030 || written/dictated;

[workaphilic]

[ Private ]

[The journal opens to snuffling.

The dog, it seems, has made it its life mission to sit on top of Sherlock's feet whenever the opportunity presents itself. (A hundred more comfortable places for it to be sitting, and it chooses the most inconvenient. Why, why, why?!)

A ballpoint pen presses to the page, but it only leaves a dot before there's rustling and a low whine.]

Go away.

[The puppy whines louder (noise noise noise NOISE) and something heavy slams down onto the table.]

For god's sake-- go. I understand that words are difficult, but the sentiment has to be clear.

[The dog goes quiet, but the silence doesn't stick. It's filled by bubbling and the occasional clink of glassware, while Sherlock writes out a series of chemical equations onto the page.

But something must go wrong, somewhere, because there's a muted pop, shattering glass, and a yelp from the dog. Liquid seeps into the corner of the page, swirled slightly pink.

Sherlock doesn't say anything at all. There's no epiphany, no gasp of delight, no frustrated groan. He pulls the journal away from the spill, and crosses out all of his notes, each line more roughly than the last until the point of the pen finally tears into the page.

There's a pause, and then he writes one line before he closes the journal.]

This arrangement is no longer viable.

----

[When the journal opens again, Sherlock seems to be mid-ramble. The usual smugness or abrasiveness that's usually in his tone when he talks to Paradisa at large is absent; he sounds monotone, almost like he's talking to himself. The only indication that he even knows he's speaking to the journal is that he opened it in the first place.]

Magic doesn't exist in my world. The idea of it is fanciful and pointless, and most are actually reasonable enough to recognize it. Those who don't are simple minded people in need of an excuse not to face the realities of life, or death, or whatever else it is they won't look at too closely.

Even still, you can't hear the end of it. There are stories, loads of them, about different worlds with different rules, about magic. Those worlds are either better or worse than mine, depending on the genre and the age level. They're works of fiction, all hopeless exercises in the impossible, but ordinary people snap them up like candy.

They say they don't believe in it, but the sentiment is the same. They don't want to acknowledge the obvious in our world, so they demand a different one. Easiest way to make a world not like ours is with magic.

This world, though. Hardly different at all, is it? The pool of resources is different, but the rest of it is similar enough. Not even all human, and you're still an adequate enough approximation for humanity. It's almost--

[He stops, abruptly.]

Oh.

[A pause. His voice gets clearer, like he's coming back to earth.]

Never mind. Disregard all that.

[And he flips the journal shut.]

Comments

[theabjectauthor]

[for a moment, Lemony fears for the well-being of the dog. but then he keeps listening, and reading, and it occurs to him that something is Very Wrong. certainly, he knows that Mr. Holmes is given to waxing negativity about magic, and about the castle's whims .... but something about this latest is different.

he's not entirely sure what to do, but he does know that when one's friends seem troubled, there is a somewhat universal course of action. thankfully, finding Holmes' name on the map is not too difficult - and confirms his suspicions, at that. no wonder he never got a first name out of him. he'll keep it to himself, though, understanding the need for anonymity better than some in the castle might.

instead, he simply shows up at Sherlock's door a short while later with a tea tray balanced against his hip, one hand free for knocking.]

[workaphilic]

[There's no answer, at first. But Sherlock does call out from the sitting room:]

Go away.

[theabjectauthor]

[sorry, remember that stubborn streak from the library? not going away any time soon.]

Mr. Holmes, it's Lemony Snicket. I have brought you an afternoon tea.




[oh wait.]



A proper one.

dictated;

[magicus]

[ Merlin's only half following what's being said by the monotonous voice in the journal, but even he can't ignore it when he hears the word magic said more than once - and not entirely enthusiastically. ]

Hello, sorry to interrupt, but - are you saying you don't believe in magic? [ He might sound very mildly offended, but he's mostly just incredulous. ]

[workaphilic]

I said magic doesn't exist in my world. It isn't a matter of belief or disbelief.

[His voice is sharper now, more aware, and he's not in a good mood.]

Don't apply the rules of your world to the rest of them, not unless you enjoy being ignorant.

[He might not like it, but magic is clearly a significant factor here, one that he's been forced to try and understand from the ground up. The least people could do is recognize that the opposite might be true. Bitter, maybe.]

[magicus]

[ Well that's rude. There's some attitude in his voice, though he sounds vaguely amused. ]

Just because you haven't seen it doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

[ Not really helping his cause, here, but there's more to this than just obstinance. He's tired of people from his theoretical future acting like he's just a story in a book. ]

[the_effect_she_has]

Magic is for children.

[A pause ... then a sigh that seems to echo past frustrations and maybe something else.]

But then again, I live in a castle that gives me food whether I want it or not, surrounded by wizards and witches and talking rabbits and lions. So what do I know?

[workaphilic]

You know what you observe. Is that so difficult a concept? The status quo here tells you nothing except what is true here.

[the_effect_she_has]

But isn't the truth subjective? What I see as truth will not be what is true to you.

[magicalwright]

How can you not believe in magic? [ THE HORROR. ]

[workaphilic]

When did I say that?

[mal_addict]

People need belief, you'll fine, to deal with the life itself. Small lies to deal with the bigger lies, and all that.

[workaphilic]

[A beat.]

They don't need it, they want it. Ordinary people are all to eager to ignore what's right in front of them.

Doesn't make it any less idiotic.

[mal_addict]

I don't think people... humans can function if they don't pretend the big lies are real. Mercy, Kindness, all that. I'd say they need to pretend those are real.

And you seem to know so much, to judge them from on high.

[cheerupemoborg]

It's almost... what?

Don't leave us in suspense here.

[workaphilic]

[What? Oh. Back to the monotone:]

Almost enough to argue that magic alone isn't enough of a factor to distinguish my world from any other.

[Whether or not that's actually what he was going to say is pretty irrelevant now, at least from his perspective.]

/chucks this in

[unnaturalpause]

[Probably later in the day or so after hearing this, there's a small plate in front of his door with a cupcake, a small journal under it (full of notes on some of his experiences with Abnormals that could be seen as magical), and a small card that simply says Happy Birthday and signed J.W.

Happy birthday, Sherlock from your birthday bro.]

[ James Watson ]

[workaphilic]

[And some time later, a filter appears in the journal. To be fair, Sherlock sounds more whiny than actually upset. For all he tries to hide it, it is sort of nice when someone remembers your birthday.]

Tell anyone, and I will end you.

[But he'll eat your stupid cupcake. whatever, he's above it!!! B(]

[ Sherlock Holmes ]

[unnaturalpause]

[He does try, and it's not much but hey. AND GOOD YOU EAT IT. Not like he'd do much if it got sent back to him somehow.]

I have no intentions of doing so, considering you know mine as well. [And John would probably yell at them both if they started a war on their birthday.]

[nihilo]

That's very articulate.

[workaphilic]

Interesting aspect to focus on.

[nihilo]

A more fascinating one rather than the obvious.

[peacockherald]

Was that an attempt to try and prove magic isn't real?

[workaphilic]

If you'd actually bothered to listen, you'd have found that I said nothing of the sort.

[He's cranky today.]

[peacockherald]

Going through that, you kept insisting that magic is a way for people to... escape their worldly problems, that it's made up. You seem to repeat that idea several times, even.