Going to Fractured Reality on LJ. Hopefully.

[buyatoaster]

In the name of the three bloomin' graces, will you stop nagging me? You want story-time, talk to Dorothy. Or Chris. Go on, ask him 'bout the time he caught a pigeon and showed it off to his mates 'cos they'd told him he needs to get himself a bird. That's a decent one, 's far as childhood stories go.

I don't do 'em. Childhood stories. Had a mum, had a dad, had a great waste of space of a brother. 's all you need to know. You want more for your "app", use yer brain. Make it up. Don't seem to have any problems doing that most of the time.

Comments

[sherly_no_mates]

[As if continuing in the middle of conversation—]

Not the most efficient solution or use of one's time. In my experience, they keep asking.

[Sorry. Did you not want free advice? Have some anyway.]

[buyatoaster]

[. . . what even. Have a nose-wrinkle. What are you supposed to be?]

Oh yeah? [Eying you. You look off, somehow. Weird clothes. He's going to hitch up his trousers and sniff.] Got a better one? Solution, that is.

[sherly_no_mates]

[Oh. Is he being sized up? Hm. Well. How blunt. Do have a care to admire his jawline.]

Since you asked—. A sampling of facts, as you provided above, is a promising start, but one must remember to include details. Names, dates. Noteable events. It hardly needs to be personal or carry any . . . meaningful sentimental quality. [Lip curl. Emotional information. Useless.] Just enough to fulfill a simplistic outline of experience from ages zero to twenty years of age.

[Chin tilt: solution enough? Hands grasped behind his back, his eyes shift to focus on a point over Gene's shoulder. He doesn't need to look at him to supply this information. It is, of course, correct.] You are a police man, I preceive. To answer your question: no. I hail from the year 1891. Where my dress is fashionable.

[buyatoaster]

[He listens to your "solution", curling his lip in distaste. That's not a solution, mate. That's a compromise. Gene Hunt doesn't compromise.]

[But oh, you're doing the deduction thing. Yeah, he knows what you're doing, he's not stupid. He could do it if he wanted to, he just doesn't want to. Freak.]

Didn't ask any questions, did I. [1891. And he can't even tell you you're a nutter. Bloody multiverse; he hates it.] Got a name, too, to go with that fashionable dress?

[sherly_no_mates]

[Oh police. Have a flat look. You do know you look like a frog when you make that face right?]

I thought it implied by the direction of your gaze and your expression. But of course. Where are my manners? [Charmingface? Or, at least: shake?] Sherlock Holmes. You may have heard of me, Detective—?

[buyatoaster]

[. . . yeah, no. He's just going to stare at you for a couple of moments and then burst out laughing--loud, open-mouthed, with genuine amusement.]

Sherlock Holmes. [You serious? You seem to be serious.] Sherlock bloody Holmes. Pity Tyler isn't here; he'd wet his pants.

[Chortling some more, then giving you another once-over, amusement getting replaced by curious suspicion.] Aren't you supposed to be skinnier?

[sherly_no_mates]

[Freeze. The laughter catches him off-guard. It is nothing. It means nothing. Right. Terse smile. He is known then. But not necessarily for his work. There certainly isn't anything humourous about it. Neither for his boxing; he never gives his name. Cuuuuurious. So curious.]

One mustn't trust what they read in the papers. They often do not possess all the requisite information and so prove misleading. [Regarding his appearance. And his work, if Gene finds it funny.]

[buyatoaster]

Papers? [Pfft.] Didn't read about you in any papers, 'm not from bloody 1891. Elementary, innit.

[Chuckle. He said 'elementary' to Sherlock Holmes. All of this is incredibly amusing.]

[sherly_no_mates]

Literature of some variety. [Don't correct him. A physical description came from somewhere.] Newspaper. Police reports. A magazine, perhaps? They each have a substantial shelf-life. And presumably printed . . . on paper.

[Don't mind him if he sounds bitchy. There's a joke there. What's the joke? Why is it funny?]

[buyatoaster]

[You're funny. You're Sherlock Holmes. It's funny. No explanation needed.]

Literature, eh? Dunno 'bout that. Not to offend your friend and biographer Doctor Watson, 'a course.

[Look, he's playing along. Pretending you're real, calling Watson your biographer and all. He wishes this weren't the multiverse and you were really just a nutter who thinks he's Sherlock Holmes. It's more fun that way. Like this, you might actually be Sherlock Holmes. Which makes it less amusing, but only marginally so.]

[sherly_no_mates]

[Dude. He is so totally Sherlock Holmes. :| Why is that funny?]

Ah! Watson. Of course. [That makes perfect sense.] He does love a turn for the melo-dramatic. To his determin. Deduction is a science, not the grounds for sensationalist literature! A complete waste of time.

Tell me: how many of his journals does he publish? Are there quite a few?

I should like to examine them myself to see what he has mistaken. Though I shall need to be very careful not to learn any information of which I am not already aware. No need to ruin future events by pre-requisite knowledge. I should be able to devise a system to avoid that—let me see—yes. My recent death should provide a decent reference point.

[buyatoaster]

[Yeah, he's just tuning you out. Too many words concerning things he doesn't care about, doodeedoo, whatever; oh, you're done? Give him a moment as he recaps what you just said. And then snorts.]

Recent fake-death, more like. You're not one should talk 'bout melodramatics, are you? Though suppose it all boils down to Doyle being a drama hound. Which, he's a writer, so that's appropriate. [Shrug. Writers, eh?]

[sherly_no_mates]

[:| What are you implying how dare you SLANDER SIR.

He sniffs.] Yes, well. It was necessary at the time.

[The whole fake-dying thing. It was him being clever, not dramatic. He takes out his pipe and begins to pack it, glancing up briefly at Gene.]

Doyle? Watson assumes a pen name?

[buyatoaster]

[Necessary, eh? That just gets an eyebrow raise; yeah, sure. You getting out your pipe gives Gene an idea, and he digs in his coat pocket for his cigarettes.]

You're dedicated, aren't you? Doyle. Bloke who made you up. Bloke who made Watson up. Gave him knighthood for it. Though that might've been for something else, actually; don't know.

[Shrugging, and lighting a cigarette. He's not really up on who got given knighthood when for what. He doesn't really care, either.]

[sherly_no_mates]

[Wait what? What? Did Gene believe what Holmes thinks he believes? Suspicious of him. Inapporpriate humour. Bloke who made him up. That. That. Well.

That's delightfully preposterous. He laughs and then smiles, mouth twitching.]

You believe me to be fictional? Hardly, sir; hardly. Though I suppose in your world it may be true. Nothing says it cannot remain a possibility.

[Giggling again. Oh he's fictional. Hilarious. So. Bloody. Hilarious. Seriousface. Lighting his pipe. He loathes the multiverse.]