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

[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. ]

[workaphilic]

[After a minute or two, the door to his bedroom shuts again. He doesn't slam it, but he does make sure it's loud enough for John to hear. It's probably meant to be his equivalent of a 'Do Not Disturb' sign without actually locking it.

Except a few minutes after that it opens again, quietly. (Guiltily?) He leaves it half open, a suggested compromise. ("I'd like to be left alone, but you can come in if you absolutely have to because you almost got eaten by space lobsters that one time.")]

[confidente]

[ Definitely guiltily. John sniffs, unable to hold back a smile. It's a compromise he's happy to work with. He even promises not to get eaten by anything today. :')

Then half an hour later John slips a tray with a cup of tea and fairly biscuits through the door, he doesn't say anything or even go in, just leaves the tray there. He is the best friend ever. ]

[workaphilic]

[The absolute best.

The tea disappears first, almost immediately. Then the biscuits, one by one, over the course of twenty minutes or so. (Damnable metabolism.) It appears back in the hallway not much later, picked clean. The unspoken gratitude is there, in the way that only Sherlock can communicate by leaving his dirty dishes on the floor in the hallway.]

[confidente]

[ Good thing John is so damn well versed in the mannerisms of Sherlock Holmes, else he might have gotten annoyed. But he doesn't, instead he just picks up the dishes and puts them in the kitchen.

Don't sulk too long mister. ]