InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Hide and Tweak"

Sherlock Holmes (ifimnothungry) wrote in colligo_threads,
@ 2012-02-14 16:25:00

Entry tags:

mac taylor, sherlock holmes

WHO: Sherlock Holmes & Mac Taylor (OPEN to everyone who received these texts)
WHAT: Irene Adler is dead. All that's left is the clean up.
WHEN: After this, this, & this
WHERE: Irene's Brownstone
RATING: PG-13
STATUS: In Progress

Sherlock knew he would get there too late. The first few seconds he'd had some hope as he's sprinted out of the flat without giving John any indication of why he was going or what the hurry was. He'd gotten down onto the streets and made a quick calculation between what form of transportation would be fastest. In the end, he'd decided that running, scaling and leaping the various buildings and shortcuts that he'd located between the flats and Irene's brownstone, would be the quickest way to get there. But by the time he was halfway and had yet to receive a response to any of his questions, he'd known. He'd known he was too late. The last text had only been a desperate attempt for her to prove him wrong once again.

Jumping down off the fire escape of the building across the street and running across it to Irene's, finding the door still firmly in place, Sherlock had paused, taking in the scene and moving as his eyes drew him slowly away from the main entrance and towards the side alley, following the trail of old dropped blood and shed decaying flash around the back. The french doors, beautiful but entirely the opposite of secure, had been smashed in. Simpler, easier access for creatures who weren't capable of the higher level thought or manipulations it would take to pick the lock on the much more secure front door.

More blood, more flesh, the stench of decay still linger in the building despite the fact it was obvious the attackers had fled the second they realized they weren't getting what they had came for. Following the chaos, gaze rebuilding the scene as he went, it didn't take Sherlock long to find Irene, crumpled in front of her fireplace with revolver still in hand. All of the scenes that Sherlock had seen over his life, all of the dead bodies in pools of their own blood and cold corpses on sterile morgue slab, there had been only one time before this where he'd felt anything within him moved beyond the scientific, beyond the simple and straight forward facts, and as he knelt next to her, simple instinct allowing him to avoid anything which might prove vital to the lab techs once they got here, Sherlock felt himself frozen with the intensity of it all.

This wasn't like before. This wasn't a faceless corpse on a slab whose only means of identification was through the measurements of the rest of her body. This was Irene. Plain, simple, and crystal clear, with no hope of there being another 'I'm not dead. Let's have dinner' text.

It took Sherlock nearly ten minutes to realize that he needed to call someone. Two more after that to finally resign to telling John why he'd fled the flat. But even then, he didn't move from the position that he'd taken up at her side. He could investigate the scene once the others got here. For now, he just needed to sit.

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notasir
2012-02-15 01:22 am UTC (link)

Honestly, Mac hadn't been looking for a reason to have Sherlock stick around. If anyone had shown up and wanted to know why the consulting detective was present at a clear case of suicide, he would have simply said he was there via invitation then probably verbally dressed down whatever officer had the nerve to ask such a thing in the first place. Head of the crime lab or not, he was still a detective with the respect that came with it and Mac had no problem throwing that weight around if he had to.

Of course, Sherlock providing him with a ready-made reason was probably due as much to the man feeling the need to explain his own desire to stay as much as actually offering a logical answer to a question that was likely never going to be asked. Mac, however, wasn't going to point that out because it really was all a moot point. Sherlock was staying and that's all there was to it.

"Of course," he simply said by way of agreement as he bent down enough to pull the metal mesh along the front of the fireplace out to ensure the embers stayed trapped inside. The last thing they needed was the entire place going up in flames. "You know," he said casually, looking briefly to Sherlock before turning his attention to the fire poker that Irene had used as a weapon against the zombies that had attacked her, "If you haven't taken the time to look at the Sherlock Holmes series, you should consider doing it."

He took a few quick photos then lowered his camera, tacking on, "It looks as though she thought it might be a good idea to see what Doyle's interpretation of her was, at any rate, considering that particular story is the one where she was introduced. And they do make for an interesting read."

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ifimnothungry
2012-02-15 01:39 am UTC (link)

There was a part of Sherlock who truly and wholly appreciated the change of subject even as he was kneeling next more than two feet from Irene's body, picking up the book that he'd spotted to turn it over in his hands. It had been spared most of the blood spray, lucky little book, so other than the few specks which were quickly drying on the cover, none of the text had been adversely affected. He could only hope that she would have been happy for that. "I've considered it," Sherlock said to Mac's suggestion. It was a curious thing, arriving somewhere only to find out that you were supposed to be fictional and centuries old, at that. But there had been absolutely no denying the similarity present between his and John's lives and that which the books seemed to detail even if the time period was wholly incorrect. "It just never proved to be essential to my understanding of this place." Not that Sherlock was against the idea of consuming fiction. He enjoyed a well tailored story as much as the next person while reading it even if he quickly deleted the details from his mind not long after completely one. It was just that filling his mind with details from the life of someone who was by all accounts himself just seemed to be asking for those things to plague him. And he'd had more than enough to deal with lately. After all, he still wasn't completely up to date on his own life's facts.

Flipping the text open, his eyes moved carefully over the first paragraph of text, a certain familiar, even with the archaic tone, in words written by Watson, a soft yet still somber smile gracing his features at the descriptions before he closed the book, deciding now was not the best time to test his own resolve in the face of emotions so extreme that they may have worked to overpower him.

Setting the book back down where he found it, Sherlock stood, turning his attention to Mac before asking simply, "Have you read much of it?" He'd never actually bothered to ask just how much his new colleague knew of him from the stories that weren't exactly his own life and legacy but still sounded close.

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