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

[confidente]

It's nice sometimes, peace, normalcy, but not continuous. I tried to living like that before I met you. [ It wasn't fun, it was bleak and he wasn't happy. ]

[workaphilic]

[He hums to himself.]

Not quite the same, but it's a decent enough analogy.

[A pause, while he considers whether or not to say what he says next.]

You were largo, when we met. Slow. Too slow, based on what I knew about you. Seemed wrong.

[confidente]

[ He clenches his fist, subconsciously, the same way he used to banish the tremors that no longer bother him. ]

When my therapist wasn't telling me about my trust issues I was spending hours staring at my empty blog.

[workaphilic]

[He's silent for several seconds.]

Your therapist was a moron and your blog isn't empty anymore, much as I wish it was. So it hardly matters now.

[confidente]

You know, I was thinking of writing again. Give myself something to do other than watch over a cranky, childish, dick of a doctor with a limp. [ Do you know what that spells for you Sherlock? ]

[workaphilic]

[He looks INSTANTLY SUSPICIOUS. Not sure... if want.....]

What could you possibly have to write about? It isn't as if I'm bursting with cases for you to chronicle.

[confidente]

[ John just looks amused. ]

I'll think of something.

[workaphilic]

If "something" ends up being about me, I reserve the right to critique it as I see fit.

[confidente]

Of course.

[workaphilic]

[beat]

And if you put it in the journal, I reserve the right to pour ink on it if I don't like it.

[confidente]

That's a bit childish don't you think?

[workaphilic]

Your blog was blatantly under regulated. For something that's primarily about me, I deserve to have some avenue of damage control.

[so yes]

[confidente]

[ Eyebrow raise. ] Oh, because I paint you in such a horrible light.

[workaphilic]

Maybe not me, but my methods, certainly. It's as if the science of it is completely meaningless to you.

[confidente]

I think I'm rather fair about your methods.

[workaphilic]

Fair? If you were being fair you'd focus on my reasoning and nothing else.

[confidente]

[ Pfft. ] People wouldn't bother reading it if I did that.

[workaphilic]

What I do is interesting. You said it yourself.

[confidente]

It is. But if I don't think many people would want to read about just your reasoning.

[workaphilic]

[He frowns, more than a little put-out.]

Why not? It's the most integral piece of our little adventures.

[confidente]

For the same reason not many people read your website. [ HAHAHA OOPS. ]

[workaphilic]

[MEAN. 8(]

What are you talking about? Of course people read my website.

[confidente]

[ NO, HE'D NEVER BE MEAN TO HIS BEST BRO. ]

Not as many as you'd like to think.

[workaphilic]

That's ridiculous. Some of my most important work is there.

[But he doesn't look 100% sure. PEOPLE ARE STUPID AFTER ALL......]

[confidente]

Doesn't mean people are reading it. [ John shrugs and gets up to clear the dishes off the table. He reads it, but that isn't the point... not really. ]