Pre-canon Sherlock. Considering Things.

[itsnotatrick]

Decide on a time frame. Be specific.

Or, better yet, stop wasting my time and go back to playing with my 'more well-adjusted' self.

Comments

[womanwhobeatyou]

[Don't mind her, Sherlock. She's just going to be over here. Laughing at the idea of your 'more well-adjusted' self.]

[itsnotatrick]

[He implied quotation marks for a reason.

But he's still going to side-eye her while she laughs.]

[womanwhobeatyou]

[She's unperturbed by the side-eye. And awfully smug.]

It seems that time does very little to change you, Mr. Holmes.

[itsnotatrick]

Oh, you think so.

[His fingers are twitching on the arms of his chair. Someone is highly uncomfortable with some aspect of this. Or several.]

[womanwhobeatyou]

[Her eyes drift over to the twitch of his fingers along the arm of the chair, and that only seems to make her more amused, deepens the smile tugging at her lips.]

Not at all. I know so.

[myblogwonabafta]

I'm not sure whether to be fascinated or horrified.

[itsnotatrick]

Do please take your time.

[myblogwonabafta]

You'll have to wait awhile. It's sort of a general thing, with you.

[itsnotatrick]

And this from my 'friend.'

[myblogwonabafta]

You're using ironic quote again, aren't you? I can always tell.

[theinfamous1412]

tsk tsk tsk

You should know better than to aggravate a mun

[itsnotatrick]

Please. They're not aggravated. I can smell their amusement.

[theinfamous1412]

[ He's just casually leaning against a wall with his hands stuffed in his pockets and no trace of his face visible beneath his top hat. ]

Then your complaining probably won't get very far.

[itsnotatrick]

Better to keep quiet? Play nice?

[Guess who's not so good at that.

Also, he's eying this guy suspiciously. Not trying to get a look at his face, though. Not yet.]

[theinfamous1412]

I never said anything about playing nice.

'As Immovable as a mountain', isn't it?

[ He doesn't seem to be on his guard, but his shoulders are slightly more tense than strictly necessary as he is ready to move at the drop of a hat. ]

[zordaar]

[A long, eloquent look, and then Sherlock rolls her eyes up to heaven- somehow managing to use every part of her body in the movement.]

Just marvellous.

[She doesn't like her younger self, and has decided to like this less.

She's apparently waiting for something.]

[itsnotatrick]

[Can't be fun at all, can it? Staring your own closet-skeletons in the face, even when certain parameters have been shifted. Sherlock sits with his shoulders tensed and his hair relatively unkempt. A shirt that will one day fall just on the side of 'too tight' currently drapes over his shoulders a little too loosely.

He is constantly resisting the urge to scratch at his forearm.]

What?

[Perhaps she'll remember how little she enjoyed being scrutinized.]

[zordaar]

Oh, just wouldn't like to interrupt mid-tragedy.

[She gives one of her brittle, cold wrinkled-nose smiles which shuts off like a light in seconds, looking with real distaste- and a glimmer of something almost like apprehension- at his forearm. Mostly, though, her lip just curls minutely, and she looks very, very remote.

(She is taking a lot of this from Mycroft, consciously or not- she knows what irritates her, after all).]

[itsnotatrick]

[Yes, that sounds exactly like Mycroft. He looks at her, just for a second, with a 'how very dare you' sort of face, though why he would have expected understanding from her is anyone's guess.

Including his own, which is why he doesn't say anything yet. Instead, once his expression's gone back to neutral, he reaches into his pocket and produces a pack of cigarettes - half-empty, by the way it's flattened, the rattling sound - and a lighter. He lights up, then enjoys that first drag with his head tilted down and away, eyes closed.

He looks up again as he lets it out. The smoke is blown somewhat in her direction, if not exactly in her face.]

[zordaar]

[Regrettably, understanding is precisely what Sherlock lacks when it comes to any and all versions of herself.

She follows the pack of cigarettes with no expression on her face whatsoever, only her eyes moving as she remains rigidly still- not sucking in nor waving away the smoke.

Dryly--]

And here come the props.

[Pun not so much intended as aimed like a projectile.]

Were you expecting something from me?

[That's a lot more abrupt and a lot more Sherlock than Mycroft all of a sudden- she looks irritated by the very idea, face suddenly a picture of vaguely disgusted annoyance and confusion.]

[consultsdetective]

[ Cue snort. ]

And how's that working out for you, then?

[itsnotatrick]

[Dry, satisfied if not particularly pleased:]

Check the profile.

[consultsdetective]

[ And a low whistle for that. ]

Christ, you are back a ways, aren't you?

[itsnotatrick]

According to some.

[Most, actually, judging by the response. But not to him.]

[consultsdetective]

Yeah, you'll be getting a lot of that. All part of the territory.

[ JUST LOOK AT YOU, SHERLOCK. LOOK AT YOU BEING A YOUTH. In so many words. It's only a few years and all, but they are noticeable ones. ] Along with backsliding into being a complete berk, probably.