Nor did Santa Clause give me what I wanted for Christmas, [ Holmes tuts, ever the flagrant atheist. What he means, of course, is inherent skills versus ones learned and gleaned from one's own practices. Her hearing versus her hacking, as an example, insofar as he knows. Similarly, his violin playing versus his deductive skills. Arguably, the latter could be included within the former, but it's taken a lot of work to get his mind to where it is now. ]
[ Not that the violin doesn't take practice. But he feels there's a very distinct difference between the two. ]
[ She's lucky he has nothing better to do, because he does so hate to follow orders. But he's already hopping off the mattress, kicking shoes on and canting his head to the side with a cocked brow. Whistle the whole way? Or only in the Medbay? Furthermore, have you any particular requests, or shall I surprise you?
[ It's a test, and he knows what she's doing. A rudimentary one. Still, he's teasing. ]
[ Aberdeen suspects that Sherlock isn't the type to listen when told to do something. Moreso out of principle than out of anything else — he was quite child-like in that way. Petulant and almost spoiled by his intellect — though suffice to say, Aberdeen can be much the same way. Perhaps that's why they managed something akin to friendship despite both being fairly handicapped in that respect.
But asking him to come had been a roll of the dice. If he'd said no, she would have simply come to him instead and followed the corridors with a proverbial ear pressed to the wall, listening for that specific pattern of breathing, that particular rhythm of pulse, that she's come to associate specifically with Sherlock. Either way, the exercise gets done and an unquantifiable flaw finds itself a rough estimation of quantity. ]
Start now, [ she says, knowing full well she could have phrased it differently if only to appeal to Sherlock's petulance. Aberdeen's mouth quirks again, perhaps vaguely amused at the prospect. ] Surprise me.
[ Having orders given, it's normally an action that incites the opposite effect than the intended meant to happen. He's a petulant little boy on his very best behavior, and he doesn't like being told to do. Requests are another thing entirely, and he'll take them at his own discretion, either if they're intriguing or if the person asking is someone of interest and importance. ]
[ He doesn't care to specify which category Aberdeen falls under. But, well, he's listening, now, isn't he? His smile cocks at the corner, and he waggles a single finger at the camera. ] No cheating.
[ And cuts the feed. ]
[ The surprise doesn't come in the form of a song in particular, because anybody could whistle, that's dull. It's not that he can't whistle, but he'd rather test different levels with different methods, and he needs as many tools as he can to achieve that. And so he does head for the Medbay as requested, but he's not whistling all the way there. He's expertly painting out a Locatelli on his violin as he walks down the hallway, both for the sake of testing her ears and, well, it's been a while since he's had an audience. That's certainly part of it. ]
[ No cheating, Sherlock says and Aberdeen knows that's more or less unavoidable. It was the foundation of her powers and the one of the driving forces behind the formation of the Aberdeen agent in the first place. To go where she was no allowed and to be privy to knowledge she shouldn't be. In other words: cheating. (She suspects that Sherlock himself is rather fond of cheating as well, and although his means of accomplishing this are different, on the whole the overall gesture remains the same.)
Aberdeen settles herself on one of the counters in one of the further reaches of the sickbay and holds her device — the sound turned off — loosely in her hand as she listens hard (so hard her head begins to hurt again). It's been a good year and a half since she last had to strain to hear something and so everything about her body is out of practice. (It's not a skill she's looking forward to relearning.)
There is a long spanse of time when she doesn't catch a noise even resembling music. There's chatter, and movement, and the sounds of the ship of course — but no tune makes itself manifest for a good long while and before Sherlock and his violin make his appearance, Aberdeen begins to suspect that the void of silence will soon enough drive her mad.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
video | ENCYRYPTED | 90%
[ Not that the violin doesn't take practice. But he feels there's a very distinct difference between the two. ]
[ She's lucky he has nothing better to do, because he does so hate to follow orders. But he's already hopping off the mattress, kicking shoes on and canting his head to the side with a cocked brow. Whistle the whole way? Or only in the Medbay? Furthermore, have you any particular requests, or shall I surprise you?
[ It's a test, and he knows what she's doing. A rudimentary one. Still, he's teasing. ]
video | ENCYRYPTED | 90%
But asking him to come had been a roll of the dice. If he'd said no, she would have simply come to him instead and followed the corridors with a proverbial ear pressed to the wall, listening for that specific pattern of breathing, that particular rhythm of pulse, that she's come to associate specifically with Sherlock. Either way, the exercise gets done and an unquantifiable flaw finds itself a rough estimation of quantity. ]
Start now, [ she says, knowing full well she could have phrased it differently if only to appeal to Sherlock's petulance. Aberdeen's mouth quirks again, perhaps vaguely amused at the prospect. ] Surprise me.
video | ENCYRYPTED | 90%
[ He doesn't care to specify which category Aberdeen falls under. But, well, he's listening, now, isn't he? His smile cocks at the corner, and he waggles a single finger at the camera. ] No cheating.
[ And cuts the feed. ]
[ The surprise doesn't come in the form of a song in particular, because anybody could whistle, that's dull. It's not that he can't whistle, but he'd rather test different levels with different methods, and he needs as many tools as he can to achieve that. And so he does head for the Medbay as requested, but he's not whistling all the way there. He's expertly painting out a Locatelli on his violin as he walks down the hallway, both for the sake of testing her ears and, well, it's been a while since he's had an audience. That's certainly part of it. ]
video | ENCYRYPTED | 90%
Aberdeen settles herself on one of the counters in one of the further reaches of the sickbay and holds her device — the sound turned off — loosely in her hand as she listens hard (so hard her head begins to hurt again). It's been a good year and a half since she last had to strain to hear something and so everything about her body is out of practice. (It's not a skill she's looking forward to relearning.)
There is a long spanse of time when she doesn't catch a noise even resembling music. There's chatter, and movement, and the sounds of the ship of course — but no tune makes itself manifest for a good long while and before Sherlock and his violin make his appearance, Aberdeen begins to suspect that the void of silence will soon enough drive her mad.
But then—
Ah.
She taps out a message. Presses SEND. ]
there.