028 || dictated;

[workaphilic]

[The journal opens to the sound of footsteps on these very icy hallways, and the voice of your very favorite giant toolbag, mid-sentence.

He's rambling, a little.]

-- not impossible to suppose I may have overlooked some potential of the castle's recent redecoration. Not to say that it isn't insipid, of course, because it is, but if we're to suffer this through the holiday, there must be something, something, something....

[There's a pause. He climbs onto one of the ice couches in one of the ice hallways, stands braced with one foot on the arm and the other on the not-so cushions, ostensibly to look at the wall.

When in doubt, climb furniture.]

Oh, yes. I can 'make it work,' as it were.

((Open, both over the journal and in person! Feel free to run into him anywhere in the castle; he's super bored, and will be climbing shit anywhere and everywhere. Also, kissmas shenanigans (planned or unplanned) are welcome!))

Comments

[theabjectauthor]

How interesting. [and out comes his journal. he writes down "in need of one ice pick...." and wishes and waits silently until it arrives. once he has it, he moves closer, scribbling down notes]

Are there often structural changes of such a minute nature?

[workaphilic]

It's magic. [He says the word loftily, but he's not disdainful about it. It's not magic that bothers him so much as it is people who simply take it at face value.] This didn't form naturally. There's obviously going to be differences, just a matter of deciding how much.

[theabjectauthor]

["there are. there -are- obviously going to be differences", he thinks, silently ... and then he's thinking of J, and that makes him sniffle slightly as he leans on the handle of the ice pick. he figures Holmes will ask for it when it is needed]

As I recall, Arthur C. Clarke once remarked that magic is simply unexplained science. I'm paraphrasing, of course. ... And once you've gauged the difference, what then? Is this simply a matter of collecting data, or are you forming a hypothesis in order to ... facilitate some other, greater and potentially dangerous course of action?

[because science, like all truly worthwhile things, is always dangerous]

[workaphilic]

I wouldn't bother if it wasn't meant to facilitate something.

[Knowledge for knowledge's sake isn't really his thing.

He grins a bit, to himself.]

Not necessarily dangerous, but it's always more fun if it is.

[theabjectauthor]

... I may have to agree to disagree with you, there. At least, on the subject of danger.

What, exactly, are you hoping to facilitate? [so he has ample warning to start running, should it go terribly awry]

[workaphilic]

That's not your concern.

[And he holds a hand behind him, wordlessly, for the pick. Cryptic.]

[theabjectauthor]

It is if it causes you to come to harm, and I could have done something to assist...

[he frowns, but hands it over anyway]

[workaphilic]

Please.

[If you knew what kind of shit he gets up to, Lemony, you'd know this is small time.

He takes the pick, and without any preamble at all, swings it full-force into the wall. It sinks in enough to hold itself up, cracks in the ice spidering out in all directions.

Sherlock just leaves it wedged into the wall while he goes to inspect them.]

[theabjectauthor]

Well-swung.

[he'll start helping by taking out his notebook and drawing a diagram of the cracks, leaning in every now and then to use his pen as a unit of measure]

[workaphilic]

I thought so.

[He's very absorbed in what he's doing. Something about the depth, or the angles maybe? Hard to say.

Either way, he's absorbed enough that he doesn't notice when a nutcracker appears on the arm of the couch.]

[theabjectauthor]

[Lemony, however, has Neurotic as a default setting. unfortunately, he doesn't realize there's cause for distress. he moves closer, sketching a bit as he does]

That's odd...

[workaphilic]

[Sherlock tilts his head without moving his eyes, an attempt at an acknowledgement.

impatiently:]

What?

[theabjectauthor]

Oh, it's ... You wouldn't have wished for a nutcracker, surely. That's nonsense. But it just appeared, and I certainly didn't have need of one.

[workaphilic]

What?

[He glances sideways at the nutcracker, then to Lemony, then back to the wall, and he grimaces with frustration.]

Oh, for God's sake.

[And he's reaching to grab Lemony by his shirt or coat or whatever else he can get his hands on to drag him closer. He ain't got time for this shit.]

K-K-K-KEYWORDS

[theabjectauthor]

[SUDDENLY ACCOSTED. the shock on his face knows pretty much no bounds, and there really are no words]

M-mr. Holmes?! What are you DOING, sir...?!

[workaphilic]

[He doesn't bother to answer. There's a familiar tug of magic, and he leans in for the kiss.

So much for strictly business.]

[theabjectauthor]

[he fights it, horrified, for all of nanoseconds, until Sherlock's lips meet his. and then, well.

it's not the best kiss, it's still quite awkward, and somewhat brief as magical ones go - but it's definitely a kiss.]

[workaphilic]

[As soon as it's lasted long enough to appease the castle, Sherlock releases him and goes right back to what he was doing, as if nothing out of the ordinary happened at all. Not much of a sweet-talker, this one.]

1/IDEK

[theabjectauthor]

[theabjectauthor]

[theabjectauthor]

[theabjectauthor]

[well he's not about to judge if that's how he swings, but]

[theabjectauthor]

[well]

[theabjectauthor]

[wait. he kissed him back]

[theabjectauthor]

[and THAT IS NOT NORMAL because well

it just

it isn't, okay.

certain icons like this one are surprisingly deceptive]