paradisa | 009 || written/dictated;

[ 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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's like being a bat without ears.

[a beat.]

Wasn't talking to you, Del.

[Why not? She's hurt now. And pouty about it.]

...Oh...

[snippily:]

Don't do that. Your experience isn't relevant to the question I was asking.

[It's a backwards sort of compliment. A really, really backwards one.]

[An angry huff.]

I have lots of relevant... things. That are relevant!

[Yeah, she knows its a compliment. But it's a terrible one.]

Yes. But not to this specifically.

[And angry mutter.]

...fine...

Continue not being relevant, please. Best for everyone involved.

[We'll see best. Because she's throwing her book away for a moment, and plotting.]

[Please don't plot to be a dumbdumb, Del. You'll break his tiny consulting detective heart.]

[Del is never a dumbdumb. She's crazypants. It's entirely different.

Which is why, at some point, his door will manage to be coated with rainbow glue. And she'll be lounging outside, amused when the things she throws at it get stuck. Mostly because playing cards do not flitter like butterflies when they're thrown.]

[Gurl, you are his favorite.

It's a while before he comes out again, but when he does he just.... stops in the doorway. He glances from the door to her and back again. To his credit, he looks pretty unperturbed.

Like a greeting:]

Del.

Detective.

[Her greeting is more of a smirk. And the ball spinning past him isn't supposed to fall up.]

[He watches it go by. What are you even doing to physics. B(]

Any specific reason you've defaced my door again, or are you simply bored? [He plucks a paperclip off the door.] Which would still be valid.

Can we get a dog?

You can.

[A huff and tossed fork. That wasn't nearly as good as we.]

[Don't you throw cutlery at him. B(]

Don't want to be held responsible for it. I'm sure you can survive somehow.

[Pout pout pout. Fine. She holds out her hand for help up.]

Lectricity got it anyway.

[He stares at her hand for a second -- and then sighs dramatically, and helps her up.]

Have them deal with it for you, then.

...She left.

[She keeps a grip on his hand and tries to examine his finger nails.]

[He lets her, watching her carefully. God, you are so lucky he likes you, Del.]

Hm. Still, have to be plenty of people in this place who'd fawn over it. People do.

Barnabas used to eat beans.

[She eventually lets him have his hand back. Because it doesn't look like fish fingers at all.]

Again with the beans. Are they really that enthralling?

[A bit of a shrug, as she slips a strand of hair into her mouth]

He opened cans.

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