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Tweak says, "Turn to page 394."

Sherlock Holmes (reasonbackward) wrote in colligo_threads,
@ 2010-09-25 20:22:00

Entry tags:

!@event, !closed, jim moriarty, sherlock holmes

WHO: Sherlock Holmes & Jim Moriarty
WHAT: Honesty has some rather interesting results. Or Jim Moriarty acts human.
WHEN: After this & this
WHERE: Jim's flat
RATING: PG
STATUS: In Progress

Sherlock wasn't sure how he felt at the moment. Granted, he often wasn't sure how he felt at most times, but this was even more complicated than any other situation that he'd faced. While nothing certainly excused the way that Jim had conducted his life, the path that he had decided to take since childhood, the events that had seemingly lead up to it gave Sherlock a more firm grounding to understand exactly what had driven Moriarty to do the things that he did. And the idea that a few changes, and it all could have gone a different way was enough to motivate him into an action that he might not would have taken otherwise.

Lingering outside the upstairs flat, Sherlock sighed, pocketing his phone as he approached the door, raising a hand to knock before pushing it open without waiting for an answer. He didn't expect that Jim would shoot him for entering uninvited, and while he was willing to bet that right now was the one moment when Jim actually wouldn't want company, it was perhaps the one that Sherlock could assume he likely needed it the most. Dredging up old memories, likely long since buried and preferably not remembered, was hell on a spirit that have striven to survive past them. That was something that Sherlock knew first hand, and it was something that provoked an empathy in him that Jim couldn't reciprocate, might not understand, but...would hopefully tolerate.

"Looks like John made quite a mess of things," Sherlock called as he stepped into the living room, eyes lingering down to the large, seeping blood stain on the floor and the spatter that had misted on the furniture. "Close range, large caliber, and he waited until you bled out from the looks of it," Sherlock said, crouching next to the blood stain. "You're going to have a hell of a time getting this up."

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crimeconsultant
2010-09-26 06:55 am UTC (link)

It wasn't until Sherlock's own response, where far more information was offered than was necessary simply to agree to tea, that Jim found himself able to focus enough to truly grasp the situation at hand. Yes, Sherlock was there because he felt some odd urge to offer some sort of support. He possibly felt pity, or maybe just empathy, but whatever the case he was there. However, he was also incapable of not being thoroughly honest. True Jim had realized that fact meant Sherlock wasn't lying about his reasons for being there, but as he gave a nod and made his way to the kitchen just as the teapot began to whistle, he was able to better grasp the full scope of it all.

Sherlock had to tell the truth. No matter what he was asked. No matter what direction the conversation took, he could not lie.

It was almost enough to put a bounce back in Jim's step. It was more than enough to make him smile once more. And as he gathered the teapot and cups, bags and various other items, and arranged them on a tray, he allowed his mind to truly consider the possibilities. He could bring up anything he wanted. Anything at all. He could ask about Sherlock's own childhood. He wouldn't, as he knew the man's was a far cry better than his own and was going to do his damndest to avoid that topic again, but he could ask if he wanted. He could ask, well, anything really.

Yes, in a way it felt a bit like cheating. Priding himself on his ability to work things out on his own, Jim wasn't fond at the idea of the answers just being given to him. But at the same time, it was an opportunity he would likely never have again. And if Sherlock insisted on seeking him out, well, who was he to deny the man his request? Provided it was on his terms, of course.

Returning to the living room, tray in hand, he made his way to the sofa (quite grateful it had managed to avoid getting sprayed with his blood, unlike most of the rest) and took his seat. Pouring two cups of tea, he held one out for Sherlock to take. Then, after a small sip of his own, finally looked to the man with the intention of asking something that would turn the tables a bit more in his favour.

"I was four, you know, the first time I realized I didn't see the world the way others do. Already able to read at a secondary school level and more than capable of having an intelligent conversation with fully accredited scholars, they'd labelled me as a prodigy and said I had a brilliant future ahead of me." That was not what he wanted to say. Not even close. Yet try as he might, he couldn't stop the words now that they'd started. So with a look of annoyance mixed with the pain that only the memories he was dredging up were capable of causing, he continued.

"Then I deduced at a family gathering that my grandmother had an affair with her childhood friend, who was actually the biological father of my own dear daddy." He snorted softly and dropped his gaze to the murky surface of his tea. "One simple deduction that was painfully obvious to anyone who bothered to notice. That was all it took."

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reasonbackward
2010-09-26 07:21 am UTC (link)

Sherlock understood how much the simplest things could speak in that degree, but by the time that he'd come around, Mycroft had already pointed out all of the awkward family secrets and things that had been swept under the rug. The air of the family Holmes had been cleared long before he'd even gotten the opportunity to take a second look at any of his relatives. And for the first time in a long while, he actually felt quietly grateful for that fact.

"I thought it was normal," Sherlock said, taking a sip of the tea and musing quietly to himself about his current proximity to someone who had attempted to kill his best friend two times over. It was baffling what this place did to people. "Until I started primary, the only other social interaction I'd had was with Mycroft so I thought everyone thought the way we did. I was...remarkably disappointed by the others."

Frustrated by how slow they seemed to be and then hurt by how they seemed to think that he was the odd one out. And without his brother there to back him up, Sherlock had been left to attempt to defend his own process, and rational arguments didn't stand any chance against the unrelenting, incessant cruelty of school children.

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crimeconsultant
2010-09-26 08:04 am UTC (link)

For not the first time since learning of the great Sherlock Holmes, Jim felt a large swell of jealousy toward the other man. He had the ideal life for someone with their talents. A family that loved him, friends who supported him, even some criminals who feared him in a way that they didn't fear anyone else - Jim included. He had it all, without even the benefit of trying, and truly didn't seem to realize it. Jim honestly wasn't sure whether to be amused or livid.

"For simpletons, they really are quite adept at finding just the right buttons to press, aren't they?" he asked in lieu of feeling anything at all. Questions were better. Easier. Jim decided he could handle asking questions.

Or not, he decided resignedly as he felt yet another statement of truth begin to bubble within him, demanding to be released.

"I was meant to be tutored, at first," he said grudgingly. "The school said I simply wouldn't fit in with my peers and strongly urged I be placed in private tutoring for my own well being." His expression was a dark one as he forced his gaze back to his tea. If he had to speak about such matters, at least he could look elsewhere while doing so.

"But dear Mummy and Daddy couldn't be bothered. They said it'd be good for me, would teach me how to properly interact, and sent me off to mingle with the masses without another thought on the matter."

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reasonbackward
2010-09-26 08:30 am UTC (link)

"I think," Sherlock said after a moment of quiet internal debate over what would be best to say, the word finally selected for him from among the hundreds of thoughts that had been circling in his head, "unless one actually has to deal with their peers, as a child, in a way that their behavior is seared on one's consciousness, as an adult, one tends to forget just how horrible they can be to anyone that can count as an oddity."

Which, perhaps, had been another saving grace in having a brother so much older than him. Mycroft had already had to endure the taunts, the name calling, and criticisms based on nothing more than his intelligence, and while Mycroft had taken it with far more grace than Sherlock had ever been capable of, their mother had been more than prepared for the sort of situations that Sherlock had found himself in as a child. And even as the taunts had been impressed upon his consciousness, he had had a substantial counterweight to balance out the cruelty.

And while he'd always been more than grateful to his mother's existence (he was never the one that upset her, thankyouverymuch, Mycroft), Sherlock hadn't realized just how lucky he had been until this moment.

"My parents wanted me to acclimatize, get used to other children, because I could hardly spend my entire life tagging around after Mycroft," Sherlock said, wincing slightly at that admittance. He preferred not to think of the years when his big brother had been seen in his mind's eye as a blessing rather than a bother. "It did go...rather horribly," He said, taking another sip of his tea to break up the string of confessions that seemed to be flooding into him. "Black eyes, broken teeth, frustration ebbs too easily into anger." Not that Sherlock probably had to tell Jim that. "Especially once the sadness has passed."

Not that it ever passed for long. It would creep up on him at odd times, smoother him in the middle of the night until he was forced to retreat from the gaping darkness of his room and rely on his mother or his big brother for reassurances that he wasn't as twisted and wrong as they accused of.

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crimeconsultant
2010-09-30 01:24 am UTC (link)

Normally, Jim's dark eyes shone with a touch of insanity and no small amount of intelligence. Rarely, if ever, were any true emotions found within their depths unless he happened to be playing a role. Yet now, with memories that were best left buried instead floating about, and with confessions he would never have uttered otherwise now pouring from him without an end in sight, Jim's eyes shone with something else.

Pain. Not physical, but emotional. The sort that had taken a lifetime to accumulate and that he had no feasible way of erasing. The kind that had laid dormant for years in the back of his mind, helping to fuel his disdain and mistrust toward a society that had shunned him. He didn't like the feeling, didn't like the way it had thrown him off his game, and especially didn't like the fact that it likely wasn't set to get reburied until after this whole honesty ordeal had passed. He couldn't function with it in the forefront of his mind and he couldn't go back to ignoring it so easily either. He was stuck with it, at least for the time being. And worse than that, he could already feel that very same pain serving as a motivator for his next little round of the pure, unadulterated truth.

"I was baffled."

The words were spoken softly, so softly that it was clear he was actually using his real voice instead of one of the many he tended to utilize when speaking with others. His gaze remained locked on his tea, brow furrowed into deep lines as he studied the murky liquid and tried not to say what he already knew he was about to say.

"I couldn't understand why the other children acted as they did. Why they taunted and teased, why they didn't see things as I did. For the first time in my life, things didn't make sense. And with neither of my parents willing to explain..." He shrugged, letting himself trail off. What else was there to say, really? Clearly he'd been left to figure it out on his own and hadn't done a very good job of it.

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reasonbackward
2010-09-30 02:02 am UTC (link)

"It was easier to harden, pretend like it didn't matter, figure out how to shut off the part that hurt, and treat them like the ignorant masses that they were. Even if that only made it worse," Sherlock concluded where Jim's statement trailed off. It was all too familiar a situation for him. Sherlock had suffered through the same sort of things and had the same sort of reactions. His just hadn't been quite as extreme as Jim's seemingly had been. A different roll of the dice, a slightly altered situation, and maybe... Just maybe, things would have turned out differently, and Jim would be the one chasing him.

"They used to say that I was worse than all of them, when it came to being cruel," Sherlock said, taking a sip of his tea to calm the nerves that had been building in him. "But if you ask me, there's a difference... There's a difference between being purposefully cruel and stating truths that just happen to be painful to hear."

Between pointing out that someone's parents were likely getting a divorce or that someone's father was sleeping with the babysitter or that their mother had a drinking problem which needed to be addressed...and calling someone a twisted little freak who needed to disappear off of the face of the Earth.

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