More of nothing much
Aug. 9th, 2010 03:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nnyI'm convinced they're going to let me sleep in a moment. I suspect this happened about two hours before the start of the Great Game. No spoilers, though.
XD
"Watson, I need you."
It was Stockholm syndrome or something, had to be. He was so conditioned - like Pavlov's bloody dog - that he was up and out of his chair, almost through the bathroom door before it struck him to question it.
"Why?" he asked, suspicion sneaking in through the firedoor of the theater of his voice.
"There's something I need to show you."
"I'm reasonably certain," John replied carefully, "that there's nothing in the bathroom I need to see."
Sherlock, inside the bathroom, released a gusty sigh.
"Have no fear for your virtue, John. Life is devoid of all pleasure, I couldn't muster the enthusiasm if you paid me."
"Thanks," John said, easing the door open carefully and inching his head around it, "that's so very flattering."
Sherlock was sitting - fully dressed and buttoned and zipped, John was grateful to note - on the closed lid of the toilet, with a face like a wet Sunday afternoon. One of those thoroughly useless ones, where there's nothing on the telly and the grey sky fills your brain up like sopping cotton wool.
"Problem?"
"New Easy Start Technology," Sherlock said.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"That's what it says," even more bleakly, now. "New Easy Start Technology." He pointed to the relevant part of the toilet paper packaging, stabbing at it with the tip of his finger.
"...yes?"
The only response was an even more hopeless sigh.
John was willing to play along with this, really he was, but he was going to need a little more information in order not to think Sherlock'd finally snapped. If he had anything that was snappable left to snap, obviously. Reliable witnesses would probably be of the opinion that anything with any sort of snap to it had snapped years ago, with the rest bent in half and tied into some sort of incomprehensible knot, but John was willing to be lenient. For a given value thereof.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I'm not seeing it."
"They've put the glue a little further along the first sheet," Sherlock said, in a voice like the toll of a funereal bell. "There's a little flappy bit, now, to hold on to."
"So you can pull it off more easily, yes." John's still not clear what response is expected. "Um. Good?"
"New Easy Start Technology," Sherlock repeated. "I think I might have to kill myself."
John rolled his eyes.
"Anything but yourself, Sherlock," he said, going back into the living room to fetch his coat. He'd probably have worried more, had he seen the speculative gleam in Sherlock's eye.
XD
"Watson, I need you."
It was Stockholm syndrome or something, had to be. He was so conditioned - like Pavlov's bloody dog - that he was up and out of his chair, almost through the bathroom door before it struck him to question it.
"Why?" he asked, suspicion sneaking in through the firedoor of the theater of his voice.
"There's something I need to show you."
"I'm reasonably certain," John replied carefully, "that there's nothing in the bathroom I need to see."
Sherlock, inside the bathroom, released a gusty sigh.
"Have no fear for your virtue, John. Life is devoid of all pleasure, I couldn't muster the enthusiasm if you paid me."
"Thanks," John said, easing the door open carefully and inching his head around it, "that's so very flattering."
Sherlock was sitting - fully dressed and buttoned and zipped, John was grateful to note - on the closed lid of the toilet, with a face like a wet Sunday afternoon. One of those thoroughly useless ones, where there's nothing on the telly and the grey sky fills your brain up like sopping cotton wool.
"Problem?"
"New Easy Start Technology," Sherlock said.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"That's what it says," even more bleakly, now. "New Easy Start Technology." He pointed to the relevant part of the toilet paper packaging, stabbing at it with the tip of his finger.
"...yes?"
The only response was an even more hopeless sigh.
John was willing to play along with this, really he was, but he was going to need a little more information in order not to think Sherlock'd finally snapped. If he had anything that was snappable left to snap, obviously. Reliable witnesses would probably be of the opinion that anything with any sort of snap to it had snapped years ago, with the rest bent in half and tied into some sort of incomprehensible knot, but John was willing to be lenient. For a given value thereof.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I'm not seeing it."
"They've put the glue a little further along the first sheet," Sherlock said, in a voice like the toll of a funereal bell. "There's a little flappy bit, now, to hold on to."
"So you can pull it off more easily, yes." John's still not clear what response is expected. "Um. Good?"
"New Easy Start Technology," Sherlock repeated. "I think I might have to kill myself."
John rolled his eyes.
"Anything but yourself, Sherlock," he said, going back into the living room to fetch his coat. He'd probably have worried more, had he seen the speculative gleam in Sherlock's eye.
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no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 02:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 07:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 08:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 09:23 am (UTC)"... the grey sky fills your brain up like sopping cotton wool."
*envious sigh* at the awesome mood making.
And /boy/ do I sympathise with Sherlock's exasperation here. Some people should be shot.
no subject
Date: 2010-08-13 09:43 am (UTC)I feel Sherlock's pain.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-02 04:56 am (UTC)