docwithablog | storyline one.

Skip to Main Content

Entry tags:

storyline one.

chronology -

00. word association w/ Sherlock

1. gen texting w/ Sherlock

2. the case of the missing first violinist w/ Sherlock

3. the case of the missing first violinist w/ Sherlock

4. the case of the missing first violinist w/ Sherlock

5. the case of the missing first violinist w/ Sherlock

6. texting w/ Sherlock

7. texting w/ Sherlock

8. texting w/ Sherlock

9. texts from last night w/ Sherlock

10. the case of the dying detective w/ Sherlock

11. the case of the dying detective w/ Sherlock

12. the case of the dying detective w/ Sherlock

13. the case of the great game w/ Sherlock

14. the case of the great game w/ Sherlock

15. texting w/ Sherlock

16. otherwordly w/ Sherlock

17. the case of the navel treatment w/ Sherlock

18. the case of the navel treatment w/ Sherlock

19. the case of the navel treatment w/ Sherlock

20. the case of the navel treatment w/ Sherlock

21. texting - part one | texting - part two w/ Sherlock

22. the case of the navel treatment w/ Sherlock

23. texting w/ Sherlock

24. the case of a scandal in belgravia w/ Sherlock

25. texting w/ Sherlock

26. the case of a scandal in belgravia w/ Sherlock

27. the case of a scandal in belgravia w/ Sherlock

28. the case of a scandal in belgravia w/ Sherlock

29. truth or dare w/ Sherlock

00. texts from last night w/ Sherlock

30. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

31. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

32. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

33. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

34. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

35. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

36. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

37. texting w/ Sherlock

38. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

39. the case of the devil's root w/ Sherlock

00. word association w/ Sherlock

00. texting w/ Sherlock

00. penny for your thoughts w/ Sherlock

40. midnight texting w/ Sherlock

41. interlude w/ Sherlock

42. interlude w/ Sherlock

43. interlude w/ Sherlock

44. texting w/ Sherlock

45. the case of the sign of three w/ Sherlock

46. the case of the sign of three w/ Sherlock

47. the case of the sign of three w/ Sherlock

48. texting w/ Sherlock

49. texting w/ Sherlock

50. texting w/ Sherlock

51. anniversary w/ Sherlock

52. texting w/ Sherlock

53. interlude w/ Sherlock

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Across for him the unfortunate blonde pulls out his phone, too and begins texting away, John receiving an immediate reply from Sherlock seconds later. About? Oh, you utter cock, you know what about, but sure, certainly, if you need it spelled out, John doesn't mind taking that responsibility upon himself. Lips twisting, not really amused, but John does nurture something akin to a death smile (smile and you're dead), he thumbs out a rather long answer.

About how you get your fingers stuck in my business all the way from bloody London. There. Sent.

Lips pursed now, heart beating agitatedly in his chest, John leans back in his seat and looks out the window, the train taking off that very second. Okay, he only needs to wait an hour and twenty-five minutes now before he'll be able to, what, make Sherlock clean out the kitchen, so it's a habitable place once more. Something extensive, preferably, seeing as he's extensively involved himself in stuff that didn't concern him.

Even if he has, supposedly, saved Sholto's life. Jesus, the people John Watson surrounds himself with, the detective on one side and the murder victim and himself on the other, knowing absolutely zilch about what's going on. Shit. A slight scoff as he reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, down his face.

He's missed him, that's the worst part. Sherlock. Terribly. ]

[ Watching John out of the corners of his eyes, he can feel a slight chill running down his spine when the man actually smiles (a particular type of smile that you can easily envision him sporting in the midst of shooting someone he really hates). His phone vibrates. He picks it out of his pocket, reads the text, swallows. Heavily. Well, all right - perhaps it's time to come clean, then, with how the man's worked out the basics as it is. It's just that... well.

The terrace. The words.

Looking at his screen for a long moment, he finally just types in a message (Start out with looking straight ahead, John), fingers working a bit slower over the keyboard than usual. Hesitantly. It's not that he's worried, per say, it's just that he knows there's something a bit not good about spying on John the way he did, like he doesn't... trust him or something, despite the fact that the man was ready to die for him. Despite how they've fucked. The nature of their... foreplay intricacies. How John has never let him down or gone overboard. Frowning, he sends off the text without further ado.

It'll be as it is. ]

[ Ding, goes his phone and he picks it up one-handedly, reading over the message.

No. Sherlock, Christ. Raising his gaze slowly, oh so slowly, he meets the eyes of the unfortunate blonde in front of him and you can't go wrong of those eyes, can you? Sherlock Holmes' galaxy pools of whatever you want to call it, greenish-blue, let's not get poetic here, okay. Not when the man has stalked him to his, what, ex's and crept about the grounds of his mansion, solving some case neither Sholto nor John knew was even there, for God's sake. He doesn't deserve poetics. He deserves an old-fashioned, fucking spanking.

One eyebrow going up slightly, he eases his phone back into his pocket. Not like he'll be needing it now, is it? ]

And how long have you been around, Sherlock? [ Someone in the staff had mentioned to the police, while they'd done their somewhat less stellar version of a grand reveal, arresting the maid, that the gardener had disappeared without a trace, but they had quickly dismissed the connection, hadn't they? Well, yeah, when the bloody gardener helped them solve the case... John breathes out long and slow, hard, not looking away from Sherlock who is looking genuinely awful in a wig and fake nose. ] Drop the nose, at least.

[ It's not a request. ]

[ John connects the dots and looks up, slowly, the expression on his face a mix of several emotions, none of them particularly... uh. Well, all of them worrying. All of them very clearly variants over the same theme - displeasure - though there's also something about his body language as he pockets the phone that speaks of decisiveness. No fumbling, no uncertainty or whatever you might feel when confronted with the fact that you've been stalked by your, well, partner, for the better part of a week.

Just John, telling him to lose the nose.

John.

He nods, then winces. ]

It's glued on.

[ He grabs onto it with two fingers and starts pulling it sideways, trying to loosen the edges a bit. At home, he would have put on the adhesive remover first but going by John's expression currently, he's having none of that. Nor should he. Sherlock's been practicing enough camouflage around him to last a decade, basically, with this little stunt. Gritting his teeth, he finally just peels it off, slowly but surely. It feels a bit like his skin is coming off with it and his eyes tear up for a second before he finally loosens it, putting the remains in his pocket before wiping his face with the back of his hand. ]

[ Does John care that his nose is glued on? Does he care that it's going to sting a little, getting that stupid thing off his face again? No. Might even, hopefully leave a rash that he unfortunately doesn't have the remedies to treat until they get back home, how sad. Eyes narrowing slightly as Sherlock works the prosthetic off, his eyes tearing up from the pain which is obviously well-deserved and just, he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his seat, one shoulder against the window frame.

What John cares about, nothing less and nothing more, is not to get derailed when he asks a question. Because he sees what you did there, Sherlock.

With the nose off, there's nothing left to hide behind, unless you count the wig, but it's really too ugly to hide much -- except it's been just ugly enough to hide everything, hasn't it, yes and John lets his eyes slide over the blonde, slick-looking locks to the other man's face, features looking all wrong beneath that mess. His eyes are slits at this point, lips pursed, chin raised.

He won't be ignored, Sherlock. He really won't. A bit not good. ]

How long?

[ He rubs the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. Glances at John, then away. ]

Er.

[ He considers, briefly, whether or not to lie. Would be a bit hard to uphold a decent alibi, though, knowing that John saw him in his disguise three days earlier. Also, there's really no point to lying at this point, is there, what with John looking like a thunder cloud, knowing full well that he's been deceived already. Lying would only be repetition and Sherlock's really no fan of that, not even in the interest of... what? Avoiding the consequences?

That sounds pitiful.

Thus, he scratches the back of his neck, his body language no doubt visibly sheepish as he says: ]

A little less than four days.

You were the guy with the roses? [ John stares at him pretty much dumbfounded for a second, doing some quick math in his head and remembering, vividly, the blond gardener with his head in a rosebush while John told Sholto about -- ] Great.

[ Not only has Sherlock been working a case from home that implied one of John's closest associates, but he has been actively deceiving him for four days and, what, does he expect John to just sit around and accept that? This isn't Moriarty whose intricate plots could get John to pick up Sherlock's phone from his arse crack if need be, this is -- quiet times, good times and he's bloody well ruining that! Christ! John's hands are resting on the table between them, fingers flexing restlessly and a bit aggressively on top of that. He licks his lips. Glares daggers at Sherlock.

Then, he makes a decision. Steadies himself. Deep breaths. Calm. Controlled. Good. When he speaks, his voice is completely unbothered, completely level, a notch deeper than normal, too: ]

I expect you to clean out the sitting room when we get back. [ And just to spell it out for him, because you can never know with Sherlock whether he's actually going to catch on to the real problem, not all the made-up ones in his head: ] You've got four days of lying to make up for.

[ With the entire picture laid out for him, John takes a moment - a very short moment - to react. His body language speaks volumes even on an purely nonverbal level, with the... aggressive finger tapping and the glaring and the...

Oh.

God, his voice - oh. John's demeanour seemingly strengthens, gains another level of hardness when he tells Sherlock that he expects him to clean out the sitting room because he's got things to make up for and even if Sherlock had felt like being obstinate (a part of him will always remain a spoiled, over-indulged child with too many ideas and too few limitations), John's attitude just... overrules it. Puts him... in his spot, so to speak. He licks his lips. Swallows heavily. If they'd been different people - if John had been someone else, hell, if this had been earlier in their acquaintance, he would have told the other man exactly where to shove it and belittled him mercilessly. But things have changed.

They've done better, somehow.

And this would have cost Sherlock dearly in the past. As it has, many times over, before he met John. There's a reason the drugs became his only steady source of companionship. The skull. Murder victims and the stories they told him because he knew how to listen properly.

Dead things with no feelings to cross.

Thus, he simply sits back in his seat a little bit further, meets John's steady gaze and nods. Looks away once more at the landscape passing by outside, something curiously like relief along with a tint of something warmer settling in his gut. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only