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[paradisamods]

[And, quite suddenly...

You're holding your journal. If you already were holding it, congratulations. If you weren't... you are now! Somebody wants your attention.

And get this: it's empty.

The old one's kicking around somewhere, but for now, look at what Paradisa gave you!]

Comments

[confidente]

Here. [ He hands it over without pause, the small book that looks similar to their journals. May not be the book they're looking for, but hey it's close. ]

[workaphilic]

[He flips through it, but his mouth twists unhappily.]

No, no, no.

[Except it is close, very close, which means John is on the same wavelength at least. Which is good! Focus on that.]

Yes, but no.

[confidente]

Wrong book? [ Yes, he's got it now. The castle wouldn't just get rid of all of those entries it hoarded for the past five years. So it had to have...transferred them to another book? Something like that. ]

Right. I'll keep looking.

[workaphilic]

[He sees the comprehension there and it calms some of his excess manic energy. Bro, you're a star.]

Good.

[He shoves the book back at him and sweeps back into the kitchen. Going through the fridge now for some bizarre reason.

also totally going to leave that pan in the middle of the floor.]

[confidente]

[ The fridge? Seriously? Putting the book down somewhere it wouldn't get in the way he watches Sherlock go through the fridge. Why would the book be in the fridge? ]

...You're going to just leave that there? [ Of course he is. Don't worry John will pick that up and put it away so no one trips over and breaks their neck on it. ]

[workaphilic]

[If you were a crazy magical castle trying to hide shit, why NOT put it in the fridge?

He doesn't look over his shoulder when he speaks, so the words get kind of muffled by the fridge.]

Would've gotten to it eventually.

[No he wouldn't have.]

[confidente]

Uh huh. [ John knows better. With a shake of his head he goes back to searching, THIS FLAT IS SUCH A MESS. ]

[workaphilic]

[THE FLAT HAS CHARACTER. B(

The fridge seems to be a bust, too. (Though at one point he does make a pleasantly surprised sort of sound -- did he mention putting those insect specimens in the crisper? Hmmmm.) He makes a pass through his bedroom, but it's brief and he comes out empty handed from that, too.]

This is ridiculous.

[confidente]

[ IT'S A MESS!!!

John comes up empty also, having searched through majority of the lounge. He sighs, resigning himself to the armchair he had been occupying previously and shakes his head. ]

It's not in here.

[workaphilic]

It has to be somewhere.

[The other option is accepting that he might be wrong. Which isn't an option.]

[confidente]

I'll check my room. [ And he's up again, disappearing through the door to his room. Who knows why it'd be in there, but it won't hurt to check. ]

[workaphilic]

[Meanwhile, he's just... gonna pace around, occasionally poking through places he's already looked. HURRY HURRY he needs to be right, okay.]

[confidente]

[ He comes back a few moments later, another journal in his hands. It's his old one. Better than nothing right? ]

You were right.

[workaphilic]

Of course I was.

[But he looks pleased anyway, pfff. He holds a hand out to take it, eagerly. Suck it, castle, he's gonna figure this shit out.]

[confidente]

[ He looks from his journal to Sherlock's hand and frowns, he isn't all that sure he should hand it over. ]

A quick look, then I'm putting it away. Alright? [ Because it is his and he really doesn't want Sherlock to abuse it via experiments. ]

[workaphilic]

Yes, yes, fine.

[He's grabbing it before John can change his mind and starts flipping. Honestly, good luck wrangling it back from him.]

I'll need to find mine eventually, but this will do for now.

[confidente]

[ It's gone before he can open his mouth and say anything else, so he closes it again and just watches him. ]

It has to be around somewhere in the castle if not in the flat.

[workaphilic]

Obviously.

[He's checking key pages first, like Lois' compendium, before looking at it with a finer toothed comb. The paper, the binding, the leather of the cover.]

Where did you find this one? Exactly?

[confidente]

Hmm? Oh, in my bed, under the sheets.

[workaphilic]

[He frowns. He's somehow managing to think, examine, listen, and talk all at the same time without much effort.]

Annoying. Why hide mine so thoroughly if it was just going to put yours where you were bound to find it eventually?

[confidente]

[ Shrug. ]

No idea.

[workaphilic]

[A huff. He tilts his head some, now talking more to the empty air (the castle) than to John.]

Can't hide it from me forever. Even magical castles have predictable patterns.

[confidente]

Since when are you an expert on omnipotent magical castles?

[workaphilic]

Somebody needs to be the expert, might as well be me.

[confidente]

Careful, people might start to think you're full of yourself.