(no subject)

[alldeduction]

Who| Sherlock and Openish!
What| Kind of a catchall from between the crowning / christmas and the district tours
Where| See individual prompts
When| from the crowning to the night before the district tours
Warnings/Notes| This is a catchall to catch up on a bunch of stuff for Sherlock, mostly threads that I've already discussed with people. HOWEVER! If you'd like a thread either hit me up or grab one of the open prompt tags below!


See the comments for prompts!

Comments

After the Crowning - District 2 Suite

[alldeduction]

Sherlock awoke from his nightmare with a start, sweating and breathing hard. His Escort and the peacekeepers were already seeing themselves out, and he only had a few seconds to hurl abuse at them before the left, shutting the door behind them. Sherlock scowled and pulled himself from bed, feeling woozy and shakey but almost triumphant - the nightmare had lived up to it's name but the information he'd managed to collect before that...

He stumbled over to his dresser to grab his housecoat and stumbled out into the district suite. He was absolutely famished, for whatever reason, and he had no idea what time it was but expected the rest of the tribute tower to still be asleep.

Even if they would be waking up soon. He pulled out his communicator and typed in 'not dead' and sent it to John, just in case.

Christmas

[alldeduction]

Christmas was hard on Sherlock. Harder than he ever thought possible. He did his duty by the secret santa, halfheartedly and uncaring, leaving Jack a pair of skull cufflinks. He didn't stick around to see the man receive it, because he simply didn't care.

In fact his mood was so dark and snappish that he did his best to absolutely avoid everyone. This wasn't Christmas. Christmas was at 221b Baker Street with Mrs Hudson's meat pies and a small group of people that he actually probably cared about, not dozens of people who at best didn't care about him and at worst actively despised him.

So he spent the day sulking in his room and refusing to get dressed, unwilling to even look at the pristine glass violin that sat on his bed.

[drpsychosomatic]

John was relieved to get the message despite himself- of course he was, he always would be, and he knew Sherlock knew it.

After stewing for a few moments he typed out 'congratulations', deciding against sending it at the last minute. A little too hostile for pretending nothing had happened, probably. He settled on 'Glad to hear it' instead, sent the reply and slumped back onto his bed.

[alldeduction]

He stared at the screen for a long moment, as if expecting more, and frowned when it didn't come. So John was still angry with him.

Quickly, he typed:

Dreams apparently come with a nightmare component. Very unsettling. Did not intend being unable to finish our conversation. SH

Searching for Creature

[alldeduction]

Sewn together from parts.

When Joan had described the Creature Sherlock had been fascinated, of course, and extremely skeptical. What she proposed was simply scientifically impossible (regardless of the fact that he, himself, had died so many times). Beyond the Capitol's technology he had never heard of anything even vaguely similar, and the fact that Joan said that the creature looked like him? Well. It warranted investigation, that much was clear.

So Sherlock made his way to District 8, unsure of what exactly he would find, but determined to find it anyway. Upon arriving on the floor, he asked a nearby Avox to show him to the creature's room, before sharply knocking on the door.

[isthistheregion]

He no longer had much desire to venture outside of his room. He'd seen enough of the city, and didn't trust that he would be able to escape, even if he could climb one of those walls. Meanwhile, they brought food to his room when he wished it, and the room had not yet begun to feel too small again. He could wait.

Sherlock would be able to hear the television faintly through the door. Highlights from a previous Arena. The volume didn't change after the knock, but inside the room, the Creature looked away from the screen.

"Who is it?"

The voice, while perhaps reminiscent of his own, wouldn't sound precisely the same. There was something muddled about it, as if the speaker's mouth were partially numb.

[alldeduction]

"Sherlock Holmes. Tribute. District 2." He was more than used to the suffixes, now. He considered simply walking in, but John's little nagging voice at the back of his head reminded him that perhaps that wouldn't make the best impression.

"I a... friend, of Joan Watson's."

[drpsychosomatic]

He sighed, pulling himself up to sit on the edge of his bed. Nightmares, he understood.

Did you want to talk about it? he sent back, scrubbing at his eyes.

[alldeduction]

I think my life is enough of a nightmare, John, without dwelling on the ones I can't control.

He pressed send, then paused, frowned, and typed in:

Hungry?

[drpsychosomatic]

I could eat he sent, cursing himself both for letting Sherlock get to him like this and for not being able to get past his hurt, too.
Where did you have in mind?

[alldeduction]

Somewhere restive, I think.

And then a moment later:

Noir?

[drpsychosomatic]

Well, there was only one thing that suggestion meant, considering how they'd been able to communicate there before. He thought it over for a moment- did he really even want to talk to Sherlock right now?

Yeah, alright. Meet you there in 15?

[alldeduction]

He was already grabbing for his coat when the message came, and he tapped out a quick 'Yes' in reply. So John was mad at him enough to not want to share the walk there. Well, fine. He had a plan to foil even infrared sensors, and the John wouldn't be mad at him any more.

It took him exactly 7 minutes and 46 seconds to reach the front door of the restaurant, and he waited there, despite the fact that it was snowing with thick heavy flakes.

He wished desperately for a cigarette as he braced himself against the cold and waited.

[drpsychosomatic]

John arrived just before his fifteen minutes were up, his nose and cheeks reddened by the cold and his shoulders stiff- he'd had both hands stuffed into his pockets (No cane, though his gait was a little uneven).

"Come on, let's get in," he said with a tight smile, noting the snowflakes peppering Sherlock's dark hair- he'd been waiting a while.

[alldeduction]

Sherlock gestured John inside and then followed him in - not saying a world as they were led down into the dark to their seats. It was quieter than the last time they'd been there - Sherlock would estimate no more than six, maybe eight other guests in the whole restaurant. He supposed that the weather was keeping them away.

"Sometimes I find the capitol a little overwhelming," He said apologetically. "I'm glad you found this place."

[drpsychosomatic]

He couldn't argue with that. The Capitol was more than a little overwhelming at the best of times, and they'd just been forced into a shared dream- and in Sherlock's case, a nightmare, too. He nodded, fully aware that Sherlock would know he had.

"Yeah, it's nice to get a break every once in a while," he agreed. "I haven't checked out the menu, though. It's probably changed since last time we were here."

[alldeduction]

"I didn't bother to look. Food is food, I hardly think they'll suddenly decide to serve us garbage." It wasn't why he was here, after all. At all. Abruptly he reached for John's hand and clasped it, hard enough that John wouldn't be able to let go if he tried.

The tip of his middle finger lay in John's palm, and he hope that the warmth between them would be enough to throw off any infrared the might have.

I'm sorry, He tapped out in morse code.

[drpsychosomatic]

He'd been expecting Sherlock to try communicating with him, but he hadn't expected that. He swallowed, and gave Sherlock's hand a squeeze- mainly because he couldn't think of anything sensible to tap in reply.

"True," he murmured. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

[formersurgeon]

Joan, of course, did care, very much. She was already worried about Sherlock's state of mind after the events of both the Arena and the Crowning, so when he withdrew entirely, Joan went to him, to check on him. To be with him on Christmas. And to give him a present.

She was carrying a tablet when she went to his suite and knocked on the door.

[isthistheregion]

Joan. The woman had expressed such curiosity about him, before he'd lashed out at her. Anyone who was a friend of hers either harbored a similar curiosity, or wanted some sort of revenge for what he'd done.

"What do you want?"

He didn't trust that the man would tell the truth, if he meant him any harm. But he wanted to hear the answer.

[alldeduction]

If John hadn't squeezed his hand, he would have doubted that the man had understood him at all. He had thought an apology would at least get some kind of reply, and he found it incredibly frustrating when it didn't.

He didn't release his hand, though, waiting just in case.

"Just need to have some faith," He said, looking directly into the darkness where he knew John's face would be.

[alldeduction]

Sherlock groaned but went to the door anyway.

"I told you that you have the day off. I don't care what your overlords say, I refuse to be waited on during a hol--" He stopped dead when he opened the door and saw Joan on the other side of it, rather than an avox.

"... Ah. Joan. Come in, please." He stepped aside and pulled the door open wider.

[formersurgeon]

"Merry Christmas. I promise not to wait on you," she teased as she entered.

He wasn't dressed, and she wasn't surprised. The fact that he answered the door indicated that he was doing better than she feared.

"How are you?"

[alldeduction]

"I heard that you have my face," He said, loudly enough to be heard through the door, and, perhaps, for his skepticism to be apparent. "Well. Part of my face," He corrected himself.

"Given the number of possible universes it's hardly impossible, but you'll understand that I would wish to see for myself--"

[alldeduction]

"Fine," He lied flatly. Of course he wasn't fine, but he knew there was little he could do to escape Joan and John fretting over him save lying through his teeth. He walked over to his bed and picked up the beautiful, but utterly useless, glass violin.

"Cruentus sent me a present."