Sherlock S. Holmes (sherlockholmes) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2014-05-31 01:20:00 |
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From one cell to another, it was quite the round trip. Being kidnapped was not exactly something Jamie looked fondly upon. But the agents of SHIELD had been fairly accommodating outside of their sworn conviction that she was a danger to those around her. As if they weren’t? Arguing would serve no one though and so Jamie let herself be processed and placed within a cell far too like her original one in New York. The holding cell was simple, barren of any beauty outside of the simplicity of its structure. There was a deceptiveness to it, that feeling that she was not the intended habitant of such a place. Which if the introductions were to be believed was an absolute truth. Super heroes? Well, that was interesting wasn’t it? Just what could she get up to in a world where power was no longer constrained to the mundane. The deal was better here as well. How long had it been since Jamie had held a cell phone? Electronics were considered just a bit dangerous in her possession. She would convince Sherlock to come to her then she could walk free, allowed to join this world with the other refugees and begin her life in this place of opportunity. There was no if, the idea that he would not come for her was untenable. It simply would not follow his behavior. Then again Joan was here as well, that was a factor that could influence the outcome. Still Jamie cast her line and waited, pleased with the situation as it presented itself. Freedom was but a few pieces of paper away and she did so like freedom. Sherlock had not wanted to come, but there had never been a question that he would. He was given notice regarding Moriarty soon after her arrival. And now SHIELD had consented to allowing her freedom if she was given a guardian, someone to keep a close eye and be responsible for her. In all truth, that person should have been Joan. Although he imagined Joan would be content to leave her in prison. Holmes would have agreed of it hadn't been SHIELD facilities. There was just no way that she could remain there without doing the world drastic amounts of damage eventually. All it would take would be convincing the right man. A task as easy for her as putting bread in a toaster, and just as likely to end in smoke. He had sent out a slender barrage of text messages to a number of people before he went to retrieve her. It was his attempt to leave a trail of breadcrumbs which he could double back on if he became lost. He did not want to disappear, and he didn't want to allow Moriarty the opportunity to latch her talons into him too deeply before someone reminded him of who she was and how much he should be trying to stay away from her, instead of inviting just the opposite. Of course, it complicated matters even more that he was still very much in love with her. His friendship, partnership and relationship with Joan was fantastic, and he loved her profusely and completely, but lately he'd been concerned that there was a level of dependency to their relationship that would lead to damage were they ever deprived of each other was at the forefront of his mind. Coupling his doubts, which he considered to be a weak point in himself, with the new arrival of one the woman who had the same effect on him as a Tsunami left him feeling drained before he'd even seen her. But soon enough he arrived at the facility. Aided by his year and a half service to the NYPD, his assistance with the Phoenix Project operation and his continued support to serving justice in the city, he had the record to make the process of gaining responsibility for Moriarty easy enough. He sat in the waiting area, hands deep in the pockets of his jackets and back stiff and straight, and he waited silently for her to be brought out from her cell, caught somewhere between wanting to cry at this true of events, and laugh at their absurdity. Patience was something that Jamie knew all too well. Waiting was a skill that she had perfected over the years and she put it into practice here. The moments ticked by and she amused herself with whatever research she could manage. A whole world at her fingertips that was ripe for exploring. She imagined most people were thrown at the advent of a new universe but for her, the opportunity was too much to simply wallow in disbelief. That time was better spent going through news pages, checking to see which authorities existed and which did not, looking for those little underground holes that always existed no matter what the world. The longer Sherlock took, the longer she would have for her initial search. Though it was tempting to fall down the rabbit hole of fans she had to admit. Moriarty had never sought fame. Power yes, but fame was not useful in her pursuits. Still there was a delightful little thrill at having fans. People should admire their betters and now they simply had the access to do so. But all of her searching was eventually cut short as an agent appeared outside her cell. The smile was almost too much to contain as the keys unlocked the door and Jamie found herself escorted out. The agent stared stone faced in front and Jamie resisted the urge for blithe conversation. SHIELD was new and Jamie did lack a certain expertise in comic books to use that fully to her advantage. Back home it had been months since Jamie had seen a face that was not part of her collection of guards. The bright spots were her letters from Sherlock. Though, understandably, they did not seem to want him to visit her. Those letters were the closest to outside contact she had other than the paper she was finally allowed to have again. And while Jamie knew her motives were never beyond question, seeing him sitting there, surly and wrecked with indecision over his own place in this situation, it made her feel almost light. There was joy in seeing him there even though she knew that he would not be able to resist. The feeling lacked the cynicism of most of her life, it was a simple happiness that he had come for her. After everything, Sherlock would always. So she smiled for a moment, overcome with that feeling and enjoying it perhaps far too much. But moments went quickly and the honesty of her smile was soon controlled. “Sherlock. You look well.” “As do you.” Holmes sank backwards in his chair, allowing himself just a moment to look -- really look -- at her. It would be impossible for anyone to tell, he reasoned, that she’d been locked away in a prison cell before coming here. She didn’t have any of the tell-tale signs of being deprived human contact or social norms. But then, of course she wouldn’t. Still, his eyes travelled down her arms to her wrists as he tried to establish a timeline of when exactly she’d come from. Last time he’d seen her, she’d lost enough blood to need help and it was a good thing. Had she been well when they’d encountered each other over the kidnapping of her daughter, it would have been difficult for him to resist slipping away with her into the night, greeting whatever new disaster she’d bring him with open arms. Death was hard to resist when it looked so beautiful. He got to his feet slowly and turned his elbow towards her, offering her his arm to take. If they were walking out of here, they were walking out as equals. He hadn’t come to collect her because he felt responsible or because he felt, now, that she must owe him for his sacrifice. He’d done it because it needed to be done, and he’d willingly take on the burden of her freedom; it matched nicely with the burden of addiction. “They’ve already told you, I suppose, about the show. Or you’ve found out for yourself.” He started, getting down to the brass tacks because it left less room for them to reminisce, less chance for her to talk. “And I should tell you I’ve been here for long enough that I missed most of those experiences first hand. I’ve watched them, in fact, I have a number of the memories from those events, even, but I did not live them.” He had watched as the woman he loved betrayed him. He had watched as she’d come into his life as a victim and attempted to destroy him once more. He’d watched Joan best her and -- of course, more recently, he’d watched Joan become entangled romantically with his brother, a man that he hadn’t realised he could despise to new depths, and yet there they were. “I’ve also learned, I suppose, that you and I are a destiny -- of sorts.” He hadn’t needed to reach out for her. That gave her a bit of hope, much like the continued letters had. That he would still reach for her, still allow that access to touch. The terms of this agreement had been made very clear to her. If she were honest it was almost insulting but the logic could be seen. Sherlock was to be held responsible for her. Their fates were tied together on her own behavior. If she was brought down, so was he. The threat was likely more effective than they could truly realize. Then again if the show was as accurate as it seemed, perhaps her blind spot for him was more well-known than she would ever have liked. What he looked for Moriarty offered freely. As he held out his arm, she looped her own through and allowed her free hand to rest on his arm, pulling up the sleeve to show just what he was looking for. The scars from her escape were there, ugly and present as they always would be. Every warrior had their marks and she was no different. To protect Kayden she would have done far worse to herself without any regrets. She allowed him to talk, to fill up the emptiness with words that he felt had meaning. He had watched all this, not lived through it himself? It was a curiosity, enough to tilt her head and ponder over the implications. Watching something and experiencing it were two very different sensations, they were different forms of knowing your own capabilities. “You do have a flair for the dramatic.” Jamie looked up at him with another smile. “But it would seem entirely accurate in this instance. We’re famous. Given to all manner of copy-cats aspiring to be as great as us.” “Oh, let them try.” The corner of his mouth curled into a bit of a smug half-smile. His ego, most of the time so carefully kept in check (more carefully now especially, with Joan’s help) rising to the surface if only for a moment. “we have existed in one form or another for over a hundred years and not a pair of them have yet managed to catch up. They can keep trying for as long as they like.” The weather was warm, seasonal and the sun bright, but a light breeze that whipped through the tall New York buildings made Sherlock’s jacket not an entirely bad idea. A few more weeks and he’d have to settle for venturing outside with just T-shirt and his vest, but there was still time. He had intended, of course, to bring her right back to Potts Tower so she could have a room close to his and Joan’s arranged and they could settle into what had to happen next, but the moment his shoes hit the pavement and he -- they -- had the whole city to themselves, bringing her back to the tower felt more like surrendering her to another prison than he liked. He knew that Joan would be watchful, in fact he wanted her to be, but in this moment he wanted something else. To share things with her, because he knew that she would see and understand them in ways that no one else would. So when he stepped forward to hail a cab, returning to his friends and those who were anxious to see him and Moriarty safely parted was the last thing on his mind. “And if you’ll permit it, there’s something I would very much like to show you.” Really, X-Factor was only a small portion of what he’d like to explain to her, but there would be time for all the rest as the days went by. He could talk to her about adopting Jesse Pinkman, the other Sherlocks and Watsons he’d met (and ultimately dismissed), introduce her to his friends Tony Stark and Will Graham and -- eventually -- explain the entirety of the situation with Joan. But for now he wanted to show her what he’d accomplished here. He’d built something far beyond what he’d ever managed when she’d known him. It had taken him some time and a few false starts to finally succeed at creating a somewhat successful detective agency but it was here now and it existed and he was proud enough to want her to see it. “It is hard to improve upon perfection. All that’s left is imitation, flattering as it is.” The ego was warranted, something that she rarely got to flaunt even in her own work. There was too much power in being underestimated after all. But it was wholly deserved and this new found knowledge simply confirmed that. That she was the greatest criminal mastermind to live now had a complete basis in fact. Moriarty was a name that lived in infamy, surrounded by brilliance. Granted she might not be the original, but from what she had gotten her hands on it did seem that she was an improvement over the original flavor. Perhaps that was her own ego talking but Jamie saw no reason not to feed it. For a moment as they stepped outside the building Jamie squinted up towards the lighted sky. How long had it been? Freedom had been inching ever closer despite the setback of Kayden’s abduction. But favors and airy rooms were not the same as that feeling of fresh air warm against her skin. The slight chill from the breeze was lively, a wonderful reminder of the outside and the boundless potential it presented now that she was able to adventure out once again. And now she might even be able to convince a companion to join her. There might be a distinct joy in being able to share this with him, with someone who would understand the world as it was in their eyes and no one else’s. “You’ve me curious.” Jamie perched her chin on his shoulder for a moment at his offer, eyes bright at the offer. How lonely her cell had been, even with her chats with the guards and the letters to write and read. Nothing replaced the ease of true human contact. And nothing compared to contact with someone who understood. “How could I possibly say no when you’ve done that.” Holmes glanced at her, having to almost stop himself from reaching up to touch her pale blonde hair. Not romantically or out of any of those kind of more base desires, but because he could barely believe that she was here. That whatever forces in the universe that existed and bended the tesseract saw fit to put them back together. He smiled and settled for placing his hand over the her’s that rested on his arm. “I’ve had a terrible amount of time to do whatever I pleased.” He admitted, pressing his fingertips affectionately against her knuckles for just a moment before he raised his hand away from her’s to hail them cab. When one approached, he released her arm only so he could hold the door for her properly. “Time to adjust to what is no longer impossible, and to accept the changes to the cityscape as reality and not surreal.” Holmes slid into the cab after her and gave the driver the address for the X-Factor offices, and the proper route he ought to take to avoid the midday traffic, then he clapped his hands together and tilted his chin upward so he could look at her once again. She was such a remarkable woman to look at. Not only because she was beautiful, but because she remained an eternal mystery to him. Even now, he could wish and hope and guess at the thoughts behind her pale blue eyes, but he knew beyond any doubt that he’d never be able to capture all of them. “There is a building set up for those like us. The “refugees” as we’re called. Pulled from other dimensions or consciousnesses or whatever it is we choose to believe. You’ll be there with me, we’ll find you a room close-by. I share one with two people -- with Joan and a young man named Jesse Pinkman.” The smile was reward enough. There was always the risk of bitterness between them, that line she walked to keep him coming back to their companionship. Without having lived through what they had, would this all change? Finding an equal was a task she had never considered prior to him and it was not one that she wished to repeat. Still in a world like this, with the events of the tesseract, it might be simpler than any other universe would have permitted. Still that did not change the fact that this man, this particular Sherlock was meant as her foil, the light to her dark. No one could ever change that fact and in that reason his smile was worth more than any others. Taking her seat in the cab, she looked out the window back at the city around them. “Yes, I’ve learned. Super heroes, alternate dimensions and timelines, and villains most dastardly. It’s a wonder you have found any time to yourself at all.” The wonder was still there, but Jamie had taken the time to process. Denial suited her poorly and quick adaptation gave one the edge. She ran her fingers over the door, taking note to the location he gave the driver and the directions given to get there. The tower she had been told about. Potts tower, full of refugees under the kindness of Mr. Tony Stark who made quite a name for himself as Iron Man. This was an entirely new location, a different part of the city. Turning back to him, Jamie took the moment to simply look, to admire as he was admiring her. He looked healthy, for lack of a better word to properly encapsulate. There was color to his face, the fire in his eyes, and that in itself put her more at ease than it should. There was the urge to reach out and touch him, to solidify his existence even as she told herself that she accepted reality as it was. “Is he a new friend I should make myself familiar with? Since you’ll be keeping me so close.” A small shiver -- a thrill -- ran across the space between his shoulder blades at the thought of keeping her close at hand. He couldn’t identify it as anything but excitement. Though his recent doubts and, indeed, the end of his series with Joan’s decision to move out and his opportunity with MI6 were both close to the forefront of his thoughts. Being a detective, he never dismissed anything as merely coincidence, even the whims of the tesseract. The fact that she was here now, after all the months that he’d spent first alone and then with Joan, it all had to mean something. “Yes. Mr. Pinkman is one of my dearest friends, I think. He’s a wonderful young man who has endured a number of hardships which I am attempting to help him reconcile.” Holmes explained. He knew that he had to be a bit cautious, when it came to introducing his friends to Moriarty, more of their sake than anything else, and he wouldn’t go so far as to say that he entirely trusted her to ever operate with anyone’s but her own interests at heart, but he also knew that he couldn’t keep his relationships a secret, not if she was now to become just an important fixture in his life. “He works for me, as well, for the agency which I will now show you. I inherited it from a couple zombie mercenaries and a mutant who used to attend meetings with me. They are no longer here.” He missed Terry, really, they had been close and he was still frustrated over the circumstances that had preceded her departure even though there was nothing to be done about any of it now. “I’ve employed a number of different people with a number of different skill sets from various universes to assist me in my work as a consulting detective here in New York. I still work closely with the NYPD, particularly with a couple refugees that have joined the force since their arrival here.” “It sounds very much like your dream.” Jamie mused. A detective agency, of course he had found his way back into that work. It was a calling he could not be strayed from. There were times when she had thought of what would have happened if instead she had managed to sway him to her employ. What a faithful right hand he would have been, one that could have truly been her equal. But that compulsion towards justice that suited her so ill seemed to have a never ending call for him. It was charming in its own way, the other side of her own coin. Reaching out, Jamie smoothed his jacket against his chest gently, brushing away imaginary imperfections. “It’s good for you to have such friends.” She continued, cataloging Jesse away in her mind. Their previous interactions were clear and present. Jesse had mentioned an adoption, after all. His presence in her own life would therefore be unavoidable. “Are you hoping for me to join your endeavor?” "Perhaps you'd consider it." He had a feeling Joan wouldn't care much for the idea, but if it gave Jamie enough stimulation, it could quite possibly keep her out of more dangerous games. He knew that most of the cases that he was working weren't incredibly complicated or intertwined. Even the most self-involved and cleverly inspired criminal would still strike a pale comparison to her. Maybe it would be different here for them. Perhaps they could find a way to co-exist without pressing each other to the limits of what they were capable of only to see what would happen. Theirs was a connection which transcended the understanding of most people. But then he supposed that most people didn't have a century of tellings and re-tellings of who they were, how they connected and what they were to each other. There had been a few times when he'd felt desperately alone, knowing that she didn't exist in the same world that he did, but now that she was here he felt as though he could finally exhale the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "Afterall, I imagine your insight into the criminal mind is unparalleled." "Flatterer." Jamie chided playfully. But they both knew it was more true than not. Jamie had spent her life developing a keen awareness of all things criminal. Her success had been every bit her own hard work because sheer brilliance alone could not hold together an empire. Brilliance alone would not get her out of captivity. They both knew that his hold on her, this responsibility, it would only tether her so much. This world had a fresh scent on it, it's own mysteries to unfold when she had already unraveled so many in their own. But those mysteries would only last so long and without something to occupy her mind old and profitable habits would have a way of appearing where he might not have appreciated them. But despite her own proclivities, ones that she was every bit aware of, there had been a change in her behavior because of him. Sherlock held her interest in a way no one else ever seemed to. "I'm not sure you'll ever believe me." Jamie looked back towards the window, walking fingertips along the glass as they passed by the buildings that made up this New York. There were differences already she could spot. Small things, things that were close enough but not quite. "But I'm none of the women you've known. I'm not even sure I'm the woman you've watched anymore. You have a tendency to place me into a state of flux. It's enjoyable." “Once I understand something too completely, it loses interest for me anyway. I’d rather be always at least slightly unsure. I embrace the fact I’ll never have that fear with you.” It was part of the reason why he liked bees so much. For as consistent as they always were, they never ceased to defy him. Moriarty was a bee herself, in a way. He’d read that he -- other Sherlocks -- in the past had compared Moriarty to a spider, but a bee seemed much more apt. She wasn’t in the centre of a web, idly waiting for opportunity to fly by, but at the center of a colony, surrounded by legions of workers who served her, either knowingly or unknowingly, depending upon their place in the system. Both royal and imperative to the survival of her empire. Of course, like a queen bee, she could go anywhere and start a new hive. Whether he was responsible for her or not, whether she had promised to be on her best behavior or elsewise, Sherlock expected that it would only be a matter of time before she took her rightful place among New York’s criminal underworld. If was a simple truth that he should have dreaded, but the simple fact of the matter was that he looked forward to it eagerly. He hadn’t been challenged since he’d come to this city, now perhaps that would change. |