ataraxion | TEXT | SHERLOCK

Entry tags:

TEXT | SHERLOCK | CASE OO1

BORED!
Give me work. Give me problems.
My mind rebels against this stagnation.
Give me a puzzle. Or mystery.
Either will do.
Just. Give. Me. Something. To. Solve. Tranquility.
I need the mental stimulation before I result
to drinking the liquid from the grav pouches.

SH.

[ You get another text really shortly after the last one. ]

I would kill everyone of you for a cigarette. SH

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Please don't enable him.

Don't you have robots to care for? SH

And one very foolish flatmate. 
I thought you said you were going to come to meet me?

Useful things about having a mobile, John.
m o b i l i t y.
But I'm quite near the kitchens.

SH

[ Piss offffff. But that gentles him up some, reassured that he'll at least be able to keep an eye on the man. ]

Pasta alright?

"Are you making it?" he asks sauntering into the kitchen. He gives a small pout. "My fingers are a bit tired,"

John looks up from the pot of water he's currently set to boil. It's a much quicker process than anything they have at home, and it's a stranger construct, but the idea is essentially the same.

He'll hand Sherlock tea, though, because that much he'd already had prepared. "That doesn't surprise me at all, the way you've been going at it. Are you having fun?"

He's actually kind of honestly asking, not being sarcastic.

"Fair warning - the milk tastes a bit off. I think it may be soy."

["John, I don't have to pay for credits," he says easily.

He takes the tea cup and sits down at table. Leaving the comm's device on top. It buzzed occasionally; and Sherlock would type in random retorts as he listened to John prepare. Feeling his hands getting sore, he arches his head up at the second question and smiles. When he speaks there's a hint of a twinkle.

"Well, I've managed to deduce a thing or two. Talk shop about theories and attempt to figure out the Drake theorem-,"

Discover we're fictional, set you up on a date, etcetera.

"Yes, they're particularly lively,"

A pause when he mentions the milk. "Hmm, hunger. I thought I deleted that,"

"Never thought you were much good with money to start with. Bit of a relief."

Sherlock held value in favors and singularities; he whisked through a case while John trailed behind and collected whatever money clients felt inclined to give. It was Sherlock's, of course. It went to the flat, the shopping, and anything else they needed, but it never seemed like an issue to the consulting detective until it could grant him a wish. John didn't know how he'd managed it.

John was thankful that, of all the problems they were carrying right now, money didn't have to be one of them.

While he was waiting for the noodles to cook through, John returned to the table and sat across from his eccentric friend. There was a soft grunt as the former soldier sat down, an indicator of just how tired the day had made him. Quite a typical tic of his coming back from a normal day at the clinic.

"Unfortunately, it's a reoccurring error," There was certainly something fond in his tone, curling around the edge of his cup as he took a sip. "Anything you'd like to share?"

Because John had had a full day, but Sherlock's was always infinitely more interesting.

"I'm not," he says sternly. "This is why Mycroft insists he should pay for my bills or why he bribes you to spy on me. I prefer debts that can be collected in other ways."

Hunger was unnecessary. Ignorable. It slowed him down. He simply pulled out a small vial of blue liquid collected from the gravity pouch. He holds it up, to reflect against the light. Tilts it, to observe the way it moves. It's thickness, it's consistency. He needed to find a lab on this ship.

"Oh nothing. Dull. Spent day texting, wandering around, discovering we were works of fiction, mostly texting. You on the other hand have started a little practice, Doctor Watson. How, civil spirited of you,"

"No one else was coming forward, and you were out," He reasons, apparently having been prepared for this conversation and sailing right by the important detail in Sherlock's tale. "Saw quite a few--"

But he tended to catch up, sooner or later.

"Sorry, what did you say about fiction?"

"Oh yes, John. We're fictional," he says casually. "In the duration of the conversation that had occurred, it was no difficult leap. A scientists on board came to that conclusion upon meeting someone who was fictional in their world. Apparently we're part of a series of novels, quite curious. I genuinely don't mind looking into things, but again, as with space, I don't see how this changes things at all."

are you his mother? obviously not, because i know your name and it doesn't have an h last name. he's an adult, i can enable him to do whatever i want. if he dies or has some bodily harm happen, he is the one suggested it first. just saying. bravo on trying to be his babysitter, though.

[ Aren't you lovely? Are you one of Sherlock's new playmates? ]

I'm his doctor.

[ maybe, sherlock actually hasn't said they're playmates yet, but sure let's count tony as one. ]

...his personal doctor. Does he know this?

I should say so. We've been living together for about a month now.

not judging in the least, but do you realize how that sounds?

I hope it sounds like we're flatmates.

the heterosexuality of said flatmates might be debatable.

Debate all you like in your diary.

Dull debate, with obvious answers.

SH

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

TEXT | SHERLOCK | CASE OO1

[ text ]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Action

Action

ACTION

ACTION

ACTION

ACTION

/lovesonyou

[ text ]

[ text ]

[ text ]

[ text ]

[ text ]

[ text ]

[ text ]

[ text ]

TEXTJACK