[ Sylar does not laugh. He does not laugh, but he comes very close, and John can probably hear him snort quietly. God, Sherlock. ]
Well, there's something. If you still want to hear about my murders, I'll tell you. They never found my footprints at any of my crime scenes. Really confused the police, because everything else was so messy.
[ You want to hear about this too, right, John? At least he's not harping on you still having worth. ]
[He really wishes Sherlock wouldn't deduce certain things. It's extraordinary, of course, be john would like to not have Sylar be an audience to this.]
[It's almost an aside, said in a distracted tone. That little titbit isn't nearly enough to pull his attention away. His gaze sharpens on the tablet, even though it's on voice only.]
Awareness and belief are not the same thing, John. Your worth is not tied to your ability to shoot a gun or perform a surgery, you have many other skills that make you a valuable member of society. Having one eye does not make you worth less than you were before.
[He's aware of you listening there, Sylar. This is indescribably awkward. Sherlock being nice is usually something to praise and reward the consulting detective for. But in this particular instance, John really wishes he could have waited for a private conversation. There's still the warm (if mildly confused) glow in John's chest that comes whenever Sherlock is kind to him for... really inexplicable reasons. But it's tempered.]
I know what you're saying. I just... give me a day, okay? Give me a few more hours. We can talk about this when I get back. [When Sylar isn't standing there eavesdropping.] It's sort of a private conversation. [Or it should be.]
[He blinks in mild confusion, attempting to parse why when his brain is still only running on half capacity. Drawn out of himself enough to try and bolster John, but unable to process or think about what happened to him last night yet.
Ah, of course, that must be the issue.]
Gabriel will understand, John, he has extremely low opinions of his own self worth as well. Not that it comes from the same place as yours, he had an overprotective and doting parent who fuelled his sense of a grandiose purpose from a young age - most likely his mother, it tends to be mothers statistically speaking. Unfortunately, that then translated into a dichotomy with the mundane reality of his existence, leaving him with an unfulfilled sense of potential and issues of self worth. I expect those are now exacerbated with the loss of his powers, thus anything that made him special and acted as a mental buffer between himself and the murders committed in the name of pursuing his 'destiny', allowing him to excuse his actions in the name of the rewards. He doesn't have that now, so he has to face up to the people that he's killed, as well as the fact that even with all the powers he stole, he is still plain old Gabriel Gray underneath it all.
[He isn't even looking at Gabriel as he deduces, eyes still fixed on the tablet.]
[ Well, there goes that smile of his. His face pales as Sherlock just keeps going. Oh no. He tries to remind himself that this is what Sherlock does. Never mind the fact that this is way more accurate than he wants it to be.
There is a long, awkward pause, a sigh, and then: ]
Mom always did want me to be President.
[ The joke is weak, and weakly delivered. But hey, he tried. And he didn't just run out of the room or try to kick Sherlock in the teeth. So it's a win? ]
[Sherlock is very rarely wrong on the broad strokes of things, even if he gets the occasional detail off. Hearing all of that laid out as one of his stream of conscious deductions is certainly something.]
I think, maybe, you should hand your tablet to Sherlock and step away for a bit, Mr. Sylar.
[Do it very quickly, please!]
I appreciate you letting me know all that, Sherlock. It's brilliant, per usual, but I'm not sure Mr. Sylar wanted that put out into the world in quite that way.
[Please do not aggravate the sociopath when he is not there to run physical interference right now, Sherlock.]
[No, he's had enough of that particular habit, thank you.]
Mr. Sylar makes no grammatical sense, it makes you sound like a child calling an adult Mr. Dad in a misguided attempt to be respectful, and it's inaccurate to boot. I suppose Mr. Taylor would also be acceptable in a pinch. Though I suspect you might have some issues with that, as it allows Gabriel to continue usurping the identity of one of his victims. Not the first, but a significant one. One connected to Doctor Suresh, I suspect, and thus a way to gain in-roads with him.
[Deductions help. They soothe the itch inside his head, and so he can't stop now that he's started. This is what he does, it's what he's good at. And doing it now is almost like a way to make sure that whoever controlled his mind, the Prophet herself or someone for her, didn't damage the one thing that gives him worth.]
It's already out in the world, John. Both of you may as well be carrying signs that proclaim your emotional issues, they're hardly well hidden or cause for privacy. It's obvious to anyone who looks at either of you.
[ Sylar had been just about to follow John's request- leaving was suddenly seeming like a very good idea- but Sherlock's response made him stop. He didn't mind Mr. Sylar, as he'd been glad someone used the name, but Sherlock was right. Without the Mister worked better.
This was less of a concern. As long as Sherlock didn't go back to the whole 'self-worth' thing...
But that wasn't to last. Think. What was a distraction, something that'd get him deducing something else? It was too iffy to go into the previous night just yet-- ]
Sherlock, do you know what my first power was? My original ability? I don't think I've ever told either of you.
[That does draw his attention, because it's not an answer that he has immediately ready on the tip of his tongue. His eyes rake over Gabriel, intense and interested, in the couple of seconds silence before he begins talking.]
Not one that manifested in obvious supernatural ability, or you would have been content to show off your gifts without taking them from others. It also had to be something that facilitated your ability to take powers. Not absorbing them, that likely wouldn't require anything as messy as serial murder in the manner you commit them. You were a watchmaker by trade, and you still wear the broken Sylar watch out of sentimental attachment, despite the life of a simple watchmaker not living up to your expectations of grandeur. The life wasn't glamorous, but you understood watches. The precision, the way everything fits tog-- Ah, of course. You understand how others fit together, you can hear how they tick.
[That's an interesting first power, possibly the most interesting one, and one he'd like himself.]
That must have been frustrating for you, to be able to see the special people around you without being able to prove that you were one yourself. No wonder you turned to murder, how could you possibly resist? The keys to your greatness were all right there, ticking in someone else's head, all you needed to do was take the pieces from them and fit them into yourself. Messy deaths, so extracting the powers likely required the removal of one or more organs. Likely the brain, which then had to be consumed?
[He's not even slightly afraid of Sylar, too off-balance from all the events of the past twenty-four hours to reign himself in. He's better than this, at least sometimes, but not today.]
But, you see, that's where you differ from John. His self worth issues are as a result of needing to help people, and feeling inadequate when he can't, brought on by a mixture of his relationship with his father, alcoholic sister, and his time in the army. But, you see, take away his surgical ability, take away his army skills, and he remains a man of worth. He is good, and kind, and extraordinary in many ways. It's hardly surprising that so many people love him.
[Not new things for him to say, not since the wedding. Though, of course, John hasn't got that far yet.]
But you are nothing without the sum of your stolen parts, none of which actually gave you the destiny you felt you deserved. Underneath all the worthless enhancements, bells and whistles, you remain a simple watch. A broken watch.
[ For awhile, Sylar was pleased with the results- especially when Sherlock figured out his exact power. But as it continued on, as Sherlock started comparing him to John, his movements crawled to a standstill. No fidgeting, no noticeable breathing, just an intense focus on Sherlock.
He wasn't going to deny it. He couldn't deny it, considering he was literally wearing the issue on his wrist. If he hadn't been considering the compulsion aspect, this would be unbearable. As of now, he still wants Sherlock to hurt.
When he speaks, it's quiet, low, and even. ]
Do you remember what I told you right as you murdered me? As you stabbed me in the throat and watched me bleed out?
[Okay, on the one hand, Sherlock just told Sylar that John had issues with his father, that his sister was an alcoholic, and there were problems with the army. Those are all things that are true, but he'd rather not have generally known.
Sherlock's also just laid out a rather horrifying and gruesome situation for Sylar where murder couldn't be justified, but it could be understood. The motivations, to an extent, anyway. Not only that, but he's effectively insulted Sylar to a excessive degree. To the point that John's beginning to seriously fear for Sylar's self-control and Sherlock's safety.
But then on the other hand, Sherlock has probably laid out what is one of the nicest compliments--if not the nicest compliment--John has ever received in his life. There's an honest flush that runs through him and his eye goes a bit misty... the other beginning to sting terribly and itch.
This is all a terrible sign for his current level of emotional stability. Okay. Damage control time. A little of the emotion carries in his voice, but John clears his throat to try to get rid of it.]
I'm not sure that really matters right now, Sylar. Sherlock, why don't you give him his tablet back and head down toward the fire station? We can meet in the middle and then head up to the aquarium together. Always good to stretch your legs.
Don't be ridiculous, why would we both get cold for nothing?
[That's a stupid suggestion, Sherlock can be quite lazy sometimes and there's no incentive to him going back out into the snow. John is coming here, so all he needs to is wait. Besides, he's interested in Gabriel right now, in the telling stiffness of his stance.]
I suspect you called me lucky because you suspect that I have people I love enough to kill for, and you do not. Which must mean your mother, a figure you must have adored and hated for the idolisation she put into you, is dead. Probably by your hand. Accident? Temper loss?
[ He's wrong, so wrong. And while Sylar feels that relief, he doesn't let it show. ]
No. She's alive.
I called you lucky because I knew the compulsion was temporary, for you. I didn't know how long it'd last, but it would eventually wear off. You could fight it long enough just to kill me. My ability wasn't like that. It pressed and pressed until I could think of nothing else, nothing but the hunger to understand at any cost.
You didn't even last a day against it. Don't you give me your righteous speeches when you don't know what you're talking about.
[ He spits out the words, near shaking with anger that isn't entirely reserved for Sherlock. Then he reaches for Sherlock's shoulder to shove him to the side and walk past him. He's sure the man will have something else to say, but he tells himself he's not going to listen. ]
Maybe now isn't the time to be provoking someone who's prone to losing their temper, Sherlock. [John's just a voice on the tablet. He can't see what's happening, but he can hear the rage in Sylar's voice. The doctor picks up his pace for all the good that's going to do him. He's still more than an hour away in the snow.]
[Despite the tablet being shoved into his hand, Sherlock isn't even remotely interested in anything John has to say right now. The speaker is being impatiently covered with his hand to muffle the protests from within, eyes fixed on the retreating form of Gabriel. He doesn't cover it completely, though, so John's voice is still semi-audible and he doesn't cover the microphone at all so John can still hear what's happening.]
If she's still alive now, I'm sure you'll kill her when you return. A man like you can't afford to have anyone who remembers him when he was 'normal', anyone who remembers the man behind Sylar.
[He's irritated about the mother, he was so sure.]
Compulsion?
[He snorts.]
You're just trying to find more ways to avoid facing up to yourself. You told yourself you were special, you deserved those powers, and that justified killing. Now you say that they're gone, you're trying to convince yourself that compulsions made you do it so that you don't have to face what you did.
But you know that's a lie. If it had only been compulsion brought on by the ticking of your ability, you wouldn't have murdered Dr. Suresh here. Or, if you had, you would have shown remorse. You are a killer, Gabriel, and there are no convenient compulsions to blame for it.
[ Sylar had been trying so hard to put a hold on violence until he sorted this out. But it seems like Sherlock just sorted it out for him. He'd made his peace with being a murderer a year ago, but last night had made him question it. It was a sick sort of hope, one telling him he'd never had a chance.
He was going to fight Sherlock with words. He could still- Sherlock was deflecting from his own issues. But why bother when he was a killer anyway? Maybe it was always going to come to this. ]
So what's the natural conclusion, then, Sherlock? If I'm nothing but a killer and you're angering me?
[ There are tears in his eyes as he turns and charges at Sherlock, hoping to shove him into the nearest wall. He has his right forearm up to place against Sherlock's neck. ]
No. Sylar! [John hears the pounding of feet and he can guess at where this is going. Sherlock is a fighter, but he's not exactly in fighting form right now, his head out of the game of it with everything that happened. Whether anyone can hear him now, John starts shouting.]
Don't hurt him! Don't you dare hurt him. Sylar, you're a killer, but you're a bloody pragmatist. Don't do this. I will tell every single person who and what you are if you hurt him. You'll be a pariah, just as bad as the Joker, hunted by the Avengers and Batman and every other person you don't want. You won't be able to help anyone anymore.
[He is taken off guard as Gabriel runs at him. Not because the move is unexpected, it's incredibly predictable, but because it just reminds him so much of last night. Of a brief fight, of his own actual compulsions, of killing a man with his own two hands because he couldn't trust his own mind.
John is right to be worried about his head not being in the game, because he is pinned up against the wall by his throat before he can snap out of that momentary fear for his mind. He swallows hard against the arm at his neck, but he doesn't lose his head.
It sounds like John is shouting, and maybe what Gabriel needs is to be hit around the head with the points his friend is making. Literally. He swing the tablet up towards Gabriel's head to try and smash it into his temple. He knows how durable these things are so it should make a good weapon, shame that it will hit the 'end call' button at the same time if it makes contact.]
[ Ow! A corner hits him and he grimaces, but he holds his arm there. He heard at least a few of John's words and they reach him more than they'd been reaching Sherlock. He just wants Sherlock to shut up. ]
How did it feel last night, rationalizing your own actions? You were just protecting your friends, right? Did it feel natural, acting on the Prophet's behalf?
[John gets hung up on and immediately tries to call back. If they're in the middle of the fight, though, that's not going to get responded to until one of them is out... or dead.
Fuck!
The doctor starts jogging, ignoring the way his face jolts in pain and holding his tablet close.]
You know how it felt, you saw it with your own eyes.
[He does not want this conversation flipped on him in this manner. It's probably obvious that he's deeply unsettled by what happened, though perhaps not for the same reasons that everyone else is troubled by it.]
You're embarrassing yourself, Gabriel, what are you trying to achieve?
[His technique is terrible for someone who's supposedly a serial killer. Too much reliance on telekinesis to do the job for him. Sherlock brings his knee up sharply, aiming for either between Gabriel's legs or into his solar plexus. His throat hurts, but the pressure isn't enough to knock him out or be life threatening, so he can still fight.]
[ The question focuses him, even as he takes a heavy kick that pushes him even further off of Sherlock. He tries to regain ground and reapply his arm, but Sherlock is right- his technique is terrible. Still, he does his best to persevere. The words are more important than the fight. ]
You were sure those were your own thoughts, weren't you? You trusted your mind not to betray you--
[ He pauses as he grunts with the effort of trying to keep Sherlock against the wall. ]
You took the ideas and made them yours, because at least then you were in control. Right? How is that different? Show me exactly how that's different from me!
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Well, there's something. If you still want to hear about my murders, I'll tell you. They never found my footprints at any of my crime scenes. Really confused the police, because everything else was so messy.
[ You want to hear about this too, right, John? At least he's not harping on you still having worth. ]
voice/action
I'm aware of that, Sherlock. Thank you.
Why couldn't they find your footprints?
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[It's almost an aside, said in a distracted tone. That little titbit isn't nearly enough to pull his attention away. His gaze sharpens on the tablet, even though it's on voice only.]
Awareness and belief are not the same thing, John. Your worth is not tied to your ability to shoot a gun or perform a surgery, you have many other skills that make you a valuable member of society. Having one eye does not make you worth less than you were before.
[A brief pause, a beat.]
Not to me.
voice/action
That being done, he doesn't have much to add on John's self-worth, so he'll be quiet until they sort that out. He's totally listening, though, John. ]
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I know what you're saying. I just... give me a day, okay? Give me a few more hours. We can talk about this when I get back. [When Sylar isn't standing there eavesdropping.] It's sort of a private conversation. [Or it should be.]
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[He blinks in mild confusion, attempting to parse why when his brain is still only running on half capacity. Drawn out of himself enough to try and bolster John, but unable to process or think about what happened to him last night yet.
Ah, of course, that must be the issue.]
Gabriel will understand, John, he has extremely low opinions of his own self worth as well. Not that it comes from the same place as yours, he had an overprotective and doting parent who fuelled his sense of a grandiose purpose from a young age - most likely his mother, it tends to be mothers statistically speaking. Unfortunately, that then translated into a dichotomy with the mundane reality of his existence, leaving him with an unfulfilled sense of potential and issues of self worth. I expect those are now exacerbated with the loss of his powers, thus anything that made him special and acted as a mental buffer between himself and the murders committed in the name of pursuing his 'destiny', allowing him to excuse his actions in the name of the rewards. He doesn't have that now, so he has to face up to the people that he's killed, as well as the fact that even with all the powers he stole, he is still plain old Gabriel Gray underneath it all.
[He isn't even looking at Gabriel as he deduces, eyes still fixed on the tablet.]
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There is a long, awkward pause, a sigh, and then: ]
Mom always did want me to be President.
[ The joke is weak, and weakly delivered. But hey, he tried. And he didn't just run out of the room or try to kick Sherlock in the teeth. So it's a win? ]
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I think, maybe, you should hand your tablet to Sherlock and step away for a bit, Mr. Sylar.
[Do it very quickly, please!]
I appreciate you letting me know all that, Sherlock. It's brilliant, per usual, but I'm not sure Mr. Sylar wanted that put out into the world in quite that way.
[Please do not aggravate the sociopath when he is not there to run physical interference right now, Sherlock.]
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[No, he's had enough of that particular habit, thank you.]
Mr. Sylar makes no grammatical sense, it makes you sound like a child calling an adult Mr. Dad in a misguided attempt to be respectful, and it's inaccurate to boot. I suppose Mr. Taylor would also be acceptable in a pinch. Though I suspect you might have some issues with that, as it allows Gabriel to continue usurping the identity of one of his victims. Not the first, but a significant one. One connected to Doctor Suresh, I suspect, and thus a way to gain in-roads with him.
[Deductions help. They soothe the itch inside his head, and so he can't stop now that he's started. This is what he does, it's what he's good at. And doing it now is almost like a way to make sure that whoever controlled his mind, the Prophet herself or someone for her, didn't damage the one thing that gives him worth.]
It's already out in the world, John. Both of you may as well be carrying signs that proclaim your emotional issues, they're hardly well hidden or cause for privacy. It's obvious to anyone who looks at either of you.
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This was less of a concern. As long as Sherlock didn't go back to the whole 'self-worth' thing...
But that wasn't to last. Think. What was a distraction, something that'd get him deducing something else? It was too iffy to go into the previous night just yet-- ]
Sherlock, do you know what my first power was? My original ability? I don't think I've ever told either of you.
voice/action
[Yes. Let's focus on this and not self-worth. John is happy to call a truce with Sylar here to get Sherlock off of self-worth.]
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Not one that manifested in obvious supernatural ability, or you would have been content to show off your gifts without taking them from others. It also had to be something that facilitated your ability to take powers. Not absorbing them, that likely wouldn't require anything as messy as serial murder in the manner you commit them. You were a watchmaker by trade, and you still wear the broken Sylar watch out of sentimental attachment, despite the life of a simple watchmaker not living up to your expectations of grandeur. The life wasn't glamorous, but you understood watches. The precision, the way everything fits tog-- Ah, of course. You understand how others fit together, you can hear how they tick.
[That's an interesting first power, possibly the most interesting one, and one he'd like himself.]
That must have been frustrating for you, to be able to see the special people around you without being able to prove that you were one yourself. No wonder you turned to murder, how could you possibly resist? The keys to your greatness were all right there, ticking in someone else's head, all you needed to do was take the pieces from them and fit them into yourself. Messy deaths, so extracting the powers likely required the removal of one or more organs. Likely the brain, which then had to be consumed?
[He's not even slightly afraid of Sylar, too off-balance from all the events of the past twenty-four hours to reign himself in. He's better than this, at least sometimes, but not today.]
But, you see, that's where you differ from John. His self worth issues are as a result of needing to help people, and feeling inadequate when he can't, brought on by a mixture of his relationship with his father, alcoholic sister, and his time in the army. But, you see, take away his surgical ability, take away his army skills, and he remains a man of worth. He is good, and kind, and extraordinary in many ways. It's hardly surprising that so many people love him.
[Not new things for him to say, not since the wedding. Though, of course, John hasn't got that far yet.]
But you are nothing without the sum of your stolen parts, none of which actually gave you the destiny you felt you deserved. Underneath all the worthless enhancements, bells and whistles, you remain a simple watch. A broken watch.
voice/action
He wasn't going to deny it. He couldn't deny it, considering he was literally wearing the issue on his wrist. If he hadn't been considering the compulsion aspect, this would be unbearable. As of now, he still wants Sherlock to hurt.
When he speaks, it's quiet, low, and even. ]
Do you remember what I told you right as you murdered me? As you stabbed me in the throat and watched me bleed out?
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Sherlock's also just laid out a rather horrifying and gruesome situation for Sylar where murder couldn't be justified, but it could be understood. The motivations, to an extent, anyway. Not only that, but he's effectively insulted Sylar to a excessive degree. To the point that John's beginning to seriously fear for Sylar's self-control and Sherlock's safety.
But then on the other hand, Sherlock has probably laid out what is one of the nicest compliments--if not the nicest compliment--John has ever received in his life. There's an honest flush that runs through him and his eye goes a bit misty... the other beginning to sting terribly and itch.
This is all a terrible sign for his current level of emotional stability. Okay. Damage control time. A little of the emotion carries in his voice, but John clears his throat to try to get rid of it.]
I'm not sure that really matters right now, Sylar. Sherlock, why don't you give him his tablet back and head down toward the fire station? We can meet in the middle and then head up to the aquarium together. Always good to stretch your legs.
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[That's a stupid suggestion, Sherlock can be quite lazy sometimes and there's no incentive to him going back out into the snow. John is coming here, so all he needs to is wait. Besides, he's interested in Gabriel right now, in the telling stiffness of his stance.]
I suspect you called me lucky because you suspect that I have people I love enough to kill for, and you do not. Which must mean your mother, a figure you must have adored and hated for the idolisation she put into you, is dead. Probably by your hand. Accident? Temper loss?
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No. She's alive.
I called you lucky because I knew the compulsion was temporary, for you. I didn't know how long it'd last, but it would eventually wear off. You could fight it long enough just to kill me. My ability wasn't like that. It pressed and pressed until I could think of nothing else, nothing but the hunger to understand at any cost.
You didn't even last a day against it. Don't you give me your righteous speeches when you don't know what you're talking about.
[ He spits out the words, near shaking with anger that isn't entirely reserved for Sherlock. Then he reaches for Sherlock's shoulder to shove him to the side and walk past him. He's sure the man will have something else to say, but he tells himself he's not going to listen. ]
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Timing, remember?
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If she's still alive now, I'm sure you'll kill her when you return. A man like you can't afford to have anyone who remembers him when he was 'normal', anyone who remembers the man behind Sylar.
[He's irritated about the mother, he was so sure.]
Compulsion?
[He snorts.]
You're just trying to find more ways to avoid facing up to yourself. You told yourself you were special, you deserved those powers, and that justified killing. Now you say that they're gone, you're trying to convince yourself that compulsions made you do it so that you don't have to face what you did.
But you know that's a lie. If it had only been compulsion brought on by the ticking of your ability, you wouldn't have murdered Dr. Suresh here. Or, if you had, you would have shown remorse. You are a killer, Gabriel, and there are no convenient compulsions to blame for it.
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He was going to fight Sherlock with words. He could still- Sherlock was deflecting from his own issues. But why bother when he was a killer anyway? Maybe it was always going to come to this. ]
So what's the natural conclusion, then, Sherlock? If I'm nothing but a killer and you're angering me?
[ There are tears in his eyes as he turns and charges at Sherlock, hoping to shove him into the nearest wall. He has his right forearm up to place against Sherlock's neck. ]
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Don't hurt him! Don't you dare hurt him. Sylar, you're a killer, but you're a bloody pragmatist. Don't do this. I will tell every single person who and what you are if you hurt him. You'll be a pariah, just as bad as the Joker, hunted by the Avengers and Batman and every other person you don't want. You won't be able to help anyone anymore.
voice/action
John is right to be worried about his head not being in the game, because he is pinned up against the wall by his throat before he can snap out of that momentary fear for his mind. He swallows hard against the arm at his neck, but he doesn't lose his head.
It sounds like John is shouting, and maybe what Gabriel needs is to be hit around the head with the points his friend is making. Literally. He swing the tablet up towards Gabriel's head to try and smash it into his temple. He knows how durable these things are so it should make a good weapon, shame that it will hit the 'end call' button at the same time if it makes contact.]
action
How did it feel last night, rationalizing your own actions? You were just protecting your friends, right? Did it feel natural, acting on the Prophet's behalf?
action
Fuck!
The doctor starts jogging, ignoring the way his face jolts in pain and holding his tablet close.]
action
[He does not want this conversation flipped on him in this manner. It's probably obvious that he's deeply unsettled by what happened, though perhaps not for the same reasons that everyone else is troubled by it.]
You're embarrassing yourself, Gabriel, what are you trying to achieve?
[His technique is terrible for someone who's supposedly a serial killer. Too much reliance on telekinesis to do the job for him. Sherlock brings his knee up sharply, aiming for either between Gabriel's legs or into his solar plexus. His throat hurts, but the pressure isn't enough to knock him out or be life threatening, so he can still fight.]
action
You were sure those were your own thoughts, weren't you? You trusted your mind not to betray you--
[ He pauses as he grunts with the effort of trying to keep Sherlock against the wall. ]
You took the ideas and made them yours, because at least then you were in control. Right? How is that different? Show me exactly how that's different from me!
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