[ Four months he's been on the Transquility. Four months with small bouts of excitement, but a case with dead ends abound. The last time he'd been without a case this long, it had been three months, and he'd been shooting holes into his wall whilst on enough drugs to kill an elephant. ]
[ Here, there is nothing. There is quiet. There are books and there is eating, sleeping, smoking, there is the network to watch and, occasionally, blissfully, there is fight club. He hasn't been sober since university. And it's very slowly eating him alive. It's lucky he was too lost in his thoughts to notice her eyes drifting to his own, but now that he's not trapped in his own tangle of yarn inside his own skull, he's self-aware, and his arms fold behind his back. ]
Intellect. [ His voice is decisive, before he raises a chin and gives a delicate sniff. ] Both. They can't have seen what I've been working on.
[ He folds his arms behind his back and again (for some reason she can't quite discern within herself) it irritates her. Is it pretense, is it shame? (Whatever it is, she isn't sure it has any place between them but now isn't the time or the place to push. The detail gets filed away for later, her eyes lingering for a moment too long on his elbow before meeting his gaze again.) Sherlock says intellect and that gets her tilt her head in silent question. Then he amends and says both and her expression smooths (that seems more accurate). ]
The list is partial or otherwise random and provided in order to incite derision or confusion, without any possibility of actual solution. Smile's intentions aren't clear and without comprehensive intel, the conclusions drawn are pure supposition. [ A pause. ] People are driven by the desire to find pattens in chaos. And sometimes those patterns exist.
[ She takes a step forward, closer, settling her weight square in front of him. ]
But sometimes they don't.
[ action ] /CLUTCHES IT TO HIS STILL EXISTENT BOSOM
[ Sherlock Holmes represses absolutely nothing in his life. There is so little he has ever been ashamed of in his life that he has felt the need to hide from anyone. His reaction to Crane's fear gas is one of those things. His drug use is intermittently another. His scratches and claw marks being a direct symptom (or consequence?) of one (or possibly both) of the latter is a matter of concern, and his own private business that he doesn't care to ever share with anyone, particularly strangers. Those he cares more for, who have tentatively edged their way into a circle of people he genuinely cares for, the story changes mildly. ]
[ It's very small, but- He supposes Aberdeen has made her way into that group of people. He's not entirely sure when that happened. Maybe it was the moment he met her. ]
[ He watches her step forward and his fingers thread behind his back. He doesn't budge otherwise, doesn't back down even from a gaze so steely as hers. He likes it. It's not like any of the others'. It's honest in its lack of warmth, and he can appreciate it. ]
Precisely the reason I find myself so disappointed with the information at hand. So many seem to think we have made such a large breakthrough, but really all we've leard is what it is we already know: those who are capable of those own thoughts, those who are capable at all, and those who are going to potentially cause a considerable amount of trouble for whoever it is that wants this ship to run so smoothly as it hasn't been so far.
[ His head tips to the side a little, to make her gaze follow his own; a small psychological trick. ] The last crew was entirely wiped out. Disappeared without a trace, and they've yet to tell us why, how, or any other detail between. Therein lies where out attentions should be pointed. { Not, he seems to be implying, whatever it is he has hidden beneath his sleeves. ]
[ She follows his gaze, but not because she's so easily lead. She follows his gaze because she wants to follow it and when she reads the entirety of his implication, she allows her eyes to shift back in near defiance. (I do what I want, when I want to. And when I want to be invested in you, you'd better not stop me.) Still, for his sake, that shift last only a moment and she meeting his gaze again, her mouth thinning. ]
Not everyone, [ she corrects. ] Ward and Resnik are supposed carryovers from the previous crew. [ And after a beat, she adds: ] You should talk to them. Preferably in person.
[ Aberdeen can tell when a person's lying because she can hear the physiological changes that happen to a body when the lie occurs. Subtle changes (pulse, pace, swallow) but just like a person can fudge a lie detector test, Aberdeen's methods aren't infallible. Perhaps it says something that she thinks that Sherlock and his powers of observation are. ] One look, and you'd know.
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[ action ] fucking. this.
[ Here, there is nothing. There is quiet. There are books and there is eating, sleeping, smoking, there is the network to watch and, occasionally, blissfully, there is fight club. He hasn't been sober since university. And it's very slowly eating him alive. It's lucky he was too lost in his thoughts to notice her eyes drifting to his own, but now that he's not trapped in his own tangle of yarn inside his own skull, he's self-aware, and his arms fold behind his back. ]
Intellect. [ His voice is decisive, before he raises a chin and gives a delicate sniff. ] Both. They can't have seen what I've been working on.
[ action ] ugh CRADLES THEIR CR SO CLOSE alkjfs
The list is partial or otherwise random and provided in order to incite derision or confusion, without any possibility of actual solution. Smile's intentions aren't clear and without comprehensive intel, the conclusions drawn are pure supposition. [ A pause. ] People are driven by the desire to find pattens in chaos. And sometimes those patterns exist.
[ She takes a step forward, closer, settling her weight square in front of him. ]
But sometimes they don't.
[ action ] /CLUTCHES IT TO HIS STILL EXISTENT BOSOM
[ It's very small, but- He supposes Aberdeen has made her way into that group of people. He's not entirely sure when that happened. Maybe it was the moment he met her. ]
[ He watches her step forward and his fingers thread behind his back. He doesn't budge otherwise, doesn't back down even from a gaze so steely as hers. He likes it. It's not like any of the others'. It's honest in its lack of warmth, and he can appreciate it. ]
Precisely the reason I find myself so disappointed with the information at hand. So many seem to think we have made such a large breakthrough, but really all we've leard is what it is we already know: those who are capable of those own thoughts, those who are capable at all, and those who are going to potentially cause a considerable amount of trouble for whoever it is that wants this ship to run so smoothly as it hasn't been so far.
[ His head tips to the side a little, to make her gaze follow his own; a small psychological trick. ] The last crew was entirely wiped out. Disappeared without a trace, and they've yet to tell us why, how, or any other detail between. Therein lies where out attentions should be pointed. { Not, he seems to be implying, whatever it is he has hidden beneath his sleeves. ]
[ action ] brainbros :c
Not everyone, [ she corrects. ] Ward and Resnik are supposed carryovers from the previous crew. [ And after a beat, she adds: ] You should talk to them. Preferably in person.
[ Aberdeen can tell when a person's lying because she can hear the physiological changes that happen to a body when the lie occurs. Subtle changes (pulse, pace, swallow) but just like a person can fudge a lie detector test, Aberdeen's methods aren't infallible. Perhaps it says something that she thinks that Sherlock and his powers of observation are. ] One look, and you'd know.