cape_kore | [Action] Arrival post

[Action] Arrival post

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Ta.

[If you want to know who someone is, you look at where they live. People leave marks on their surroundings. Sherlock recalls having read once that one of the marks of sentience is the exertion of will upon one's surroundings, the shaping of what exists to one's own form. Nonsense. A mark of life, perhaps, yes, but sentience certainly isn't required. It is, however, an inviolable trait of humanity more than any other creature. And so it isn't, really, in the end that he disagrees with Bruce. It's just that he prefers to approach the problem this way.

The house is dark, utterly silent, empty. Sherlock enters unhurriedly, eyes roaming the walls, the floor, the furniture, everything that might give some clue as to who lived (lives?) here and why they're absent. Idly he drags his first two fingers along the top of a table, leaving a trail in the fine layer of dust that's collected on top, and sniffs thoughtfully at the residue on his fingers before moving on to the kitchen. Kitchens are lived-in, used, eloquent, and this one still has dirty dishes in the sink and half-eaten meals on the table, dried and crusted to the plates in some places and beginning to mold in others.]

Family of three, mother and two children. Left in a hurry, whoever they are, roughly...

[He bends to get a closer look at one of the plates, sniffing delicately.]

A week ago. Bit more.

[Bruce purses his lips, impressed, but he's being calm about it. The leaving in a hurry and the timeline of when they left he could guess, at least.]

Are you a detective? What're you thinking caused them to hurry? It didn't seem like there was any kind of forced entry...

[He isn't thinking a murderer, because whatever booted them is likely to have booted the rest of the town. He's thinking, as he so often does, military, or at least mass evacuations.]

I wonder if there's some kind of plant or laboratory nearby...

I was, yes. Before my untimely and tragic suicide, or what looked quite like it, anyway.

[He opens the refrigerator door and sticks his head in, humming thoughtfully.]

Now I spend most of my time hoping nobody recognises me. I jumped off a roof so my friends could live; I've no intention of getting them killed now.

[He straightens, shutting the door, and offers Bruce a slight shrug.]

As I said. Lives depend on it, mine included, so I'd very much appreciate it if you'd refrain from mentioning my existence to... anyone. Anyone at all. For the time being.

As for the previous residents of this house... forced eviction, I'd guess. Making room. All the technology by which we might access the outside world is completely absent, rather telling. And then there's the cameras.

[He points up to the one aimed down at the kitchen table, and then over Bruce's shoulder to the one in the living room.]

[Sure. Because that all makes sense. Still, he can take it all in stride with one nod of the head. Fake suicide to save everyone's lives. Average Thursday. Bruce holds his hands open.]

I'll keep it quiet, but if you're worried about someone talking about you not being as dead as previously thought, I'd worry more about them than the rest of us here. [He points to a camera.] Like you said, it's not like any of us can alert the presses about you.

[About the cameras... He hadn't noticed them until then, and now he can feel his skin crawl as he identifies every one in the room. Not a good sign. They definitely seem to be on, and so the question becomes, who's watching them? He rubs his hands together in front of him and paces around the room, looking for more signs of who was here.]

Speaking of lives depending on it... We should find out what our single mother here did for a living, her and the neighbors. If we're looking at a bunch of scientists, that might be a problem.

I assure you, I am. I'd be much more worried if this felt like Sebastian Moran, but it doesn't. A bullet in the head feels more like Sebastian Moran. This...

[He turns about, eyes travelling between the cameras.]

I've a nagging suspicion whoever's on the other side of those cameras won't want anyone to know about this.

[He should know. He's worked with the sort, every time he fails to find an excuse to ignore his brother's requests.]

As for the previous occupants of this house, I concur. Bedroom, then.

[Clothing carries secrets, particularly if it's not been washed – that, and the bedroom closet is a common place to store bills, receipts, and other important paperwork.]

Mm. If you knew who I was thinking about blaming, you'd be a lot more worried than that.

[Mainly, Bruce's favorite culprit -- the government -- and his most recent -- Loki. He wouldn't put this past either one of those.

He follows after Sherlock, eyes roaming, occasionally pausing to look over something, but he's mainly struck by how crushingly normal the things in the house are. Where are they now? There doesn't seem to be much sign of distress, beyond leaving in a rush.]

What're you thinking?

Faceless government string-pullers?

[Sherlock pulls a long-sleeved blouse from the hamper and looks it over.]

My darling brother is one of the best. Rather lose their impact when you're related to one. Mostly they're just annoying.

[He moves to the window, one knee on the bed, to examine the cuff of one of the shirt's sleeves in better light before giving it a thoughtful sniff.]

Food service. Barmaid. Waitress. Something like that.

[He frowns. It's good that she's not a scientist, probably, but maybe this was just an outlying town, near a plant. If they were all nuclear physicists, they'd have a better idea of what they were dealing with. If they're all civilians...]

I wouldn't put this past the government. What's weird though is... Your brother's in it. A couple people I know out there are in it. Makes you wonder which government, and what kind of technology they're working with...

[He examines his watch more closely, slipping it off his wrist to inspect the back.]

They don't want us to have anything remotely electronic. Think that's a weak spot?

Oh, it wouldn't be the first time our governments have cooperated to deceive the general populace, if that is indeed what's going on here. The technology is easily enough explained; any idiot with a working knowledge of simple circuits and the supplies can build a radio. They don't want us to have any access to the outside world at all.

[He shrugs.]

Of course it's a weak spot. Information always is. It's not just the technology.

An equally good question is: why us? If my brother had found out I'm alive the first thing he'd do wouldn't be to whisk me away to North America and secret me away, it'd be to take me home so Mummy could shout at me. So it's not likely to be my government. Yours I can't say, but it seems unlikely on the whole. The girl before is Canadian -- her government, perhaps? One might wonder, but then, what would any government want with a hyperactive pickpocket, crossbow or no?

Or a physicist, for that matter; why you, why here?

One question leads back to the other, you see. Who would want to hide us, and why?

Did you just suggest Canada?

[Let him hold onto the ridiculous while he still can.]

I don't know. I'd say maybe we were pissing some people off, but I met a girl who's definitely a high schooler, and I can imagine easier ways for a government to dispatch of her than this elaborate setup. Random selection of the populace for experiments?

[And okay, Bruce wrinkles his nose.] You're good at this detective stuff. How'd you figure all that out?

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[Action] Arrival post

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