware, no, but Sherlock's death price was the loss of his short term memory last time and it didn't seem like he'd lost anything to himself, either. Just double-checking.

If you don't have one, you should make an announcement. It would be abnormal.

[You have no idea what the loss is. There's something there. Do you want to risk anyone figuring it out?

Not particularly, but it is important if he doesn't have a loss.]

Al didn't have a loss the first time he came back.

[He thinks. Maybe. John vaguely recalls a conversation to that effect.

He was dead for weeks, John. You've been gone a few days.]

All right. If I do have one, suppose it might be easier to figure out talking to people.

When should I expect you at the aquarium?

Three days.

The admin requires your confirmation for behavior modification.

[Okay, let's review the reasons not to do this, Mary insists, standing in front of John once more. I'm pretty sure that's five of them right off the top.]

Fine.

[John.]

I've already broken promises...

[Oh, do not start in on the self-pity, John Watson.]

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