cape_kore | 001 | Video | Sherlock Holmes

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001 | Video | Sherlock Holmes

[The first thing that's obvious about the video -- the first thing that's meant to be obvious -- is that everything about it, from setup to framing, is deliberate. The second thing that's obvious is that the man in it has taken pains to seat himself such that the upturned collar of a very distinctive, rather expensive-looking coat is visible, a shirt, unbuttoned at the collar and clearly tailored -- but not his face.]

Mmmm, no.

[The lazy drawl is punctuated by a brief silence and then the faintest of sighs, quick and impatient, and he shifts in his seat, the rustling of his clothing just faintly audible -- and then, all of a sudden, like thunder after the lightning strike, he begins to speak again, words flowing out of him with an almost startling rapidity and a clipped precision which could only possibly indicate irritation.]

Ostentatious, bringing me back. Arguably meretricious; nobody likes a showoff, believe me. Hate the new decor; at least before it looked lived in; nothing is this clean unless somebody's trying to hide something, but that was already obvious, can't say I'm intrigued. Can't say I'm interested at all, in fact. Can say I'm a bit busy, actually astonishingly busy, lives to save -- dull, I know, but one does what one must -- so no. No, I don't think so.

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[The feed is nearly overlooked. John was on the verge of keeping his phone off after that earlier bit with the weird noise and the man calling himself 'The Doctor'.

But something about the tone is all too familiar and even if he doesn't quite let the words sink in, the voice is like a bullet to his gut.

John sits down hard on his bed, the picture of a man much less deliberately put together. His short hair disheveled as if he'd run a hand through it a few times before fumbling to make this call.]

No? [The edge of a laugh of tension sneaks in and then John frowned to counteract the expression.]

No is bloody right.

[Oh. Well, that's... also new. The feed flicks back on just in time to catch a close shot of Sherlock's left eye, brow, and a portion of his cheek, too focused to be anything but intentional and too Sherlock to be anything but intent -- the one visible eye is narrowed, flicking over the image on the screen. There is, of course, guilt. Too much to know what to do with, visceral even, and the leading edge of... of what? Loss? Anticipatory? No idea, no time; Sherlock can't be bothered to deal with it at the moment.]

What on Earth are you doing here?

[The most relevant question, naturally, comes first.]

No, no good, can't talk like this, never know who might be watching. Of course there are the...

[The camera focuses on an empty stretch of wall as Sherlock pulls away to look behind him, craning his neck to examine the room in which he finds himself once again.]

Cameras, there are bound to be cameras, they were everywhere last time, just have to find them. Still, rather not air our dirty laundry publicly. Can only assume that's what you intend to do, what with the...

[He sketches a vague gesture which the camera can't see but which John might be able to imagine all the same.]

Face.

Cameras? [It is simply amazing, how easily the questions come. The simple, obvious, one word inquiries that invite a much larger and longer explanation. Then again, is that not what John Watson has always been there for? A gentle, or sometimes not so gentle prod in the general direction of exposition.]

No, no. I'm not airing anything.

[The rise and fall of John's tone is oh so text book predictable. That Watson can run through a kaleidoscope of emotion and still maintain a carefully cultivated calm is the calling card of his character.]

...we're not doing this, right now. Because you're supposed to be dead. [How many times has John wished otherwise, the number roams into the unaccountable for a brain that isn't of Holmes origin.]

Twenty four hours, Sherlock. Just give me- [The compression of his anger and his surprise and all of his relief, it results in the militaristic stiffness of a former army doctor. Yet for all of that heavy emotion, a small sigh tells the underlying truth. He can't hold a grudge for long.

The bid for time is a selfish thing.]

I don't know anything about here, and all of this, but if you have the answers- [Not about this place, of which John couldn't care less, but the other ones. The why and the how could you? Those are the answer that he needs.]

You can give them to me tomorrow.

I don't. No answers. Didn't have any answers last time, don't have any answers this time. None that make sense, anyhow. You're not supposed to be here. You weren't here before.

[And they were all of them better off for it. Sherlock wouldn't really wish this place on anyone, much less John Watson. Especially not now, not when it's so... washed out. If it had any charm the last time he was here, and honestly to claim that would be a stretch, it's all gone now. What he can't work out, what unsettles him enough that he's still at this, still pushing at the edges of the reality of their presence here, is that he'd forgotten. In that small amount of time he'd been away, it had gone.]

The rest really isn't important; such a bore, I know, saving all our lives, but I would like to get on with it. In the mean time could you possibly try not to say my name over an open network? Mildly important. Possibly.

Oh for Christ's sake. Fine. [Another flash of anger that gets pressed down and ignored. John opens his mouth just to close it again. It's useless to protest that he didn't mean those kinds of answers. Not without the comment coming off as needy. Heaven forbid John Watson from admitting that he needed his friend.]

I am here, but I'm going now. Just. Don't vanish, again. [John eyeballs the phone as if to get his point across. He was never here before so obviously he can't mean again here. There is a whole world of unspoken language that whirls around Watson, some of which is easily observable, the curve of his frown, the stress lines that hadn't been there during their crazy adventures. The tiny differences of grief.

But just because they can be observed doesn't mean they can be understood.]

Though I suppose you're going to have to be you regardless.

Well who else would I be?

[There a flash of exasperation; Sherlock clearly isn't comfortable talking like this, which is telling in and of itself, though he doubts John is looking. Really looking, or listening. There is, of course, plenty to say. He should probably apologise, though that would involve addressing the guilt, which is the precise opposite of comfortable in and of itself. He should probably try to explain... but not here and not like this, not when they've no idea who might be listening, regardless of whether or not Sherlock remembered this place once he'd left it.]

Where else would I be? If this is anything like the last time we've no choice. Months, last time, still no idea how I got out, do you see?

[John is a little wrapped up in his own black hole of pain at the moment, but the camera doesn't waver.]

No, I really don't see. Because I just got here yesterday and none of it makes any sense. [Least of all him. But just... a sigh.]

But I'm- you know, glad you're not dead.

[Even if he wanted to throttle the man black and blue, or cry, or something. Anything seemed preferable to watching bits of Sherlock's face and the wall.

Was this even really happening at all?]

Still a secret; could we not? I'll tell you about it later, bit of a mess really but I think you'll agree it's quite clever once you've got over your...

[Another vague gesture out of sight of the camera.]

I'll find you. Shouldn't be too difficult; kidnappers are always managing it and if they can I certainly can.

Incredibly justified apocalyptic rage? Yes, we'll have a nice long chat about it. Probably with tea.

[John made another face, though he couldn't deny the accuracy of that statement either. Somewhere there was a sign on his back that said 'free to a bad home' or something similar. That was the only logical explanation for his life on the whole.]

Have fun with the rest of your- what are you even doing anyway? Besides making a strangely off putting public service announcement?

Trying to find a way out of here. Thought I'd express my displeasure first, almost never works but occasionally people hand out useful information while they're telling you to shut up. Can't stick around. Really do have things to do. Criminal networks to dismantle... you've no idea how dull it was last time, besides. I was resorted to reading. In a library. It was hideous, and never a moment's peace besides -- actually, if you run into a small, black-haired girl who hasn't sorted out how to keep her mouth shut, don't worry, she's mostly harmless, and tell her I would really like some information.

[There's a bit of a pause. Is this... awkwardness? Shame? The way Sherlock presses his lips together is neither visible nor audible but it can be easily imagined. Is Kenzi even here anymore? Surely if she were she'd have given him some sign by now. They were... well, they weren't friends, but she did seem to take a great deal of pleasure in irritating him, which is close enough.]

You may have to refer to me as 'Fluffy'.

[Reading in a library actually sounded like a good way to pass the time to John, but was aware of the differences.]

Fluffy? I'm really going to like this girl, aren't I? [Yes, if she were still here, but then again John like all kinds of girls and there wasn't much surprise in that.]

I will keep an eye out. [For him, for the mystery girl, for anything that might seem important. The promise just slipped out of his mouth without thought, which actually made him frown a bit more. Briefly.] ...good luck.

[With that, John ends the call. A strange feeling to be sure, being the one to hang up with all of that big emotional mess floating over their heads. It will sort itself out eventually though.]

[Well, the manic way this man speaks doesn't give him much hope for his sanity (in fact, it reminds him very strongly and not entirely pleasantly of the Augments who hadn't been able to adjust, the ones who were locked up for their own good and everyone else's) and maybe he wouldn't have replied otherwise but... one little detail does catch his interest.]

Are you saying you've been here before?

Oh good, somebody is listening. Yes. Sort of. Not since they redecorated; can't say I like it.

It hasn't much in the way of artistic merit, no. How did you get out the first time?

Can't recall. Don't think I got out so much as I was put away for a while. Fairly certain I'd recall the details if it were my fault, not really the sort of thing one forgets.

In stasis of some kind, you mean?

[It would make sense, he supposes - as much as anything here makes sense. He snorts, a tad derisive.]

Disappointing. Oh - er, not you specifically, of course, but I must say I'd rather hoped someone would have found a way out by now. From what I've heard, some of us have been stuck here quite a long time and, well, I imagine I speak for most people here when I say I have places I'd rather be.

I doubt that they much care how we feel about being interrupted from our business. Most kidnappers don't. [ The Doctor has the phone held up in one hand while he looks his screwdriver over in the other. He's not much paying attention to anything other than the audio of the conversation. ]

Sorry, no. Hang on. Did you say "bringing me back"? You've been here before? How? When?

Not the sort of people who'd bother to kidnap me.

[He's still not entirely convinced that the last time wasn't in some way intentional. It had seemed to be, by the end, but they'd all grown complacent, so far as he recalls.]

Except possibly this lot. Yes, here before. Can't tell you how long ago without having a look outside, not really important. Still haven't worked out the how, not even entirely clear on the who, which really is rather impressive; generally that's the bit I'm best at.

[Sherlock sounds almost bored, which is of course a cover for profound irritation -- displays of investment are dangerous, apathy is both easier to navigate and safer.]

Someone thinks a bit about himself.

[ There's almost a chuckle at that thought. People say he's got a bit of an ego on him!

He pauses, glancing up at the ceiling from his sonic. He twirls it a few time in his hands as he thinks. ]

Not important? You're so wrong about that. In fact, it's vital information. [ It explains how time passes in Cape Kore. Just how much of a dilation field could be in play. Are they in a pocket universe? Maybe even a stasis cube that separates them from the rest of time? It could be a thousand different things--no, nine hundred and ninety-nine. It definitely couldn't be a dream. ]

No one knows who or why. Important questions mind you. Vital ones even. Again, with the vital unanswered questions! [ The Doctor finally looks to the feed and points the sonic at him, waving it a bit to make his point. ] Let's share what we know. We've got very powerful people in charge who can kidnap anyone from anywhere in space and time. They're good at covering their tracks, and their building changes every millisecond. Can't even get a proper reading on the sonic long enough to lock onto a signal. Oh, they are good!

That's generally when they make the mistakes.

Someone is realistic. Nobody kidnaps somebody in my line of work without a purpose because nobody without a purpose would be good enough to manage it. Not that people haven't tried.

[The rise of his eyebrows isn't visible, but something in the tone of his voice strongly implies it all the same.]

You're right about one thing though, it is when they make mistakes. I managed to get a photograph of one last time. Just a blur, homemade pinhole camera, but the degree of tinting when compared against the length of the exposure makes the results undeniable. Not there for long, but there. Half right about the rest -- might be vital, but asking the question doesn't mean a thing if you can't sort out how to outmanoeuvre them first. Never going to get any answers if you carry on being obvious about it.

Unless they are bored. I drop into plenty of places with big reputations because I'm bored! Maybe they just wanted to add up something into the mix. This could be all entertainment for them for all we know.

[ There is a grin on his face. ]

I'm usually right on more than one thing. [ Still, he's interested in what the man has to say. Clashing of the egos. ] Sometimes being obvious makes them reveal the things you're truly after. You can't be nice in a situation like this, that much we can agree on. They've got loads of us in an ever changing building. Not just anyone has that power.

What sort of photograph is it?

So who is gonna die if you are here and not where you are supposed to be to save 'em? [He squints, trying to see beyond the clothing obscuring his view.] And why are you hiding yourself? And, uh, what does ossen-tashus and mere-- oh hell, what do those big words you said at the beginning mean?

Ostentatious; I didn't stutter. Gaudy. Showy. Excessive. Read a book.

[Alternately, don't ask Sherlock Holmes to define things, particularly not when he's in a bad mood.]

As for the rest... me, for one; I suppose that's the most important one, if we are entirely honest, which I am frequently. Three others known, really hundreds more unknown, it's amazing what sort of trouble underground criminal networks can get up to even when nobody's pulling the strings.

Never learned how to read. Always learned more by asking questions.

[Such as right now. He's struggling a little to keep up with Sherlock's train of thought, but until it becomes clearer, he'll grasp at the small pieces he does understand.]

You have got a lot of responsibility on your shoulders. You some kind of a leader, yes?

You've been here before? And you went home?

[ This version of Loki Laufeyson is barely older than a teenager. However, despite this, his green eyes look much, much older, and possess an intelligence much greater than that of a "normal" teenager. ]

Then surely you know the way back, yes?

That assumes I left of my own volition. I, in turn, could assume you were an idiot, if it were at all safe to make wild assumptions about people based on things they say.

[Not, of course, that Sherlock isn't entirely certain he'll reach that same conclusion eventually anyway.]

One wonders equally why I'd bother risking my neck addressing you lot at all if I knew how to leave whenever I wanted.

[ Loki considers the man behind the feed carefully before replying. ]

Perhaps you want something? That's usually why you talk to someone, isn't it?

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001 | Video | Sherlock Holmes

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