Wake up in the morning feeling like P Diddy

[drpsychosomatic]

Who| John Watson, Sherlock Holmes and anyone they encounter
What| Exploring, complaining, all that wholesome stuff
Where| Throughout the Capitol
When| After John's introduction as punishment for Sherlock messing with the cameras
Warnings/Notes| No warnings as of yet. This post can also be used for meeting just John or just Sherlock, we can engineer them splitting up for fact-finding a la Scooby Doo if you prefer!

Having been given a quick crash course on everything Sherlock had learned during his stay in the Capitol and his rather unpleasant experiences in the Arena, John had asked if Sherlock wouldn't mind showing him around some of the more interesting places in the sprawling, decadent city. He felt like having a rather stiff drink, actually- something to wash down the hideously confusing day he'd had- though he doubted he could convince Sherlock to join him in destroying a few braincells at whatever passed for a pub in this ridiculous place.

"So, where's next?" he asked, as lightly as he could manage as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. 

Comments

[downbeat]

"Because I'm not a murderer," he said all too quickly. He had murdered, yes, but he was not a murderer. Killing his parents was necessary self defense; it was the desperate decision of a soldier, not the sadistic musings of a sociopath. "B-Because I don't -- Because I would rather not hurt people if I do not need to hurt people, and that's all there is to it. You didn't deserve -- "

He glanced behind him as though Grey were still there, still sleeping with the harpoon clutched tightly in his gloved hands. He shuddered.

He practically needed to pull the words from his throat.

"You did not deserve to die because I was too much of a fucking coward to say something."

[alldeduction]

"Interesting." The word was flat and indicated that he considered Katurian's statements anything but.

Long, thin, fingers slowly move along the back of an empty chair across from Katurian, knuckles turning faintly white as the stroke turned into a firm grip.

"And when you originally tried to murder me on the ice? Was that a fluke? Or cowardice."

[downbeat]

His eyes followed Sherlock's fingers as they dragged along the chair. He flinched, jerked as the grip tightened, his own hand hitting against the wall next to him as the jolt nearly lifted him out of the seat. He was a mouse, small and cornered.

(There were always wounds that couldn't heal. Katurian would always be a prey animal. He would always be frightened.)

"I don't know," he said. It was the same thing he had said to Grey right before the other man shoved a harpoon into his gut. A failure to commit. Paralysis. "I don't -- I didn't -- I didn't really know what I was doing." Yes, that sounded right. He forced himself to look at Sherlock. "I didn't know what I was doing."

[alldeduction]

It felt useless, attempting to understand Katurian. As useless as it felt trying to understand anyone who didn't behave rationally and especially when he didn't have a vested interest in attempting to work them out.

Normally he wouldn't try. Normally he would give up and grumble to himself about the generalised idiocy of man kind and of this man in particular and go to his rooms and fiddle with his violin darkly. Here, however, there was no violin. And Katurian remained a wild card that he wasn't sure what to do with if he should meet him again in the arena. So some sort of conclusion was necessary.

Time to fake it.

He threw up his hands, shaking his head. "Fine. Fine. It doesn't matter. Let's make a deal. You don't directly try to kill me, I won't try to kill you, and you don't need to get yourself killed horribly."

[downbeat]

“Yes,” Katurian said, watching Sherlock with his wide eyes. Did he mean it, that yes? Could he really guarantee that the next time they crossed paths he wouldn’t harm him? The choice he made the last time, oh, that was simple enough. He knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he was responsible for someone’s death. But death was not permenant, death was a temporary inconvenience that could be made quick and short and relatively pain-free, and the death of others was the only thing separating Katurian from freedom. From his brother.

“That is most definitely a deal.”