alldeduction: (violin by the window)
Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective ([personal profile] alldeduction) wrote in [community profile] thecapitol2014-03-02 03:48 pm

open;

WHO| Sherlock and OPEN
WHAT| Sherlock wakes up in the capitol, a week and a half late
WHEN| Now
WHERE| District 2 Suite, elsewhere*
WARNINGS| Depression, possible mention of suicidal thought

((OOC: *I'm totally willing to use this as a catch-all post for threads with Sherlock over the next week or so, just pm me or hit me up on plurk and I'll make a new opening for you in the threads.))



He was late.

It wasn't that he knew it. Not reasonably, not intellectually. He could just feel it, as if he'd missed time and felt the hole it left. So when he opened his eyes and he was back in this room in the capitol, he knew in that very second that he was later than he'd ever been. He sat up, and the pain was gone. He'd lived with that endless pain for weeks, and here he was, brand new. Impossibly perfect.

Except that he wasn't. The scars where just invisible, criss-crossing deep under his skin where no one could see them.

He scrubbed his face with both hands before peeling out of bed, and immediately froze.

"Joan."



Later

He walked mutely to the closet so dutifully curated by his stylist, and picked out an outfit that was the least atrocious thing he could get his hands on. Something simple and black, high necked, long tailed. Everything he put on was black, he didn't feel like colour.

He wasn't supposed to be alive.

He stepped to his door and opened it. Emblazoned across it read the word Sadist in big, angry, spray-painted letters. He knew immediately who it was from, and reached out to touch them with a kind of muted disdain.

Disdain for himself, not the word. He had to work with the available evidence, and the evidence was giving truth to the statement.

formersurgeon: (ponder)

[personal profile] formersurgeon 2014-03-02 11:30 pm (UTC)(link)
Joan had watched Sherlock die, and immediately asked an Avox to let her know the instant he was brought back. She waited, restless, for the Avox to come.

He didn't. Not that day. Not the next day. Or the day after that. And John didn't return either. With each day the dread grew, hard and cold in her heart, that they would not return. That somehow she had been given one friend for the price of the others. She watched Sherlock, her Sherlock, as he moved through the Arena, her heart heavy as her hope faded and grief took its place.

Then, a week and a half later, the Avox appeared.

She immediately went to Sherlock's room, and entered. He was still asleep, and she stood for a moment, looking down on him, his body whole, even if she knew he was not. After those moments of silence, she pressed her lips, went to a chair, and sat, watching over him.

When he woke, she let him get his bearings. When he saw her, said her name, she raised her eyebrows in acknowledgement.

"Sorry to surprise you. You took a while. I wanted to make sure you're okay."

Her voice is smooth and calm, only a tension in her expression betraying her worry and relief.
formersurgeon: (uncertain)

[personal profile] formersurgeon 2014-03-03 12:38 am (UTC)(link)
"A week and a half. I've never known anybody to take that long." Her voice and expression softened. "I'm glad to see you."
formersurgeon: (your what)

[personal profile] formersurgeon 2014-03-03 01:24 am (UTC)(link)
It made sense, of course, that John would be the first thing on his mind. She rose from her chair to step closer.

"He died right after you did, but he hasn't come back yet either."
formersurgeon: (profile)

[personal profile] formersurgeon 2014-03-03 07:40 pm (UTC)(link)
He wouldn't look at her. She understood, how he must have been worried about John, and conflicted about his counterpart. She'd have to pull him out of it, though. He couldn't afford to start down that path.

"Sherlock," she said firmly, naming "the other." "He's still alive in the Arena, for now. Making more enemies than friends, which is not even remotely surprising."
Edited 2014-03-03 19:41 (UTC)
formersurgeon: (grief)

[personal profile] formersurgeon 2014-03-03 08:09 pm (UTC)(link)
"There was nothing you could have done. It was Orc. He wasn't himself, though...I think he'd been bitten by R.. He rampaged past, and I just happened to be in the way. You couldn't have saved me afterward, and if you had been there, you just would have been killed, too."

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silberfuchs: (squinting)

Hi hope you don't mind >.>

[personal profile] silberfuchs 2014-03-03 01:24 am (UTC)(link)
As much as he professed to not care what the establishment expected of him, Albert knows the second floor isn't where he's supposed to be, and so his journey from Jet's room to the bathroom and back was something of a covert operation, done in bare feet with his ears piqued for anyone around. Even so, he jumps a bit when the door only a few steps away swings open suddenly and a tall, pale man revealed himself.

Albert finds himself suddenly self-conscious, making his way back to Jet's room in yesterday's clothes even after a shower, showing all the signs of a typical walk of shame. He doesn't go so far as to blush, but it's only through sheer force of will. At least his pupilless gaze is steady. "Ah... Sorry."
silberfuchs: (GSG)

I'll try to put enough to deduce in here for you, then!

[personal profile] silberfuchs 2014-03-04 05:47 pm (UTC)(link)
It takes Albert a moment to realize he'd been asked a question and he manages to stammer out a response in lightly accented English, hands curling around the superficial carpet burns on his palms unconsciously. "Ja, this past arena."

He shuffles awkwardly from one foot to the other for a moment, then decides he's being incredibly rude and squares his broad shoulders, offering his hand to shake. "Albert Heinrich."
silberfuchs: (curiosity)

[personal profile] silberfuchs 2014-03-07 04:49 pm (UTC)(link)
"Yes, I... District 3, actually. Apparently." He drops his hand to his side, not having missed the pause before his handshake being accepted. He can't blame the man for hesitating, not after everyone had been expected to kill one another and would be expected to do so again. And there's the man's unfortunate name. Not that it's all that bad to be named after a literary character or historical figure - he shares his own name with a nineteenth century prince after all - but Sherlock... Well. Albert decides not to mention it.

"A have a friend who was assigned to this district. We arrived at the same time, mid arena. As you can imagine it's been somewhat harrowing, so we've decided to stick together when we can." He sounds almost apologetic about it but also quietly defiant and frank. It's entirely possible he's intruding, but obviously that's not going to stop him from spending as much of his time here with his 'friend' as possible.
silberfuchs: (face it)

[personal profile] silberfuchs 2014-03-07 05:49 pm (UTC)(link)
From the sound of it, Sherlock didn't hear what went on the night before despite Jet's inability to keep his voice down, which gets Albert to relax a little. "They've pulled several of us, though why we were chosen I'd like to know, if there's any rhyme or reason to it."

It's one of the big questions and he furrows his eyebrows in its asking but lets it drop readily enough. He doubts it's something any of the tributes have an answer to. "But I do agree, it's best to have allies in situations like this. If I may ask, how long have you been a tribute?"

How long should he be expected to be trapped in this cycle of inane violence?

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nunpunching: (Rimshot!)

[personal profile] nunpunching 2014-03-04 03:01 am (UTC)(link)
Punchy's a little antsy when he goes to see Sherlock, if only because it's unusual for someone to take so long getting back. He thought, for a moment, that he wouldn't be seeing his Holmesboy again, and while Punchy is braced to lose those close to him, he isn't exactly eager for it. The last funeral he ever attended was when he was eight, and as such coping with grief is something that exists mostly on a theoretical plane for him.

He has a tattoo of a red dragon crawling up his neck and over his eyebrow, and it's just starting to peel. Other than that he looks the same as always, and he helps himself to District Two's suite while he waits to see if Sherlock's home. That means feet on the table, something from District Two's fridge already stuffed in his mouth, and TV playing something with a scantily-clad woman on top of a car on it.

"What's that mean?" he asks when Sherlock comes out, pointing at the red letters splattered across the door.
nunpunching: (Sounds wack.)

[personal profile] nunpunching 2014-03-06 05:59 am (UTC)(link)
Punchy's naturally sunny expression gets a bit sour. "That's the little homie you pocket-checked?"

Punchy understands anger, but he doesn't really understand revenge. When he turns his anger on someone it's temporary, a small eruption at the immediate moment of injury. To hunt someone down, to simmer on that rage, is something he doesn't understand. It reminds him of Hyperion, holding Enjolras against the wall to taunt him. It reminds him of Aunamee, running Topher through.

It's not a good look for Sherlock, and it unsettles Punchy's guts.

"You wanna roll? I'm jonesin' for some chuck."
nunpunching: (Sounds wack.)

[personal profile] nunpunching 2014-03-08 04:12 am (UTC)(link)
Punchy laughs at how, for the moment, slang has become outright punny. Funny that.

But he gets serious when they get to the elevators, which he still doesn't like even since the Avoxing. He scratches at his tattoo, and little scab flakes come off on his fingertips.

"So you gonna do anything about that tag on your door, dawg?"
nunpunching: (Sounds wack.)

[personal profile] nunpunching 2014-03-08 06:07 pm (UTC)(link)
Thankfully for Punchy, he's immune to feeling criticism unless it's explicitly laid out for him, and sometimes even then. He paces in a circle around the elevator, bumping slightly into Sherlock until they get to the bottom floor.

"Dawg, I ain't the first to take you to church on this, right? That shit was out of pocket."

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