014 || written/dictated;

[workaphilic]

[ Private ]

CD16; pp. 42 - 88, Figure 3, Appendix D
CS01; pp. 13 - 16
JM02; p. 1

(52, 11) ; (145, 78) ; (13, 2)

Shouldn't have Stupid to assume

Won't happen again.

----

[ Members of the Clinic Staff Who Are Not John ]

[written in clean, precise letters:]

Seems your treatment is performing decently enough. [That's the closest to a "thank you" any of you are going to get. Take the win!] That said, keep me up to date if any side effects present themselves.

Also: If any of you have extraneous notes and/or observations about the creatures, I'd like to see them.

SH

----

[There's the thoughtful tapping of a capped pen against the page, and then he dictates. Just recently confirmed what he already suspected. Might as well share.

His tone is calm, even, detached.]

Paradisa has seen fit to send Mycroft Holmes back where he came from, for those that knew him.

And those that didn't, I suppose. The distinction never did matter very much.

Comments

[confidente]

Really? [ Hear that? It's the sound of disbelief. ]

[workaphilic]

Really. [Not really.] It's sensitive. Obviously. You understand.

[confidente]

[ Mm. ] So you locked the door. [ Yeah, no, he's really not buying it. ] Sherlock.

[workaphilic]

[There's silence for a while. It's accompanied by movement inside, like he's pacing -- but he uses it to cover himself while he gathers up journals and papers and stows them away.

(For all the posturing, there are still things he doesn't want John to see.)

Then the lock clicks open abruptly, almost petulantly, like he can say, "Yes, fine, you win. Are you happy now?" in just a flick of his wrist.]

[confidente]

[ Happy? Yes. Just a bit.

He doesn't enter though, he reminds at the door, half staring and half expecting it to open to a childish pout or some kind. It's a step, a good one. ]

Thank you.

[workaphilic]

Don't be too thankful. It's the only way I was ever going to get any work done.

[And then the door does open, just a bit, enough for him to peer out like a turtle coming out of its hiding place.

He looks disheveled, and no small amount of grumpy. It's been a long week and a half.]

I still don't want anything.

[Completely fine.]

[confidente]

[ John blinks, tilting his head a little to try and sneak a look into the room. ]

You look terrible.

[workaphilic]

I've been busy. [A beat, and then a smidge defensively:] I took a nap six hours ago.

[confidente]

For how long? [ Understandable, considering John is very close to the fussing over Sherlock's health area. ]

[workaphilic]

Half hour. [He opens the door wider, his unspoken permission for John to come in if he likes.] And before you say anything, that's plenty long.

[Too long, in his estimation, but he knows better than to say that.]

[confidente]

[ He still wants to say something about half an hour is certainly not enough sleep. ]

It's not.

[workaphilic]

Take it or leave it.

[He really, really doesn't want to go down this road right now. He turns away and wanders back into his room, leaving the door open behind him. What's the best way to stop a conversation you don't want to participate in? Abandon it entirely! Yay.]

[confidente]

[ He opens his mouth to continue it, then shuts it. Fine. They won't have this conversation, he can escape it this time. Only because John is such a nice and wonderful friend.

And Mycroft has gone.

A moment later he strolls in behind him, giving the room a quick glance over. ]

You've been busy.

[workaphilic]

As I've said, yes.

[And he wasn't lying, not entirely. There are books stacked neatly on the floor by his bed with a few loose papers scattered between them. (About as messy as his room ever gets.) His laptop is open on his bed, on some portion of Castlenet's floor map.

He doesn't work well in his room, much better to throw his thoughts all over the rest of the flat, but some of these things are sensitive.

(And he felt like sulking.)]

[confidente]

[ Considering how clean the room usually is, it is a surprise to John to see it like this. And honestly, only increases the concern nagging at the edge his mind.

Urging him to ask the question he has been skirting around ever since he got up from his armchair. ]

You alright?

[ Honesty please, that would be appreciated. ]

[workaphilic]

[He turns away and stoops to gather up his papers, won't meet John's eyes.]

I'll be fine.

[That's the closest he'll come to admitting things aren't 100% right now.]

[confidente]

[ He's silent for a moment, watching him gather up the papers. ]

Okay.

[workaphilic]

[He fidgets with them, flips through them like he's engrossed. He's quiet, and then:]

With any luck I might actually be able to get things done in a timely manner now.

[Without Mycroft constantly peering at him from the shadows, he means. Can't let the honesty pass without at least one snarky quip, apparently.]

[confidente]

[ He sniffs, mouth tightening into a smile that fades as quickly as it appears. ]

And I won't have to worry about him stalking me when I go grocery shopping.

[workaphilic]

There, you see? I can do my work, and you're free to buy whatever vegetables you like without being judged. It's the best case scenario.

[confidente]

Lucky us.

[workaphilic]

My sentiments exactly.

[He turns to shuffle the papers back into their (apparent) proper locations on his bookshelf, and that seems to be all he has to say on the matter.]

[confidente]

[ Better than nothing, John thinks. He watches for a moment before shifting his weight and turning back towards the door. ]

Well, I'll be just out there. If you need me.

[workaphilic]

[He doesn't turn around.]

I won't.

[Well okay then.]

[confidente]

Of course you won't. [ Right, back to his chair he goes. Until one of them decides to bother them other, or John decides Sherlock has to eat. ]