Open

[alldeduction]

WHO| Sherlock Holmes and OPEN
WHAT| Sherlock isn't really himself and is kind of taking it out on his friends.
WHEN| From the end of the mini-arena up until now, as well as a couple earlier catch-up CR threads. If you need something more specific, let me know!
WHERE| All over the Capitol
WARNINGS| Sherlock is a dickhead to everyone, mentions of suicide


He woke with a start. His sixth death, as far as they went, was one of the worst ones. Susannah had seen fit to that, and done her job well. Even far removed from the situation, he awoke in a sweat. It had been a long time since he'd felt such fear physically. He was accustomed, on some level, to torture, but that... that was something else.

So he spent a long while staring at his ceiling, slowly piecing back together his carefully constructed self of self until he sat up.

He fell back into his capitol routine with relative ease - mostly because his routine was horribly antisocial. He was spending more and more time in his room, wandering the streets, memorizing them over and over again.

He'd murdered Julian. Unsuccessfully attempted to murder Hawkeye. He'd crossed every line he'd given himself and he couldn't parse how he felt about it, and part of him decided that it didn't matter. He had no work, here, beyond what meager scrapings of rebellion he could form for himself, or the case or two that were thrown his way like dog treats to pacify him.

He was a shadow of himself, and he knew it.

The appearance of Mycroft and Lestrade didn't exactly  help, though it did offer some meager distraction - even if most of that was in attempting to escape his brother...

Comments

Again, let me know if this works :)

[formersurgeon]

He had asked her not to watch, so she didn't. She didn't have to, though, to know what went on. She knows what he did. Knows the circumstances in which he did them. Knows he killed, and died, and has sunk into his anti-social mire once again. She has to do something. Even if all she can do is show him he's not alone, and she will not abandon him.

The next time Sherlock goes out for one of his aimless walks, she eases into his room and looks around carefully. The despair is almost palpable, in the way the room is just messy enough. He hasn't been active enough for it to be a disaster area, but he also hasn't cared enough to make things neat. The room slouches.

She searches the room carefully. There are a lot of electronics, which doesn't surprise her; there are a lot of electronics in her own room and "her" Sherlock's room as well. What she doesn't find, though, is drugs, and that lets her sigh with at least a little bit of relief.

Once she's done, she goes to his bed and sits, waiting for him to return.

[alldeduction]

He had a package under his arm when he came back. Nothing to far out of the ordinary - mostly just blank paper, a few pieces of electronics and several pens. It was all wrapped up in a bag that looked as if it had been next to a sparkle factory when it exploded, and he wondered vaguely if anything in this god forsaken place was normal.

He wasn't expecting anyone to be in his room so he opened the door, tossed the package onto the nearby table and was already pulling off his coat when he caught sight of her and stopped dead.

"Joan." He said tightly. "I wasn't expecting you."

[formersurgeon]

"I know."

Joan thought the package was a good sign. There was some purpose to his walk.

"Sorry to drop in on you like this. I wanted to make sure I caught you."

True, of course, if not entirely.

[alldeduction]

"It's fine," He said, though it wasn't clear if that was honest, as he finished slipping out of his coat before tossing it on a chair and coming into the room.

"I assume that means you have something to discuss with me."

[formersurgeon]

She wouldn't be surprised if it wasn't. She knew he didn't exactly react well to people trying to push past his isolation.

"Not really." Her voice was mild, her expression calm. "Just wanted to see you. See how you are."

[alldeduction]

"Checking up on me." The tone was flat. "I'm fine, Joan. As you see." He held out his arms, as if displaying himself for her.

"I simply haven't felt a need to be social."

[formersurgeon]

"Checking up on you," she echoes mildly. "It's what friends do."

Because she was still his friend, even after what happened in the mini Arena.

"What have you been up to?"

[alldeduction]

"Attempting to stave off the pure vindictive death by boredom," Sherlock replied flippantly, even if it was mostly honest. "Plotting. Planning. The usual."

"What else are super villains meant to do?" He asked after a moment, a little bitterly.

[formersurgeon]

She paused for a moment, considering that.

"They kill because they enjoy it," she answers softly. "Because it gives them power. They don't care who gets hurt in the process."

[costing]

Distance breeds clarity, or so the old adage goes. It’s been some times since Sherlock has been in direct contact with his counterpart, and though he still holds no affection for the other man he decides it’s time to rectify that. Months in Panem, and he is no closer to answers that when he first arrived. He and Watson have moved forward, but not enough. And though it pains Sherlock to admit it, the aid of other minds—minds that work, in theory, as his does—might be just what they need.

He doesn’t ask for a meeting, just shows up at the other man’s room. He knocks perfunctorily, twice, before opening the door and letting himself in.

[alldeduction]

Sherlock assumes it's either John or Joan when the door opens, because he is not at all accustomed to anyone else even attempting to visit him. Punchy, when he visits, has a very distinctive walk. No one else bothers him.

So when Holmes enters, Sherlock doesn't even look up from where he's tinkering at his desk.

"Yes, I've already eaten, and yes I've slept, so it really isn't necessary to--" He cut off as he turned and saw a very different figure from the one he was expecting.

"You." Smooth, Sherlock.

[costing]

Sherlock's about to roll his eyes-- or at least think of doing so-- at the other man's small tirade. He's been on the receiving end of such a lecture enough times himself to see the humor of it, even if the sharp reminder of their similarities isn't entirely welcome.

"Me," he says simply, stepping into the room. "What, does the connection not extend to telepathy? Weren't you expecting me?"

[alldeduction]

"My experiments in that vein have thus far proved unsuccessful," Sherlock said, sarcastically. "Nor am I, in fact, a mind reader. Though I assume you want something."

He didn't exactly believe Sherlock was a man who made social calls.

[costing]

He takes a step closer, face carefully impassive. He's determined to say what he came to, although it tastes bitter in his throat before he even forms the words.

"We aren't enemies," he says evenly, eventually. "And acting as such has gotten us no closer to solving this place."

[alldeduction]

"Solving this place." Sherlock's voice contained a bitter hint of irony as he stood, brushing off his jacket.

"Of course you still view it as a solvable problem. As something with a solution. But go on. I take it that means you want my help."

[costing]

He grits his teeth, but manages to keep his even tone as he replies, "And you are so convinced that you're beyond me that you haven't heard a word."

Perhaps this was pointless, a wasted effort. He can see himself leaving the room, as easily as anything else. But instead he stands his ground.

"I require nothing from you. But if you can't see that we could be beneficial to one another, then you're even less than I'd originally assumed."

[alldeduction]

His lip twitches, a flash of scorn across his face, but he smothers it down as efficiently as possible.

"I admit the thought occurred," He allowed. "But you and I are trying to solve different problems, and I don't think you understand the primary one that has so far kept me from contacting you."

[drpsychosomatic]

John had spent the day in a haze of impotent misery- and as such, was limping heavily by the time he made it to Sherlock's room to wait for his to return. Surprisingly, it seemed Sherlock had beaten him to it- as he approached, there was definite evidence of movement behind the closed door. He knocked.

"Sherlock?"

[alldeduction]

The door opened and Sherlock was behind it - looking as if he had simply discarded all of his clothing and thrown on a robe instead - his hair mutinously ruffled to destroy the careful curls his stylists inflicted on him.

"In," He said, gesturing to John's usual seat as he closed the door behind him.

"Your limp is worse."

[drpsychosomatic]

John limped over to his chair stiffly, sat down, and looked Sherlock carefully in the eyes.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said with a quiet, firm finality. "Sherlock--"

He paused, wet his lips,set his jaw and continued. "I want you to petition out."

[alldeduction]

"No." Sherlock said, just as firmly. "You may have a chance, John, but I certainly do not, and I see no reason to put myself through the mockery that would ensue. No."

Knowing John was safe would be enough.

Besides, he had other plans.

"What do you think they would do? 'Oh, alright, I suppose we need another asshole around, come and join?"

[drpsychosomatic]

"I can't let you do this on your own," he said simply. "I can't, Sherlock, I just can't. You can't ask me to."

[alldeduction]

"I've done it before," Sherlock said firmly. Three times, in fact - his first arena, the candy arena where they'd gotten separated, and then just now. The mini arena. "And what would you have me do? You know as well as I do that any petition from me would fail. You have sympathy - support - they know that you're useful outside of the arena. As soon as they realised that, they brought Molly here just to prove to me that even if you are safe, that doesn't mean they won't stop using everything I ever had against me. They aren't looking for me to leave, John. Though I'm sure they wouldn't mind if I begged."

[drpsychosomatic]

"I'm not useful," he snapped furiously, cutting himself off as quickly as he could and swallowing, hard. He could no longer meet Sherlock's eyes. "I'm not useful. I'm a bloody stick to beat you with, that's what I am, and I won't do it."

[alldeduction]

"So you'd rather come into the arenas and force me to keep watching you die," Sherlock said flatly.

"Forgive me if I prefer the beating where you get to stay safe and well-fed."