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[Sherlock Holmes is on the roof with his magnifierkind focusing the sun's rays to set fire to Imps. And trees. He may not be being very careful, really. It all looks the same from up there and the weaponization of a magnifying glass is quite interesting.

He is a mad scientist with a death ray. He really can't help but laugh at that.]

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[Cue one jaw drop and mental keyboard smash here, executed by one Doctor John H. Watson. He has to shake himself out of it, helped along by an explosion off in the distance.]

Yeah, probably.

Edited 2012-05-25 22:09 (UTC)

[Does a Doctor John H. Watson keyboard smash include more than just the two fingers?

He smirks just a bit. Don't act like you have no idea how he sleeps in general, John. It's not as though he undressed to throw a sheet on instead of serviceable night garments.]

Don't worry, I don't sleep naked on the couch. Flesh on leather? Imagine the squeak.

Probably quite uncomfortable, too.

[This is him internally keyboard smashing once more. Even faster, since it'd be with his forehead. The sound of flesh on-- goddammit Sherlock.]

Wonder which you'll miss more first, then, a proper bed or sleeping in the nude? Very kind of you to refrain from doing so while we were stuck camping, would have been quite a sight for our poor tentmate.

I'm surprised your concern is with what the tentmate would think and not the fact that you would have been laying next to a naked man. Well, a naked me if that makes any difference which I presume it does.

[John realizes after a moment he's stared at the other man far too long, enough to place his long look into a 'deer in the headlights' category. Exactly what he didn't want to do, not with Sherlock Holmes investigating his expression. John breaks out of the stare and shuffles, finding distraction in picking up his tossed paper tea cup.]

Yes, well. I'm used to you, aren't I?

Too used to me one might argue.

[He gives John a slightly questioning look, the one that says he's seen into you but isn't quite sure what he's found. To be precise, it's exactly the way he looked at him before trying to let him down gently and explain his devotion to work at Angelo's. As with then, he just turns and looks back out at his objective.]

People have been arguing that. Since I moved in, in fact.

[John jokes, working far too hard to make his smile seem natural and relaxed so it only feels like an awkward baring of teeth to him and he can only hope that his facial muscle memory of the expression isn't letting him down. He eventually awkwardly clears his throat, glancing out onto the checkered landscape.]

[People have. From his own brother to complete strangers, people have either jokingly or seriously believed them to be closer than acquaintances and even more so as friends. From day one to even the end of his known days, people doubted John's insistence there was nothing there. People can be very stupid but even clever people such as The Woman...

Sherlock does something he knows he shouldn't do but can't resist: he lets himself think about the possibilities. If he does A, what is John's B? If John As, and Sherlock Bs, what is C? He lets his new powers take his vision far beyond his comfortable scope to a place far too specific and real. He can see everything from this moment forward in so many possible paths with really very few differences in outcome.

It's not comforting. It's not thrilling or fascinating so much as it is slightly terrifying. Because John is wrong. And Sherlock can see it. And 95% of all possible paths he can think to query say the confrontation can't be avoided, the only possible way of keeping things exactly as they are being one of them leaving before the tipping point. He can envision hundreds of possible ways they lose themselves and their sanity for several different reasons: comfort, event properties, passion--that one is the most unstable and confusing.

Sherlock puts his hand to his forehead, closing his eyes as though the sun is too bright. This was a bad idea. He doesn't want to know these things. Millions of variables with truly very few possible solutions. He tries to delete it all as quickly as possible. He's seen something he never should have.]

[John watches Sherlock, the change of expression as the other man looks more and more pained, even distressed. Worry knots in the doctor's stomach, and he comes over as Sherlock closes his eyes, pressing a hand against the other man's shoulder.]

Sherlock, what's wrong? Are you alright?

[Sherlock pulls away, jerking his shoulder out of his grasp too forcibly, too obviously intentional. He puts his other hand up to make him keep his distance.]

I'm alright. It's just... I need to go back inside.

[He pockets his magnifying glass and starts towards the door.]

[John frowns and is two steps into perusing his friend when the held up hand makes him flinch back. He stares after Sherlock as the man retreats towards the door.

The way Sherlock drew away from him... had he done something wrong? A cold, sinking fear settles in John's gut. What if it's...]

...Okay. Try not to set your room on fire.

[Even to his own ears the light hearted tease sounds flat. But it's all he can think to do.]

What? Oh. No, right... No, I'll.. I'll keep the fire to an outside activity.

[He walks to the door and stops, sort of rocking in place as though trying to decide something. He's rather obviously frazzled--not an easy achievement.]

John, I... ah... I have work to do. So I'll see you tomorrow.

...Right.

[John mutters, lips attempting to twitch up into a grin and failing, nerves getting the better of him and the bit of emotion he doesn't bite back sounds unconvinced and... maybe a little hurt.]

See you tomorrow, then.

[Sherlock nods and hurries inside.

Delete. Delete. Delete.]

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