009 || written/dictated;

[workaphilic]

[ Private ]

[The journal opens to Sherlock already talking. The sentence stutters before the filter is written in, then continues smoothly as soon as the restrictions of his loss are appeased.]

-- clearly a hardy subspecies, then, at least in terms of temperature patterns. Fitting, given the circumstances of the "gift." Interesting choice, actually, managed not to be completely boring. More interesting that the castle seems to care all of the sudden about my entertainment.

[The bees have been moved back into the sitting room because, well, John's not here anymore to complain about it, is he? Good for the bees, because the dampness of the bathroom was threatening to damage the integrity of the hive. Good for Sherlock, because he's already deciphered the duties and movement patterns of worker bees based on their relative age and the needs of the colony.]

Probably a placation, and a good one. Most residents receive mementos or objects of emotional significance from home. Makes them feel nostalgic, but it's the safe kind of nostalgia, something they have the castle to thank for.

[He gets so much more done when he's alone. Far too many petty restrictions to adhere to otherwise.

It's better, supposed to be better, should be better.]

Provides them with a sense of normalcy and ingratiates them to the castle without interrupting the status quo. Obvious. But apparently effective.

[Except he's going on three days without sleep, now, and it isn't because the bees are captivating enough to warrant it. (Though they are that, too. Fascinating creatures.) There's a nagging in the back of his mind, nagging, nagging, nagging. Persistent and annoying. Keeps him from thinking, keeps him from not thinking.

A pause, and he exhales noisily.]

Status quo.

----

[ John Watson ]

Stop being an idiot.

SH

[........ Okay, well. Not the best start, admittedly. Baby steps.]

----

[When he's finished, he lingers, letting the tip of his pen tap rapidly against the page. He's been distracted, hasn't been as up-to-date on the journal as he usually is. But now that's he's skimming it again -- god, sometimes he really just CAN'T STAND you people.]

Tell me, residents. What is it like?

[There's an edge in his tone that he's not really bothering to hide -- not overtly malicious but certainly not all sunshine and daisies, either. Might as well hang a signpost reading HERE BE DOUCHEBAGGERY, PROCEED WITH CAUTION.]

Comments

John Watson

[workaphilic]

Stop avoiding the question.

Sherlock Holmes

[confidente]

I'm no-- [ No that isn't right, he is avoiding it. They both know that.

The next message comes a few moments later: ]

Ten minutes. All I ask for is ten minutes. Alright?

John Watson

[workaphilic]

Fine.

[His pen lingers on the page for just a second too long, like he wants to write something else. But then it's gone, and that seems to be his final say on the matter.]

Sherlock Holmes

[confidente]

Thank you.

[ He sees that and frowns, morbid curiosity keeping him from closing the journal instantly. After staring at the page for a few moments later, in case Sherlock does decide to write whatever else he may or may not have to say he closes it.

Only to open it again ten minutes later. ]

...Could you open the door?

[workaphilic]

[He doesn't answer, and there's a slight delay between when he writes it and when Sherlock actually goes to do it. (It's a bizarre request, to him.)

But then he'll swing the door open, as silent and impassive as ever.]

[confidente]

[ And is greeted by John standing in the hallway, hands hanging stiffly by his sides. He's a picture of tense with his head held high, trying to make it look like he hadn't spent the last two days staring at a ceiling (the other one had been spent aimlessly walking about the town). ]

You look terrible.

[ He clearly hasn't slept. Bloody hell. ]

[workaphilic]

[Sherlock hovers in the doorway, processing all that new data, three days worth of data. (Hasn't had to process that much from John in one go since the day they met.) He snaps back into focus when John speaks, and his frown deepens.]

I'm fine.

[And he turns on his heel and goes back into the flat. The open door is enough of an invitation to follow, apparently. (Still their flat, after all, not his flat. At least for the next few minutes, depending.)]

[confidente]

[ He doesn't bother hiding any of it, he knows better than to try, so he lays it all bear for him to see (Tired, spent a lot of time staring and/or pacing, worn the same clothes the entire time, ate a total of two meals nothing more or less, minor chemical burn on his left sleeve--he started a prank war without realizing it--and so forth). ]

You haven't slept, I can see it in your eyes.

[ (Note: get Sherlock to sleep soon) He doesn't hesitate, stepping in and closing the door before following after him silently. He doesn't open his mouth to speak again until they reach the sitting room and he shrugs off his jacket. ]

Look, Sherlock, I-- [ Inhale. ] I'm sorry.

[workaphilic]

[For a moment he looks legitimately confused. He'd planned for a dozen different ways for this conversation to go, and that was not one of them.]

You're sorry. Why?

[confidente]

Because, I got angry at you over something so stupid. [ Among other things. ]

[workaphilic]

[He's quiet, like he's not sure what to do with that. People don't apologize to him very often.

Half-conciliatory, half-grudging:]

... Wasn't the most inspired of my experiments, admittedly.

[confidente]

I can name a few less inspired ones than that, but yeah. [ Regardless getting angry at him because of a bloody experiment is ridiculously stupid on his part. ]

Sherlock you're... my best friend [ Yes, he did just say that. You're not hearing things. ] and you really didn't deserve any of that.

[workaphilic]

[Well, if he didn't know what to do with the apology, he certainly doesn't know what to do with that. It sneaks up on him; one moment he's all tension and nagging din the back of his mind, and the next he's starting to relax, calm down, quiet down.

He smiles without thinking about it; reflex. (Pesky emotions.) He nods, accepting -- should probably reciprocate, but it feels obvious (John's his only friend, natural that he'd also be his best) and things have been a bit scrambled for him the past few days, difficult to parse.

Instead, he moves on to the next logical step. (John doesn't get that upset for no reason.) His tone is gentler, or at least as gentle as Sherlock can be, honest concern leaking through.]

Are you all right?

[confidente]

[ It'd be nice to hear but he doesn't expect it, he knows Sherlock, he knows how difficult certain things are for him to say. So the smile is enough, the nod an added bonus. He relaxes in turn, the tension slowly draining from his limbs.

This is... better. ]

Not exactly, it's been three months. [ Since he got here. Since he was plucked unceremoniously from the Pool and dumped into this... coma fever dream. ] Are you?

[workaphilic]

I'm fine.

[It's less dismissive this time; he says it lightly, like it's not important. Because, well, he will be fine, at least. He'll sleep tonight, most likely, so as long as everything is back to normal and stays that way.

It's starting to slot into place, though, the timeline of what happened. Obvious, should have seen it from the start, but he's done a decent enough job of distancing himself from the Pool Incident that it didn't occur to him to consider it.]

[confidente]

Are you sure?

[ He's definitely sleeping tonight, John will make sure of that. Even if he has to give him a sedative or something to make him sleep. ]

Have you even bothered to eat anything these past three days?

[ And from the looks of it everything is already starting to go back to normal. See? He's already fussing over his well being.

John hadn't been quite as successful, despite all his efforts, and it started to build up until everything just... exploded. No pun intended. ]

[workaphilic]

I'm fine.

[He seems halfway amused by it. He's not the one who went and had a meltdown.]

But I'll eat tonight if it'll get you to stop asking.

[That's not an answer, not even close, but it's better than nothing?]

[confidente]

You're eating something either way. Risotto?

[ Practically an admittance to John's ears. Doesn't really matter, he'll have eaten and slept by the time tomorrow rolls around. ]

I'll cook.

[workaphilic]

Sounds acceptable. [beat] Make it with the mushrooms this time, it's better that way.

[confidente]

Alright then. [ He cracks a smile, tossing his jacket onto the nearest chair and heads into the kitchen. He's not exactly avoiding the problem that caused all this in the first place, he's shelving it for something more important. Namely Sherlock's health. ]

Any other requests before I start this?

[workaphilic]

[Sherlock's gotten the end result he wanted -- there's no reason to push it any more. If John wants to talk, he'll talk, simple as that.

He trails after him, stares thoughtfully at the ceiling.]

Don't use too much pepper. A pinch is more than enough.

[confidente]

[ He's already rummaging through the fridge, pushing aside a container of something (he doesn't want to know what) to get what he needs. ] We need more milk. [ And butter. He'll need to make a note for himself to get them tomorrow.

In the middle of grabbing a few things from the cupboard he stops, turning his attention to Sherlock. ]

You can keep the hive inside, as long as the bees don't start flying about the flat. I don't want to want to be woken up in the middle of the night because I've been stung.

[workaphilic]

[Oh, look, John. Look how happy you've made him.]

Shouldn't be a problem. Been researching apiculture extensively; they're very easy to control, especially in the winter.

[confidente]

[ Isn't he the best friend ever? Rhetorical question, of course he is. ]

Well, at least you're not shooting more holes in the walls.

[ He turns back to his task, starting on the risotto. Damn he's hungry. ]

[workaphilic]

[Sherlock's going to watch him, apparently. At least until he gets distracted by something else.

He hums like he's thinking that over.]

Maybe I should have. Could've provided some very interesting data on the structure of the building.