I'm Down Shouting Names at the Flickering Screen [Open]

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

WHO| Howard and anyone!
WHAT| Howard decides to get serious about the Games.
WHERE| Tribute Lounge
WHEN| Post-Arena
WARNINGS| Swearing.

There's been enough hiding. There's been enough moping. Howard knows that this feeling of motivation is fleeting, and that just means he has to cling to his productivity for as long as he can before it slips back into despair. Before he thinks about how he's going to die again. Before he wonders where Eponine is. Before he thinks about how she left him like his parents did. Before he cries.

So instead of feeling that, he's going to feel something else. He's going to feel entertained. And possibly, he'll learn something along the way; it's about time he forces himself to study. About time he moves past the squeamish feelings of seeing people he knows bleed and scream on the screen and actually starts taking notes on who to ally with and who to stab in the back, or, potentially, in the front.

He sits in a Tribute lounge with snacks, feet propped up on a glass coffee table, starving body covered in comfy clothes his stylists won't let him wear outside, a fluffy blue bathrobe and canvas cargo pants. His hand periodically moves from its path between bowl of snacks and his mouth to grab a cup of melted butter.

He doesn't care how tacky or unhealthy is it. He covers that bowl of popcorn in butter and plops down on the couch, munching away at it as he watches Wesker and Maximus attack each other.

Comments

[drpsychosomatic]

John did roll his eyes then, shaking his head.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Sherlock, did you want me to defend your honour from the crying teenager hiding behind the sofa? I'm sure whatever he did, your retaliation was completely measured and proportionate."

[alldeduction]

He was expecting a talking to. He knew what he had done was not good, but he didn't expect John to ridicule him. The rage boiled up so badly that he didn't know what to do with it.

"Yes, of course." He snapped. "I was the one who wished you dead and I was the one who wanted to watch you die in his arms." It rushed out of him before he could stop it, an angry hurt wave. "Out of all the people in the world determined to make me the villain, I thought that you--" But he bit it off there, deliberately and forcefully, less for John's sake and more of his own. He turned on his heel and started storming off.

[drpsychosomatic]

John stopped, staring with his mouth open for a beat or two before hurrying to catch up.

"He said what? Sherlock-- Sherlock, stop."

[alldeduction]

Sherlock either couldn't or wouldn't stop, or even slow down, for several minutes, propelled onwards by righteous fury, but eventually he allowed John to catch up and ground to a halt.

It was necessary. He needed to be detached, and he wasn't, and the fact that Howard had gotten under his skin so quickly and effectively was terrifying to him. But having even just a couple minutes to cool down kept him from immediately launching a barrage at John. Instead he just came to a stop, still raging silently. There was no way to tell John an accurate description of what happened. He threw popcorn at me, I threw it back, he dumped his popcorn on me and then I made a perfectly reasonable deduction about his sleeping habits and relationship arrangements and then he said that he wanted me to watch you die again somehow did not feel like something that would make a very good impression either way, and saying it would force Sherlock to admit that he was more shaken about the whole thing than he had told John before. So instead he just stood, stewing in his own rage.

[drpsychosomatic]

"He said he wanted to watch me die?" John asked, bewildered. "Howard's... he's got some problems, but I didn't realise..."

[alldeduction]

"He said he wanted me to watch you die. Again." Sherlock clarified, still angry and still bitter but at least John wasn't accusing him anymore and was actually willing to listen. "He said he hoped for it."

[drpsychosomatic]

He frowned, pursing his lips together. Howard had said that? He knew he had a bit of a vicious streak, but he'd never imagined anything of that level of vitriol being thrown around- wishing someone dead.

"Okay, why?" he asked, cautiously. "He didn't just say that, did he?"

[alldeduction]

Sherlock looked away, then, trying to find a way to put the rest of the situation in a way that wouldn't just end up with John yelling at him, but he was having a hard time engineering a way in which that was possible.

"I commented on his sleeping arrangements." Sherlock said, and then looked at John and added in a hasty rush: "He was throwing popcorn at me, for no reason other than the fact that I was there and when I retaliated he dumped all of it on me. So I observed. I didn't say anything that wasn't true."

[drpsychosomatic]

He sighed. That definitely sounded more like Howard, sadly enough.

"And Howard gave you more than enough rope to hang him with. What on earth did you say to him, to make him think he had to go for threatening you with watching me die?"

[alldeduction]

"That he'd been sleeping outside, for a week. And that his girlfriend has obviously left him."

He had the decency to look at least a little ashamed, at that, and he didn't meet John's eye.

[drpsychosomatic]

"Well, there you go. You went for the jugular and he lashed out," John sighed, scrubbing at his hair. "He's... a kid, Sherlock. A scared kid who doesn't always have the best handle on himself. He didn't mean it."

[alldeduction]

"He's supposed to be your friend," Sherlock said, more than a little bitterly on multiple levels, but mostly because he knew he didn't really have a leg to stand on, otherwise. "I refuse to sit and listen to threats, regardless of the origin."

[drpsychosomatic]

"He just didn't have any other ammunition, Sherlock. You can see it, right?" He paused, wondering for a moment if trying to explain would make things worse. Sherlock liked to believe he was a great deal more unreadable than he really was, sometimes.
"He knows you care about me, and it was probably the first thing he could think of. I really don't think it was a threat, especially not one we need to worry about."

[alldeduction]

Sherlock didn't argue and he didn't meet John's eye.

"I'm not worried about it," He said instead, a little falsely haughty. "He couldn't take you in the arena if he wanted to."

He tried to make it light, if only so that John would stop directly poking at and illuminating his weakness.

[drpsychosomatic]

"Well, good," John said, watching Sherlock flounder and deciding enough was probably enough. He'd check in on Howard later, and remind Sherlock that the lad was clearly suffering from if not PTSD then something close enough to it as to make no difference- when it wasn't so raw and Sherlock wasn't so defensive.

"So was there anything in particular you wanted to look at?"

[alldeduction]

More than a little thankful that John was finally wrapping up the conversation, Sherlock said "Yes," immediately, and then launched into his laundry list of objectives that he meant to complete that evening, mostly streets that he'd yet to see in person, to complete his mental map of the city.

Nothing on that list contained implied talking further about 'feelings', which suited Sherlock just fine, thank you.