closed;

[alldeduction]

WHO| Sherlock, Crenteus and introducing John Watson
WHAT| Sherlock gets really fed up, and gets punished for it
WHERE| District 3 Suite, then Crenteus' office, and then in the hall just outside her office
WHEN| A couple days after valentines
WARNINGS| Sherlock being a dick but that's pretty standard

If Valentine's had taught him anything it was that he was utterly and completely tired of this place. The tiny x's that he had drawn to mark every camera in District 3's suites had been bothering him, gloating sullenly, and Sherlock had just about enough of it. In a fit of petulance he woke up in the morning and strode straight to the first camera in his room, glared into it, and then dismantled it.

He proceeded to do so with every camera he got his hands on in the suite.

He was about an hour and a half into this exercise (and 16 cameras down) when he was interrupted, hands freezing in the giant potted plant in the corner as the peacekeepers arrived. He smirked at them, and tossed the remnants of the camera at their feet.

"Took you long enough," He said triumphantly.

Neither of them said anything at all as they grabbed him bodily and dragged him from the suite. Sherlock considered attempting to wrestle from their grip, but in truth he was tired of seeing only the bottom of the totem pole. He wanted to know who was at the top. Or at least who these two particular brutes reported to. So down they dragged him, down down deep into the training center, far below what he had ever traveled down to. His silent sentinels finally came to a stop outside a door and shoved him less than gracefully inside.

He straightened his jacket, narrowed eyes surveying the room.

Comments

[cruentus]

Cruentus walked in, adjusting the ruffles at her collar as she sat behind the table. Her fingers ran over the display on the tables top, skimming over the images of Sherlock taken from the many angles of the cameras.

After a few minutes she looked up, folding her hands together and smiling at him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes."

[drpsychosomatic]

None of this made any sense, which was fast becoming an alarmingly common thing to be thinking, if he was entirely honest. He desperately wanted to pace, but pacing felt far too much like letting whoever had organised this little trick watch him panic. Instead, he stood completely still, his fingers slowly curling and uncurling at his sides as he tried to think through what he knew- which was really very little- and none of what he had been told warranted taking at face value. It was true that none of the technology he'd seen looked like what he was used to, but he wasn't completely convinced that he wasn't dreaming or hallucinating, yet. Not yet.

It had to be something to do with Sherlock. It always was, really- nothing happened to him unless Sherlock was involved...