017 || dictated;

[workaphilic]

[Anyone looking for Sherlock today can find him outside by the duck pond. He has his journal open in his palm, but other than that he doesn't seem to be doing anything other than standing and watching.

Specifically, watching a little girl with dark, messy curls and her pants rolled to her knees splash around in the shallows.]

No points for creativity, yet again. Can't be blamed, though. It gets the job done, and there's something to be said for long term investment. [He sounds almost... impressed?] No reason to change a winning formula.

Those of you somehow surprised by this turn of events should pay better attention.

[There's an excited sort of shriek from somewhere far away, and Sherlock's voice gets fainter as he turns away from the journal.]

Daddy! Daddy, look at this, come see!

Yes, yes. Bring it here.

Comments

[workaphilic]

No, no, squish it like this!

[He glances at them, squishing their grass castle, and his gaze lingers.]

I don't need to.

[fishy_go_byebye]

[She's laughing at him, behind her now-long bangs, holding it back into those bright flashes behind one's eyes.

One hand reaches over and plucks at the grass, tugging it up up up to make a tent circus. Billie swiftly changes focus and starts making an elephant.]

Someday she'll need to know why the dead sing.

[workaphilic]

[Rachel is okay with this! It means she gets the castle to herself. She starts building new spires for it.

Sherlock turns away again.]

Someday, maybe. In the next week? No. Best not get ahead of ourselves.

[fishy_go_byebye]

[The girls seem pretty preoccupied, at least.]

Orpheus could sing before he knew it drew.

[That an important fact, if only she could make it word right. They just flew away like almosts on a raft.]

[workaphilic]

Good for him. [Who is Orpheus? He's got no clue, son.] Somehow I don't think it will be an issue for her.

[fishy_go_byebye]

Dream was very bad at being fatherly.

[She agrees slowly, rubbing bare toes against the grass.]

[workaphilic]

Well. Fortunately for us, a week's time isn't exactly long enough to make a value judgement.

[fishy_go_byebye]

They remember year to year.

[workaphilic]

Worry about that in a year, then, won't we?

[fishy_go_byebye]

[It makes her think he doesn't expect a year to come. Years always come.

Del's head drops down to her knees.]

Mm. A year.

[workaphilic]

[He doesn't. He can't, because thinking about being here another twelve months on top of the eight he already has almost makes him ill. He's barely handling the boredom as it is.

He watches her, and his voice dips a little in volume.]

Just being practical.

[fishy_go_byebye]

All so practical until they're not.

[What was one place over another. She didn't understand.]

[workaphilic]

Better than the alternative.

[This place has too many people, and not enough of them are dead people.]

[fishy_go_byebye]

Everything alternative.

[And it wasn't fair. Del slumped to the side, reaching around Billie to help her snakes grow ears and apes grow tails.]

[workaphilic]

[He doesn't say anything else. Not much to say, really. He's not sure how to explain it in a way that Del will understand (not sure if there is a way Del would understand, transient and all-encompassing as she is).

He'll handle himself still being here in a year when it happens.

For now he'll just watch his fragmented little family go about their business.]