jumpthegun | IC Inbox (v1.0)

[John's sleep is fitful at the best of times these days. Between Rosie and his ensuing depressive spiral and insomnia with Mary's loss at home, everything that is Norfinbury, and a natural propensity toward light sleeping from med school and the military, he's awake as soon as Sherlock takes a few steps in. He lies still, waiting to see what the other man will do for a few seconds before it becomes apparent what he's up to.

He rolls over to face the other man in the dark and his voice is quiet, steady.]

Sherlock, if you stop now and leave, I'm gonna pretend you just came looking for a midnight snack. If not, we're gonna need to have a talk. [That talk being 'stay the hell out of the drugs.']

[Damn.

He could just walk away as John suggests, but he hates slinking around as if he's done something wrong, hates backing down. So he simply bends over John's pack and begins rummaging through without taking care over the noise any longer, since it's obvious John is awake.]

Goodnight, John.

[Bloody hell. John pushes himself up, taking care as best he can not to disturb Mary. A hand clamps over one of Sherlock's wrists and John rises up, trying to pull the other man away firmly, but gently.]

You won't find anything there, anyway. I gave everything to Mary to take with her to Stephen.

[It's a bald-faced lie, but he can hope in the darkness that Sherlock won't be able to really tell.]

You gave away your shampoo?

[Sherlock raises an eyebrow in incredulity, painting a much more convincing picture. He's always been a good actor when the moment demands it.]

[For a long moment, John is thrown. Is that what he came stealing over for? That's... no. No, that's not it. Sherlock would just ask for his shampoo in the morning if he were really wanting that. It's the drugs. Isn't it?]

I'm too tired to play games right now, Sherlock. If you want shampoo, I'll get it out for you.

I can get it myself, you'll wake Mary if you get up.

[He's still digging through the pack as he speaks. Are the drugs there? Any of them, though he'd prefer a selection if possible. He can already see the shampoo, but he's stalling for time.]

[Unfortunately, Sherlock would have had better luck checking the inside pockets of John's coat first. He knows the other man invades his pack regularly. Leaving the bottles of pills there would be foolhardy.]

Sherlock, get out of my pack, or I'll wake her up pulling it away from you.

[Damn. Not the pack then, he would have found something if they were there. That leaves John's clothes, or Mary's possessions, but he can hardly move onto them while John's awake.

So he holds up the bottle of shampoo and closes the pack.]

I dread to think what you're hiding that you don't want me to find for the sake of some shampoo.

[And with that he'll retreat. For now.

Another couple of hours later finds him creeping in even more stealthily. Stay asleep this time, Dr. Watson, you meddler!]

[John doesn't stir this time, but Sherlock will encounter a new problem. John is now hugging his packs to himself, and he's using his coat as a blanket across himself and Mary. He's making quiet sounds of distress, as well, twitching in his sleep with nightmares.]

[He's torn now. His own selfish needs, or his friend's comfort. He weighs it up silently for a moment, before tutting in irritation at himself and moving to the bed to put a hand on John's shoulder and shake him once. Firmly. Mycroft would laugh at his sentimental choice, but Sherlock isn't the man he used to be and friends are more important than most other things now.]

I've come to bring back the shampoo.

[It'll probably be more appreciated as an excuse than drawing attention to the nightmares.]

Mary! [John reaches out blindly at the shake as he comes awake, hand brushing Sherlock's leg. He pulls back almost immediately, embarrassed. Shampoo. What? Oh, right.]

Fine, yeah. Thanks. Just go to sleep, would you? Lie down with us, if you want.

[John shoves his pack away, giving Sherlock the option of curling up next to John, or if he wants, there's the option of going around to Mary's side.]

Mary's sleeping, she's fine.

[His voice is softer than most people hear it, but he understands that nightmare all too well. He has it himself. He's not sure he can offer more comfort than that, it's not his place, he's the one who caused her loss in the first place.

He nudges the pack aside with his foot and reaches out to tuck the coat over Mary a little more securely where it fell away while John woke, and if his hand happens to slide inside all the pockets as he does so, well... he's a good pickpocket, Lestrade and Mycroft can attest to that.]

I'm not tired, I'll put the shampoo back and leave you to it.

[Sherlock will be able to feel multiple bottles, but he'll probably only be able to snag one without it being noticed. John's feeling more vulnerable than he wants to, and can't help whispering quietly.]

Don't go far. Please.

[The station isn't particularly large, but just the distance to the door right now seems like a chasm. He's not sure he'll be able to fall back asleep, and he wants his friend nearby, even just as a silent sentinel in the dark. He needs to know that Sherlock is safe.]

Edited 2017-05-13 23:21 (UTC)

[At least he's found them! He does snag one to slip into his sleeve smoothly, he'll examine what he's got when he's out of the room. Though his steps are arrested by John's unusually emotional plea.

He fingers the bottle in his sleeve. He could walk out, John wouldn't stop him or think it odd. He doesn't. Instead he ends up taking a seat by the wall adjacent to where John is laid next to his wife. He knows John, he knows that he hates to be vulnerable and he hates to be pitied, he'll regret this come morning if Sherlock panders to him too much.]

...if you agree to play it properly, we can play Spyglass.

What's 'properly' in your book? Not by the rules?

Obviously not. Using proper deduction.

[He's going to have to dredge up whatever Sherlock wrote about that damn game from his memories. It's better than picturing Mary dying in his arms. It's better than picturing Sherlock dying by his own hand, put into Culverton's clutches and left there by a man too stupid to observe the obvious.]

Yeah, all right. How are we actually playing it by your rules?

[He gestures for John to follow so as not to wake Mary, back over to his own pack where he pulls out the slightly battered box of Spyglass and begins to set it up.]

I will lay out the various clues you find as you work your way through the house, and play the witnesses you come across, until you have decided on your deduction. If you arrest the right person for the right reasons, you win.

[It's going to be a long night. But apparently Sherlock's in the mood for a bloody Dungeons & Dragons with a murder game. It's better than nightmares, though, or Sherlock indulging in drugs. John shivers a bit in the chilly gas station as he settles himself next to Sherlock.]

Who's our victim, then? The standard Mr. Boddy?

I'll be the victim, it always helps when you know the victim's physical characteristics well and this makes it easier.

[He draws the cards and shuffles through until he finds the ones that he has decided will be the murderer, the weapon, and the location, then slides them into the sleeve provided.]

Well, Detective Watson, you may begin.

[John sighs.]

Am I still rolling and moving my piece into different rooms?

[He grabs for the yellow piece. Colonel Mustard is his go-to.]

No, why would you do that? Rolling introduces a random element that doesn't exist in investigation, if I want to examine the body then I don't roll to see if I can.

[Come on, John, get with the program.]

You find the body of a man in his mid to late thirties dressed in a tailored suit, his shirt is rumpled as if he has been redressed, and there are bruises covering his face and throat. A wallet beside the body identifies him as William Holmes, there are scuff marks on the floor indicating the body may have been dragged.

[John rolls his eyes. What was the point of getting the board out, then? But he just goes with it.]

Where have I found Mr. Holmes? In one of the rooms, or out in the hallway? And is there any scent of alcohol on him?

He's outside the main house, at the back door, as if the killer had intended to stage either a fall or to drag the body out and bury it, but was disturbed. There is some smell of alcohol on his lips, and on the cuffs of his shirt.

[Staging a fall... John's jaw tightens.]

Don't suppose the victim could be his own murderer?

[No. Because there's no Sherlock card in that deck.]

Does he have anything on him? In his pockets.

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