On Apping to [trans_9] (Reichenbach spoilers in comments)

[on_your_nerves]

Was the username change absolutely necessary? This is internet roleplay, not the planning of an amusement park. Giving us both a theme is ridiculous.

Furthermore, I suggest you shelve your plans with your friend of having John keep a spray bottle constantly on hand on the ship. I know your level of intelligence probably precludes you from managing even the most basic of observations, but I'm not a cat. It's undignified, it's not going to work, and I resent the idea that I need John following me around everywhere to keep me in line.

In fact, you should both stop referring to him as my "wrangler" altogether.

All this fuss over whether or not I'm going to start some sort of diplomatic incident is entirely unwarranted. They need detectives for the war effort, don't they?

I'll just be myself and everything will be fine.

SH

Comments

[nerves_of_steel]

Sherlock, under no circumstances should you be yourself until after I find pants that don't have their own pulse. And let's leave the politics to those better suited to it, hm?

[pinches the bridge of his nose briefly] Do they really think that I wouldn't have already tried the spray bottle if I thought it would work?

[on_your_nerves]

You wouldn't try it because it's demeaning, John.

And I still don't see why everyone's so concerned about my possible presence at diplomatic functions. I can be diplomatic.

[nerves_of_steel]

And it wouldn't work.

I've no doubt that you can if you decided to. But you'd get bored within minutes, and most diplomatic functions last much longer than that.

[on_your_nerves]

Then I can fake being diplomatic.

[nerves_of_steel]

Yes, that is what I just said.

I suppose it's a good thing you don't need me to "wrangle" you; it looks like they need all the doctors they can get their hands on. Not exactly uncommon, I suppose.

[on_your_nerves]

[No, see, he'd be actually diplomatic for the first five minutes and then fake it for the rest of the time, John. He can act, after all.]

[Only that's a complete lie because he'd honestly be faking it for the first five minutes, too.]

[Also, the only reason he cares right now is because it's being assumed that he can't do a thing, and his first instinct to being told he can't pull off a thing is to prove he can do the thing.]

It is a war. There's more call for soldiers and doctors than detectives.

[They need wise-cracking meatball surgeons. Martini-drinking is optional.]

Speaking of which, I'm going to need your help learning how to improve my aim.

[The both know he's not the best shot. That's John's territory.]

After, of course, you get all the... [His eyes dart around a little, guiltily] ...punching out of your system. Though I do have to question its necessity. Are you sure we can't just bypass the violent resentment and go right to the part where I explain how I faked my death?

[So he can show off how clever it was? Because it really had been quite clever.]

[nerves_of_steel]

I've absolutely no doubt that we will find plenty of uses for your skills. It's war, but that doesn't look like any army I've ever seen.

[pinches the bridge of his nose again, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and taking a deep breath] You're trying to use logic on an emotional response, Sherlock. It doesn't work that way. Under the circumstances, I'll likely only punch you once before asking you why it happened.

[Because they absolutely are not going to talk about how. "How" does not matter in the slightest when the result is John standing over Sherlock bloodied corpse.]

[on_your_nerves]

...Am I going to get to explain how I did it at all?

[He's sensing that this might be a subject John wants to avoid, but you know, he really, really wants to show off.]

[nerves_of_steel]

[Flat voiced] You can explain 'how' after a year has passed. Assuming that the "beer tree" actually exists, and grows proper alcohol.

And any other Sherlock corpses that turn up move the date six months further along.

[on_your_nerves]

Do clones, shapeshifters, or dimensional duplicates factor into this at all? Given the circumstances, they're a possibility.

I don't think they should count if any of them show up dead.

[He doesn't want to have to wait any longer than he has to. A year is a long time to wait to show off, especially since this was something particularly clever that he did.]

[nerves_of_steel]

[John presses lips together in a thin line.]

Sherlock, if I have to see your dead body again, I'll--

[He can't finish the thought. He raises his hands in a sharp, meaningless gesture, then covers his mouth and turns away until he can control himself again.]

They count, Sherlock.

[on_your_nerves]

Right. Yes. Of course.

[A pause.]

You're upset, aren't you.

[Now he feels like a git. John always makes him feel like a git when he's been a git, and it's not fair. He's not really sure how to deal with the elephant in the room, that whole making-John-watch-him-"die" thing, but it's John. It's John, so he does care that it's upset him. That's why he'd been watching John visit his grave.]

Would it help if I, um, hugged you?

[A beat.]

That's what people usually do, don't they? With these kinds of things?

[nerves_of_steel]

Yes, well done.

[He blinks at Sherlock once, twice, before he raises a hand to cover his mouth again. This time, it's more to restrain giggling than pain.]

I honestly haven't the faintest clue.

[Hand over the mouth again. It's just...Sherlock seems as if he'd be an incredibly awkward hugger, and John keeps picturing it.]

[on_your_nerves]

[Sherlock is unsure whether he should for a moment and then decides to try it, hoping it'll be the magical act that makes John feel better and makes everything go back to normal.]

[...and John is completely and totally right about the awkward. The Awkward train is leaving the station. Next stop: Awkward. Chugga chugga, woo woooo!]

[Seriously, this is the most awkward hug in the history of mankind. Back in the ancient times, they chiseled calendars into stone walls that measured how much yearly awkward there was and how much there was going to be, and predicted that one day, thousands of years in the future, there would be a single act of so much awkwardness that there could never be that much awkwardness again after. So they ended all the calendars there and confused the hell out of everyone in the future, who thought it predicted the end of the world, but really it was predicting this hug.]

[nerves_of_steel]

[Psst, Sherlock. Let you in on a little secret.]

[Dr. John H. Watson, accomplished in the arts of wooing the ladies (if fairly briefly) is also a really awkward hugger. Or maybe Sherlock's just so terrible at hugs that it's contagious. Hard to tell.]

Erm. Right. Yes. Thank you.

[on_your_nerves]

[Yeah, this is pretty awful. They've been comfortable enough to touch each other for ages now, pats on the shoulder, Sherlock sticking his feet under John's leg on the couch to keep them warm and also to annoy John on purpose, things like that. But hugging is a bit different. It's one thing for the two of them to be comfortable in each other's space, but it's another to get riiiight up in there. The contact chafes a bit at that whole very British stoicism thing they've got going on. So after actually counting out seconds in his head and deciding there's been enough of them, Sherlock quickly disengages.]

Right. That should...that should do it.

[Do what, it's hard to tell, but he probably means 'That should do it as far as fixing all the hurt I've caused you and getting all the awkwardness out of the way in one short burst so we can go back to normal.' He clears his throat and gives John a level look.]

[And then abruptly snorts in a totally undignified way and bursts into laughter.]

That better have worked because I'm never doing it again.

[nerves_of_steel]

[John is already laughing, the same ridiculous near-giggling that he always does after he and Sherlock have done something mad and bizarre and gotten away with it. Not that two blokes -- two friends -- hugging is particularly mad or bizarre, but. Sherlock. Hugging and the hugging thereof. Emphatically mad and bizarre.]

That might be for the best. I'm not sure the universe could withstand another go 'round.

[Then, because he knows Sherlock and knows that he's hoping that everything will go back to normal -- well, as normal as things can get while they're on board a living space ship -- he sighs.]

It's going to take a bit of time, Sherlock. To get back into the swing of things. To get over others. It won't take as long as when we first met, but it'll take time.

[on_your_nerves]

[The smile fades from his face, but Sherlock nods and for once, he understands. For once, he even empathizes. If it were John that had done what he'd done--in a way that Sherlock wouldn't be able to figure out the ruse--whose face he'd seen bloodied on the asphalt, he's not even sure he'd have survived to find out he hadn't quite seen what he thought he'd seen. In fact, he's fairly sure he'd have had a needle in his arm the first night, that he would have crawled into a bottle of morphine and never crawled back out again.]

[To say he's not the best with empathy is a vast understatement, but this is one of those times where it comes very easily to him, because all he has to do to figure out what his best friend went through is imagine a universe without John.]

[And so, as much as Sherlock doesn't want it to take time, he understands why it has to.]

You had to look like you believed it. I had to make it...real, real enough to save you all.

[But that's not really enough, is it.]

I'm sorry, John.

[He doesn't say those three words enough, in light of all the ridiculous shite he puts John through on a regular basis and he knows it. So he makes sure John can hear how much he truly, truly means it now.]

[And under that, underneath how much he means it, is such a deep well of actual caring about his best friend that even though Sherlock doesn't mean for John to hear it, the man can probably hear that, too. His obnoxious tendency to leave body parts in the fridge aside, he does care about John Watson more than he's ever cared about any other human being that has ever lived.]

[He's sorry. And it pained him. And he had those really miserable annoying things called feelings because of it. That 'I'm sorry' means so much more that what the individual words mean, and it means more than that hug ever could.]

[nerves_of_steel]

I don't--

[The words register almost like a physical force. John rocks back just slightly on his heels, his jaw slackens just a little, his eyebrows fly up as he blinks, and dozens of other small tells that Sherlock undoubtedly registers almost instantaneously betray his surprise. It's hard not to be surprised, though -- John can count on his fingers the number of times he's heard Sherlock say "sorry" or "I apologize". John had (sometimes, when Sherlock was being particularly impossible) wondered if he had 'deleted' those words from his vocabulary. He'd heard him use the words sincerely only twice -- once to Molly at Christmas, and once on the roof. This makes three.]

[Distantly, he feels himself plugging the other thing Sherlock had said into the 'answer' slot for the question he'd been worrying over since the roof: how had Moriarty made Sherlock jump? He'd known that the madman had done it somehow, but by the time he'd been in any shape to check the roof, Moriarty had been long gone. It's not all of the answer, he'll have to get that out of Sherlock at some point, but it's at least it's simplest form.]

Thank you. Apology accepted.

[He tries to put the same sincerity of emotion into those words as Sherlock did into his; because the only other option is going for another hug, and they'd already agreed that wasn't an option.]

[atadiscoverer]

So you're another one going to be pulled from the pods, aye?

[Great. Another one to annoy poor Carson.]

[on_your_nerves]

To my great misfortune, yes. It seems so.

[In his mind, he sees it as unfortunate because he's going to have to deal with everyone else. The truth is, it's probably more unfortunate for the crew that they're going to have to deal with him.]

[thisclinchesit]

Not that the spray bottle works very well on cats in my experience.

...granted, the cat I have may just be out to spite me. I wouldn't be surprised.

[Ahem.]

So you're one of the number of other detectives we're getting? [Have an offered hand and a small smile, Holmes.] I'm Hidari Shoutarou - it'll be good to have some others around.

[on_your_nerves]

[He shakes his hand briefly, although it takes him a moment because he eyes it at first like he thinks Shoutarou might have leprosy. (He generally dislikes physical contact with most people.)]

Sherlock Holmes.

I'm a consulting detective. I'll be solving the cases the rest of you are too ineffectual to solve.

[There's no real malice in how he says it, though the natural presumption that he's more intelligent than all of them combined is definitely there.]

[thisclinchesit]

[Well, that's an odd reaction all-around... There's a few moments while Shoutarou appears rather perplexed - he's letting that sink in.]

While more help will definite be appreciated, I wouldn't call any of us ineffectual in the least, Mr. Holmes.

[There's a bit of a sting in how he says that while adjusting his tie - his pride's been bruised a little, after all.]

[anwei]

Why would spraying you with water affect your behavior? Do you have a water phobia? Because if so you shouldn't let your friend take advantage of you like that.

Anyway, it's very humid here so the water won't make much of a difference. Of course I don't know what that will do to your hair...

[on_your_nerves]

The two of them find it amusing to point out the parallels in my manner and behavior to that of a housecat.

[Wait.]

The humidity won't do anything to my hair.

[There's nothing wrong with his hair. It's not going to frizz. She's making it sound like it's going to look worse, and it sounds like there's an implication there that it doesn't look good to begin with.]

[anwei]

Oh? I'm not really familiar with cat behavior. There's a sentient cat on the ship, you know. Rhiow. I have no idea how she manages to keep a sentient brain in a head that size; some sort of hyperdense brain matter? But then she should have a really thick neck and front legs to hold her head up, right?

[She's so happy she has short hair these days.]

Glad to hear it. It makes my hair all poofy sometimes. I suppose that's preferable to having long hair, though. It would be like dragging a warm, damp towel around on your back.

[whatyoulike]

If you'd like, I can suggest some alternatives to the spray bottle. [No less humiliating ones, but definitely more fun. An entire personalized training regimen of them. Just call her the consulting dominatrix.]

[on_your_nerves]

We don't need any alternatives, because I'm not a child or an errant pet.

[He gives her a look that's almost coy.]

Besides, I'm not sure that I want John to be following any suggestions of yours, nor do I think any of them would be tame enough for John to be willing to engage in them.

[nerves_of_steel]

No.

[whatyoulike]

[This is an 'o rly' face.]

So nothing corporal?

And no, you're worse. People are more forgiving of children and pets because they're not expected to know any better.

[nerves_of_steel]

No thank you, Miss Adler.

[Well, this is awkward Dead people are just pouring out of the woodwork today.]

[whatyoulike]

So quick to say no. What is it you're afraid I'll suggest?

[nerves_of_steel]

I've done well enough with words so far, I don't think there's much else to suggest. At least, nothing that would be nearly as useful for me as for you.

[John just can't pull off your wardrobe, Irene.]