Sherlock Holmes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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thecapitol2013-08-08 07:27 pm
honeyedwords) wrote in thecapitol2013-08-08 07:27 pm
It's probably time for a celebration [OPEN]
Who: The Mentor Sherlock Holmes and you!
What: Moping, skulking, being inadvisably open about detesting the games. Standard Holmes fare.
Where: The District 3 Suites
When: Post-Maximus's victory
Warnings: Substance abuse references. Will add any more that come up if needed.
If nothing else, being in the Capitol for the games has reminded Holmes of why he's spent so much effort trying to avoid having to be in the Capitol for the games. He's a practiced hand at avoiding being wheedled into guest appearances at parties or any other such drivel, but the constant commotion and celebration while he's trying to study the footage from in the arena and work out the subtleties of what's needed and where isn't helpful in the least.
Neither, of course, is the constant, throbbing headache, the sleeplessness, or the gnawing feeling that he knows exactly what would make both of those go away very quickly and how to find it.
Perhaps it wasn't the most elegant of solutions, or the best way to get sponsors, but Holmes had found that the easiest solution to all of these issues had been to confine himself to his quarters for the duration. It had been a pleasant enough reprieve from all the hedonistic wallowing that made up life in the Capitol, but with the games over he supposes he has no excuse any longer, and would prefer to leave his room under his own power instead of being dragged out by peacekeepers under suspicion of conspiracy. So he emerges, looking for all the world like some manner of groggy burrowing animal that did not adequately prepare for hibernation before going under.
What: Moping, skulking, being inadvisably open about detesting the games. Standard Holmes fare.
Where: The District 3 Suites
When: Post-Maximus's victory
Warnings: Substance abuse references. Will add any more that come up if needed.
If nothing else, being in the Capitol for the games has reminded Holmes of why he's spent so much effort trying to avoid having to be in the Capitol for the games. He's a practiced hand at avoiding being wheedled into guest appearances at parties or any other such drivel, but the constant commotion and celebration while he's trying to study the footage from in the arena and work out the subtleties of what's needed and where isn't helpful in the least.
Neither, of course, is the constant, throbbing headache, the sleeplessness, or the gnawing feeling that he knows exactly what would make both of those go away very quickly and how to find it.
Perhaps it wasn't the most elegant of solutions, or the best way to get sponsors, but Holmes had found that the easiest solution to all of these issues had been to confine himself to his quarters for the duration. It had been a pleasant enough reprieve from all the hedonistic wallowing that made up life in the Capitol, but with the games over he supposes he has no excuse any longer, and would prefer to leave his room under his own power instead of being dragged out by peacekeepers under suspicion of conspiracy. So he emerges, looking for all the world like some manner of groggy burrowing animal that did not adequately prepare for hibernation before going under.
no subject
He didn't really know why he cared. After all, the other Sherlock was not him. Just as Joan was not John, not matter how much she reminded him of him.
But there was something of the puzzle in it. Two pieces that were meant to fit together, but came from different puzzles. It had struck him, how easily it could have been him. If he had come here before he'd never met John, if they'd brought a different one instead of his--
But he didn't care. Not really. It was just a puzzle, that was all. And he just wanted to know whether or not it was solved. Perfectly reasonable. Absolutely no personal involvement on intention. Just pure curiosity.
(Or at least that's what he told himself.)
Which was why he had one of the Avoxes deliver a crisp, handwritten note straight to Holmes' dorm, with only one line of text:
Still alive, then? -SH