[ It doesn't take long before Sherlock comes across Sylar, as he's currently pacing across the entire length of the aquarium. Sylar had just felt like he needed to move today, bogged down with problems of a different sort than most of the victims of last night.
He doesn't like the way people succumbed to this compulsion, and he doesn't like the way they reacted afterwards. He doesn't like how similar it feels to times he'd rather forget. He doesn't like the implication that he hadn't had any choices all this time. The whole point had been to wrest control of his destiny for himself, hadn't it?
He's lost in his thoughts as he walks, so he doesn't notice Sherlock until they're quite close to each other. Once he realizes it's Sherlock, he looks relieved. ]
Hi. John's going to be happy to know you're okay. He headed out to try and find you. You want to send him something from my tablet?
[Even through the semi-deliberate wall keeping him from the harsh reality of last night, Sherlock still takes a snapshot of the man in front of him from head to toe. Haggard, haunted, but not especially by the sight of Sherlock himself. Not his death that bothers him, then, but something else. Something related to the murders, but not the murdering itself.
The compulsion then? Seeing other people murder? Does he feel like perhaps he was controlled to kill in his past, is guilt setting in? Interesting. So John isn't here, he must have gone down to the fire station and they've missed one another. He could turn around now, but he wouldn't make it back there by lockdown. Talking to John, however, sounds a good idea and he doesn't have a tablet of his own to do it on. Yes, he says in his mind, you may call John and we will speak to him together.
Not that any of this makes it out of his mouth.
He ends up simply staring at Gabriel for nearly a full minute.
...It might be for the best if Gabriel calls John.]
[ Ohhhkay. Sylar raises an eyebrow, then pulls out his tablet. He was just going to text if this situation came up, but now he thinks it'd probably be better if he called. Maybe hearing John will help snap Sherlock out of it.
He sends a message to @jwatson: ]
Hey, John. Sherlock showed up at the aquarium. Would you talk to him, please? He's kinda...off.
[It's a relief, but at the same time, John doesn't like him being alone with Sylar.]
Oh, thank God. I'm turning around now, but it'll be a few hours before I'm back. Is he just sort of staring at you? He does that.
[John raises his voice, uncertain how far away Sherlock is from Sylar.]
Sherlock, if you haven't eaten today, eat something. Or wash your hair. Just do something instead of standing there and staring. It creeps normal people out.
[Implying, of course, that Sylar is in any way, shape, or form normal.]
[His eyes flick down to the tablet, but there's no video feed, so they snap back up to Gabriel's face instead. He's still trying to be accommodating even though they both know what he is, more so than he was, almost like he's clinging to whatever small sense of purpose he has for helping because he has nothing else.
Ah, oops.
He's so busy thinking about Gabriel and his existential problems, that most of what John says simply floats in one ear and out the other. It's comforting background noise, like Mrs. Hudson wittering about the weather, but ultimately unimportant except for telling him that John is alive. Hurt, though, he can hear it in the mild tension beneath his voice. Likely his eye, the injury was a few hours old by the time Sherlock saw it, it probably hasn't healed with everything else.
Poor John. His friend must be suffering greatly, not with the pain, but with knowing his spatial awareness has completely changed and that will stop him being an effective surgeon and destroy his ability to correctly aim a gun. Two things he prizes deeply. He wants to say something comforting, but too much time has passed and the conversation is moving on without him.
There's surprisingly very little trouble with depth perception when everything's a wall of white, Mr. Sylar. [John's tone is dry. His eye and general face still hurt like hell, but that's going to be a while, yet.] If the food doesn't get him to stop, you might try telling him about your murders. Put it as a puzzle, and it'll probably get him talking, either to dismiss you as boring or to try to solve it before you do it for him.
Sherlock, please eat what he gives you and stop staring.
[Mr. Sylar? How bloody ridiculous. A polite moniker before a pseudonym, and not even a very clever one. Either let it be Sylar, one word as the name was intended, or call him Mr. Taylor or Mr. Gray.
Oh, wait, what? Now there's a bar of something being pushed in his face, and he still hasn't said anything comforting.]
You still have worth, John.
[There we go. Not that comforting and utterly irrelevant to the conversation.]
[ 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.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
27/11/16 23:44 (UTC)He doesn't like the way people succumbed to this compulsion, and he doesn't like the way they reacted afterwards. He doesn't like how similar it feels to times he'd rather forget. He doesn't like the implication that he hadn't had any choices all this time. The whole point had been to wrest control of his destiny for himself, hadn't it?
He's lost in his thoughts as he walks, so he doesn't notice Sherlock until they're quite close to each other. Once he realizes it's Sherlock, he looks relieved. ]
Hi. John's going to be happy to know you're okay. He headed out to try and find you. You want to send him something from my tablet?
[ Sherlock is clearly not using his own. ]
(no subject)
27/11/16 23:53 (UTC)The compulsion then? Seeing other people murder? Does he feel like perhaps he was controlled to kill in his past, is guilt setting in? Interesting. So John isn't here, he must have gone down to the fire station and they've missed one another. He could turn around now, but he wouldn't make it back there by lockdown. Talking to John, however, sounds a good idea and he doesn't have a tablet of his own to do it on. Yes, he says in his mind, you may call John and we will speak to him together.
Not that any of this makes it out of his mouth.
He ends up simply staring at Gabriel for nearly a full minute.
...It might be for the best if Gabriel calls John.]
action -> voice
28/11/16 00:54 (UTC)He sends a message to @jwatson: ]
Hey, John. Sherlock showed up at the aquarium. Would you talk to him, please? He's kinda...off.
voice
28/11/16 01:04 (UTC)Oh, thank God. I'm turning around now, but it'll be a few hours before I'm back. Is he just sort of staring at you? He does that.
[John raises his voice, uncertain how far away Sherlock is from Sylar.]
Sherlock, if you haven't eaten today, eat something. Or wash your hair. Just do something instead of standing there and staring. It creeps normal people out.
[Implying, of course, that Sylar is in any way, shape, or form normal.]
voice/action
28/11/16 01:13 (UTC)Ah, oops.
He's so busy thinking about Gabriel and his existential problems, that most of what John says simply floats in one ear and out the other. It's comforting background noise, like Mrs. Hudson wittering about the weather, but ultimately unimportant except for telling him that John is alive. Hurt, though, he can hear it in the mild tension beneath his voice. Likely his eye, the injury was a few hours old by the time Sherlock saw it, it probably hasn't healed with everything else.
Poor John. His friend must be suffering greatly, not with the pain, but with knowing his spatial awareness has completely changed and that will stop him being an effective surgeon and destroy his ability to correctly aim a gun. Two things he prizes deeply. He wants to say something comforting, but too much time has passed and the conversation is moving on without him.
He's also terrible at comfort.]
voice/action
28/11/16 01:18 (UTC)Yep, he's doing the staring thing. Here, I'll get him something to eat.
[ Cue rustling as Sylar goes through his bag and pulls out a protein bar. He unwraps it and puts it in Sherlock's face. ]
Here, eat. [ And to the tablet: ] Are you managing all right? Any trouble traveling?
voice/action
28/11/16 01:23 (UTC)Sherlock, please eat what he gives you and stop staring.
voice/action
28/11/16 01:28 (UTC)Oh, wait, what? Now there's a bar of something being pushed in his face, and he still hasn't said anything comforting.]
You still have worth, John.
[There we go. Not that comforting and utterly irrelevant to the conversation.]
voice/action
28/11/16 01:38 (UTC)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
28/11/16 01:41 (UTC)I'm aware of that, Sherlock. Thank you.
Why couldn't they find your footprints?
voice/action
28/11/16 01:45 (UTC)[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
28/11/16 01:48 (UTC)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. ]
voice/action
28/11/16 01:58 (UTC)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.]
voice/action
28/11/16 02:05 (UTC)[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.]
voice/action
28/11/16 02:18 (UTC)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? ]
voice/action
28/11/16 02:23 (UTC)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.]
voice/action
28/11/16 02:37 (UTC)[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.
voice/action
28/11/16 02:50 (UTC)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
28/11/16 02:52 (UTC)[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.]
voice/action
28/11/16 03:13 (UTC)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
28/11/16 03:27 (UTC)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?
voice/action
28/11/16 03:43 (UTC)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.
voice/action
28/11/16 17:09 (UTC)[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?
voice/action
28/11/16 17:25 (UTC)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. ]
voice/action
28/11/16 17:30 (UTC)Timing, remember?
voice/action
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