ғᴏᴜʀᴛᴇᴇɴ

[confidente]

[ He waffled on it initially, torn between being angry and maybe in part (only a small part) glad. Better that he's gone then still here. House wasn't happy here, he knew that much, but part of him can help but be annoyed that the message he left was a bunch of post it notes. Annoyed but amused. Sort of. Kind of. Maybe. ]

For those who knew him, Gregory House is no longer in Paradisa.

[ A sigh. He'll leave it at that. ]

[ Sherlock Holmes; ]

Remember how I said I expected you to already be in the flat when I come back? Well, I'm coming back. So you better be there.
----

Comments

[workaphilic]

[There's no answer on the journal. Not even an indication that he got the message. (Maybe he didn't.)

But if someone were to listen closely at the door of room 1802 some (very brief) time later, they might be able to hear the faint strains of a violin. Like he was never gone at all.]

[confidente]

[ And that's the sound John is greeted by as he stands outside the door, lips twitched into a smile. He didn't expect a reply, he didn't really expect Sherlock to have read the filter at all. Nevertheless, he can't stop himself from smiling.

John discovers falling back into practiced steps is ridiculously easy, the opens the door and makes his way inside, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over his arm chair. Then to the kitchen, to turn on the kettle.

He doesn't say anything to interrupt him and just makes two cups of tea, bringing them with him putting one down nearby Sherlock while sitting down in his chair with his own. ]

[workaphilic]

[He doesn't move -- in fact, doesn't respond much at all when John comes in. He is, for all intents and purposes, focused on the music. (Whether or not that's actually the case is highly debatable.)

It's another handful of minutes while the piece finishes out. He lingers on the final note, letting it stretch and gradually fade... and then it's over and the bow swings down by his side.

By way of greeting:]

John.

[Normal as can be. He loosens the bow and sets both it and the violin itself back in the case. He'll wipe it down later, right now he wants his tea.]

[confidente]

[ John stays silent until he finishes, hands wrapped around his cup, taking slow sips every so often. For all intents and purposes everything is normal, nothing all out of place or odd.

(but are they really?) ]

Sherlock.

[ Another sip and he looks over at him, face still. As still as he can make it anyway. He knows he probably has more than enough tells etched all over it. ]

That was a new piece.

[workaphilic]

[He hums an affirmative behind his cup.]

Very new. Still needs some work, honestly. Might have to adjust the entire third section.

[If he sees anything, he doesn't mention it. He can pretend with the best of them.]

[confidente]

I like it.

[ Pretending is good─ well not really. Short term, sure, but not in the long term. There's still the issue of Sherlock being dead pressing against the back of his skull, hidden in the back but still ever present. And he's keenly aware of it.

He bring his cup to his mouth again, taking another measured sip. ]

I don't know, it sounds just fine to me. Don't think you need to change all of it.

[workaphilic]

[He'll always be pretending a little. More than he'll allow anyone to know. It's all he has (for now).

He smiles slightly and sets his cup aside. He's had it ingrained in him to wipe the violin down after every session -- he can't resist the urge for very long.]

It isn't where it needs to be. [He handles the violin delicately, lovingly. It's an extension of himself.] You'll like it better when it's properly finished.

[confidente]

[ John will do the dance, for the moment at least, he'll pretend with the best of them. Until it comes too much and he cracks, but that won't happen for a some time (right?). ]

I'm sure I will. [ He's always liked listening to Sherlock play, especially after he started actually playing well. The Irene Adler incident aside. ]

What brought it on?

[workaphilic]

[He was bored and alone and miserable for two months, in desperate need of a distraction.]

I was struck by inspiration. [He finishes, tucks the cloth and the violin away and closes the case.] It seemed worth pursuing.

placeholderyish

[luthored]

He was a doctor, wasn't he? Were you two close?

[confidente]

Yeah, he was. [ A beat. ] He was a friend, a good friend.

[luthored]

From home?

[confidente]

Not from home, thank god. [ He gives an uneasy laugh. ] Well... sort of, if being from the same planet counts as home.

[luthored]

Well, I guess it does and it doesn't. I just meant if you knew him before.

[ Thank God? He must be one of those frenemy things, or he's joking. Lana understands, sort of... ]

Do you want to go out for dinner? I'm not working tonight. Or if you're busy, then lunch tomorrow. [ /worryworry ]

[confidente]

Yeah, no. I didn't know him before Paradisa.

[ It's complicated, part a joke part truth. He doesn't think the world could handle both Sherlock and House in the same... place, or universe or whatever. He honestly doesn't understand how all that works. ]

Actually, dinner sounds great. I'd love to.

wow i suck?! /creeps back in

[luthored]

I think I'm pretty sick of Italian. But other than that, I'd be up for anything.

no you don't, that is a liiieee

[confidente]

[ A laugh. ] Wouldn't blame you.

What about Chinese? Or the British delicacy of Fish and Chips? [ LOOK LANA HE MADE A FUNNY. ]

Dictated forever

[whichwayyoulean]

[Oh. Well, House was a jackass anyway. The most assish of jackasses, even. He shouldn't even feel bad about it really.

So why does he?]

Well, thanks for letting us know. I guess.

[confidente]

You're welcome. [ Those words are far too practiced. The tone the same sort of tone he'd used whenever he lost someone on the field. ]

[whichwayyoulean]

I guess he's happier back home.

...

Or whatever equates as 'happy' for House. Making small children cry, I guess.

[confidente]

[ John laughs shortly. ]

Or solving some sort of medical puzzle.

[whichwayyoulean]

If it had been anyone but House, I'd be concerned about a doctor taking pleasure in his patients getting horrible, exotic diseases.

[confidente]

House is... complicated. As much as he takes pleasure in it, he treats them, he helps them. I think part of him likes saving people as much as he likes the puzzle.

[whichwayyoulean]

Sure, I mean, if he doesn't win at the end, if he doesn't beat whatever it is, then the whole point of finding out what it is goes to waste. [House doesn't like to LOSE]

[confidente]

Yeah, exactly. [ OH DOES HE KNOW. HE KNOWS THIS WELL. ]