(no subject)

[alldeduction]

Who: || Sherlock and Open
Where: || District 2 Suites
When: || A few days after the network blackout
What: || Sherlock is sulking in the most melodramatic way possible, but he has his reasons.
Warnings: || None, save Sherlock being a brooding child


It had been nearly two days, since he had left his rooms. Longer than that, since he had been fully dressed, or spoken to anyone. He'd extracted himself carefully and quietly from daily life in the tribute tower, wallowing in the blackest mood he could summon.

Punchy was missing. Sherlock had few friends, fewer still ones he could accurately describe as having greater expertise in a subject than he did, and Punchy was one of them. Despite the bizarre dialect in which he spoke, Sherlock knew the boy was brilliant when it came to computers, and hacking network systems in particular. So when their comms had been hacked, the message of rebellion spread, Sherlock had immediately wanted his opinion.

Only to find he had disappeared.

He wasn't allowed to investigate, of course - wasn't even allowed in Punchy's room - but it didn't take the world's greatest detective to be able to deduce what had happened to him. Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot. Sherlock wanted to shake him, hard, if only he could find him first. But there was no point in looking. Punchy had almost assuredly been taken deep into the Capitol's crooked heart.

He only hoped the boy would still be alive when he was brought out of it.

Comments

[tis_allgood]

Cuthbert had made the trip to the second floor deliberately to check on the Helmsman, who was still a work in progress as far as getting himself back together. Bert had made a real effort to turn things around for him and now instead of finding one potential walking wreck he finds another.

This one was actually more likely to be his fault, though, and Cuthbert felt the immediately and quite unwelcome pang of guilt for it.

"Gan, what happened here?"

[alldeduction]

Sherlock lay draped over the couch as if he had melted into it, flopped over the furniture like dirty laundry. He didn't look up when Cuthbert entered the suites, cursing himself quietly in his mind for allowing himself to be in the common room at all. He did his best to be invisible, but it was, of course, impossible, so he draped an arm over his eyes so that at the very least he wouldn't actually have to look at Cuthbert.

When the man spoke, however, he groaned, not at all interested in acknowledging his presence but forced to.

"Was being the cause of my death twice not enough, or have you decided to bother me here in the Capitol, as well."

[tis_allgood]

Bert kept his distance, lest Sherlock try to take a swing at him. But he still managed to look disapproving, hands on his hips and a frown on his face.

"Only because you seem to need bothering. Is there something in the water on this level? I refuse to play nursemaid to two of thee, even if there is."

He kept his tone thoroughly disappointed to try and get through even when Sherlock refused to look at him.

[alldeduction]

Sherlock was not about to move again, let alone take a swing at anyone.

He did, however, fervently wish he had the power to teleport himself into a dark closet at will.

"I cannot imagine a single place in all the multitudes of the multiple universes that I would either want or need your nursing abilities," Sherlock said bitingly, his arm still resolutely over his face.

[tis_allgood]

He scoffed at that and kicked the sofa Sherlock had melted himself over. It wasn't a gesture of violence, just a reminder that the detective wasn't in much position to talk.

"You'll hear no disagreement with me over want, but from where I stand you certainly need someone's boot in your backside. What sort of man lies about like a slug when he's been beaten? A true man would get up and try harder."

[alldeduction]

"A true man," Sherlock repeated with a matching scoff, managing to retain his positioning on the sofa despite the kick, though he did seem braced for another blow. "Don't diminish my already limited evaluation of your intelligence by pretending that you have any idea what you are talking about," He muttered scathingly.

He lowered his arm enough that he could turn his head to glare at Cuthbert.

"If you believe I care at all about my outcome in the arena, or indeed your definition of manhood, then you are stupider than I believed."

[tis_allgood]

"Sai, you'll not get far insulting my intelligence. My own father has made it clear he knows I'm damaged in the head, what makes you think the opinion of someone I neither like nor respect could wound me?"

Bert was smiling, though there was a sharper edge to it now. There was no point in kicking the couch again, he had already made his point about Sherlock pouting.

"It would be a kindness on a lesser mind like mine to tell me then why you look like a pile of vomit so wretched even starved dogs wouldn't eat it."

[drpsychosomatic]

John didn't really know why Sherlock was in one of his moods, but he knew the signs well enough to know he was in one of them, and that alone required action. Vaguely, he wondered if it was his fault- he'd forbidden Sherlock from doing anything to endanger himself with regards to the Rebellion, and in the light of recent events... well. He'd work it out of him.

He slipped into Sherlock's suite and cleared his throat, looking for the tell-tale signs of a tall, spindly man flopping about in his dressing gown. At least, he thought, the Capitol wasn't keen on giving tributes firearms.

[alldeduction]

He was curled into himself on the couch when John entered, back to the outside world, and he didn't move or look up when John cleared his throat. He had resolved himself to go lock himself in his room, but his escort interfered, locking the door on him until he agreed to bathe or dress. But Sherlock was not about to be outdone in petulance, so there he still was, laying on the couch.

He didn't move for a long time, and only when it was apparent that John was not going to leave, did he speak.

"Do you require something?" He asked, his voice half lost into the cushions.

[drpsychosomatic]

"Why don't you take a look and deduce that one for yourself?" he asked, lightly. "Come on, Sherlock. I want to take you out. I found this... place where they turn the lights off which sounds like it might feel like a bit of peace, and I don't fancy going by myself."

[alldeduction]

Sherlock let out a long suffering sigh to turn and look at his friend.

"I feel inclined to inform you that you are currently standing in a room where, through the magic of technology, you are able to turn the lights off." His tone was not annoyed - closer to weary.

[drpsychosomatic]

His shoulders slumped slightly, though he was far from defeated. At least he had Sherlock's attention, now.
"Yes, thanks, I'm acquainted with the concept of light switches. Not exactly my point, though, as you already know, so stop being difficult."

[alldeduction]

Sherlock didn't reply right away, watching John for a moment instead. The cane at his side, the bags under his eyes.

"... I don't have the capacity, at present, to deal with the Capitol," Sherlock said eventually, quite seriously. He raised a hand to press fingertips to his temples. "Must we go out?"

[formersurgeon]

Joan had been wanting to discuss the revolution messages with Sherlock pretty much since they were broadcast. They wouldn't be able to discuss it directly, of course, but they had been able to discuss a number of things covertly, so she was certain they would find a way.

Except she hasn't seen him. At all.

A couple days she could chalk up to them just not being in the same place at the same time. But as a couple days stretched into a few, she started getting worried. Finally, she went to the District 2 suites to seek him out. She was expecting to find him lost in the rabbit hole of his psyche, deep in thought over what had happened.

She didn't expect what she found. He was a mess, in pajamas, hair unwashed, stubble on his cheeks and chin. With her Sherlock, this wouldn't be worrisome. With this Sherlock, she'd expect impeccable grooming and careful attention to detail in his dressing. Something was seriously wrong.

"I haven't seen you around lately," she began mildly.

[alldeduction]

He was indeed a mess, and an unrepentant one, and by the time Joan found him he had already been 'looked in on' both by people he didn't mind and by people he did not want to see in the slightest. Joan may have been in the former category but that didn't mean that he really wanted to see her either. He didn't want to see anyone. So he tried to ignore her, until she made that impossible.

Head hanging off the arm of the couch, he resolutely stared at the ceiling instead of looking at her.

"I've been on vacation," he said, in almost an exactly copy of her tone.

[formersurgeon]

"Apparently on vacation from showering and shaving, too." She approached him until she stood beside the couch, looking down at him.

"Look, we can do this song and dance and waste both of our time, or we can accept the fact that I know something's wrong, and you can tell me what it is."

Still mild, but this time with a thread of steel. Just because she's quiet doesn't mean she'll put up with lies or brush-offs.

[alldeduction]

"Explain to me exactly what inclines me to owe you an explanation," Sherlock said flatly, without meeting her eyes.

Punchy's disappearance had made it all too clear exactly how safe the Capitol was, and how safe his friends were in it.

And how much safer they would likely be if they kept their distance from him.

The thought had been weighing heavily on his mind, the last few days. John he could not save by distancing himself. But Joan...

[formersurgeon]

Joan's work with addicts had frequently required her to push past polite boundaries and walls her clients put up in order to pull them out of depression and spirals that would lead to relapse. She had no qualms about doing the exact same thing here.

"Because it's pretty clear that whatever it is, it's hurting you," she answered. "Because you're my friend and I care about your well being. And because I'm not going to leave you alone while you're like this, so you might as well tell me what's up and get it over with."

[alldeduction]

"I'm not hurt," Sherlock lied, to her and himself, with venom. "I am merely thinking, and until I have come to any conclusions on the subject I don't see why I can't keep such thoughts to myself."

[fire_punk]

Kevin had been thinking about what Blaine told him. About getting people to like him, that is. He finally decided it was worth a try. But he'd start with the other Victors and Tributes. So when he saw his older Districtmate in the common room, he flopped onto one of the other couches. Their Escort would probably give him a lecture on posture later. He really didn't care.

"Hey."

[alldeduction]

Kevin had set his sights on a rather deplorable target - not inclined to friendliness on a normal day and even less so now. He hung on the couch like a limp, wet rat after fleeing a ship, exhausted and irritable.

"Hey," He repeated, almost flippantly. He didn't look up or move or otherwise give any acknowledgement of Kevin's presence.

[fire_punk]

He was a bit lost now. He tried to think what Blaine would do about now. "So what are you doing?"

[alldeduction]

"Solving world hunger," Sherlock said extremely sarcastically and not at all helpfully.

[fire_punk]

"No, you're not," the kid retorted bluntly. "What are you talking about, anyway?"

[alldeduction]

Sherlock sucked in a deep breath, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand.

"No. Obviously. But far be it for sarcasm to be understood." He flashed Kevin a look. "Can you get to the point and tell me what exactly it is that you want?"