open;

[alldeduction]

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.

Comments

[alldeduction]

"Red carpet's just for you," Sherlock murmured. No one else had dared to give him a lecture, yet.

And he had, of course, conveniently not told John or Joan.

"I had to lay it down straight. Ain't no one fuck with my crew without shit going off the chain."

[nunpunching]

"Dawg." Punchy meets Sherlock's eyes and just shakes his head. His disapproval is clear as day. "You don't front at baby lokes. You don't bank on the little bitches. We's defenders, not avengers."

He tilts his head. "Right?"

[alldeduction]

It's somewhat bizarre, being lectured to by Punchy of all people, but the boy's honesty and straight-forwardness is enough, at least, to keep Sherlock from scoffing in his face.

He doesn't even disagree. He's been hating himself since it happened, using it to turn the knife in his chest, to wound himself again and again. But he has to believe that it was for something, or that makes everything worse.

"He wrecked her, Punchy," he said, seriously. Lowly. Honestly. "Wrecked her knee, full intent. What kind of g I be if I ain't laying down heat for that? This weren't bystander violence, this was him banking on purpose, and lil loke ain't stupid."

[nunpunching]

"Fuck cares if it's with full intent? We're better than that. We got code." He reaches over and shoves Sherlock's shoulder - not with any intent to hurt, but just to show he's serious, to demand the entirety of Sherlock's attention.

"I double up with you because I think you're solid in your core, you know? Don't be some vindictive motherfucker. It ain't your suit. You want to keep your homies locked tight, that's one thing, but you mollywop to make your point and you gonna lose all your crew." Punchy raises a hand in a dramatic gesture as he talks. "You think Joan and that other homie gonna be keen on you going off the chain on a minor?"

[alldeduction]

He takes the shove, the invasion of space, and doesn't retaliate. He knows, of course, that Punchy is right. That if and when Joan or John discover what he'd done that they wouldn't let it lie.

But John was gone and Joan wasn't speaking to him, so what did it matter, in the end?

"Neg," he says, glaring at the floor. Punchy was right. "I ain't doing right by them, and ain't church that bustin' would keep them tight either."

[nunpunching]

This time, Punchy claps a hand to Sherlock's shoulder, instead of shoving him. And gives a tight squeeze, then hugs Sherlock. (Sorry not sorry, bro.)

"This place fucks with your head, dawg. Gotta keep it level. Be zen." He makes a 'flat' motion with his hands.

[alldeduction]

Sherlock obviously is not sure what to do with the hug - even John has never hugged him - and he's stiff but doesn't turn it away, exactly, even giving Punchy a slight 'that's enough' pat on his shoulder.

"Zen," He repeats, and then sighs.

"You got the 411? They be serving doubles up here, no love. Joan's got a homie too now."

[nunpunching]

"You need to freshen up on hugs." He pats Sherlock's shoulder.

"So? Homie ain't got your boss style." Punchy raises his eyebrows and tries to look as if it's no big deal. "You gonna let these honkies throw salt on your game, homie?"

[alldeduction]

"I'm the world's only consulting detective," he complained like a three year old, slipping out of Punchy's dialect since he didn't know what the equivalent would be. He slipped back into it to continue.

"Just the notion of not being the top solo's putting the rag on me."

[nunpunching]

"This shit ain't about ego, homes." Hypocrisy.

Punchy jerks his thumb over to the door. "Wanna see some crazy shit? I be cracking up on some old-school shit to slip the po-po, because a good dog ain't gonna lie 'til he's under earth, ya dig?"

[alldeduction]

He sniffed - egotistically - at the first comment.

The rest, however, caught Sherlock's attention instantly. God, but did he want to. He was so bored and so depressed that it was driving him insane - the idea of doing some actual work sounded like a drink in the desert.

"Keener on that than any schematic from the last one-fifty-eight," He said immediately, not bothering to hide his interest.

[nunpunching]

"A'ight, I ain't got it stowed in the crib because it's gotta be on the down-low. Took me some time, but I found a blackout spot." Punchy pops his collar, smirking, and says really low. "The repeater at one of these joints ain't set right, gives a forty second space for the reset for a pinch. Been using it to rove the cache on the starshooters."

[alldeduction]

That actually caused his eyebrows to go up. A black out window. That could be incredibly, incredibly useful.

"Knew I rolled straight," He said, a sly smile spreading up his face, effectively forgetting everything else. "Any chance for cutting samples into the reversal?"

It was times like this that he could almost kiss punchy for the ridiculous and effectively coded way he spoke.

[nunpunching]

Punchy grins, that pleased expression that accompanies a bit of a strut. He's like a detective once everyone is seated in the parlor room.

"Nah, covers too many hot places. Places that be bumpin', you know? We's best off stitching the ends together." If the same footage is being repeated in a place where people are walking around, then it'll eventually get caught. But a single jump, like something cut out of a film, might be easier to skip, although it'll throw off the timing cumulatively. "Either way, we should be keeping it in the pocket 'til it's needed."

[alldeduction]

"Wanna be casing it up, but I like to keep my rollo puffy for the shot."

He wet his lips, parting them as words bubbled to his lips and held there, desperate to be spoken but even here, even now, even with Punchy's miraculous dialect, they still weren't safe. So he shut them instantly.

Punchy would know what to do, he hoped. When the time came.

/wrap

[nunpunching]

Punchy nods. "Natch." And he reaches out to give Sherlock a little bropound. When the time comes, all information between them will be eagerly shared.