(Untitled)

[specifythepoint]

WHO: The Dreamers; Inception crew + Arthur
WHERE: The Dreaming
WHEN: Thursday the 3rd and ongoing for a few days, until Arthur wakes up.
WARNINGS: Please warn in thread subjects!
SUMMARY: Arthur's powers go out of control, and the innocent (?) cityzens are affected.
FORMAT: As you like it! Please label your threads if they're open for other

Comments

open ; dead bodies and probably violence

[sh_consulting]

[Nighttime in London - or, it seems like London, but none of the buildings are quite right tendrils of the City seem to be creeping in

[specifythepoint]

[When Arthur enters the dream, the details seem to sharpen, and he blends into the background. Through the dream, a little boy runs, interrupting Sherlock's line of vision. The boy has short hair, and is wearing a thin grey shirt and a pair of ratty jeans.

Arthur clamps down on the dream, but he can't find the way out, even though he feels the fabric of the dream strain against him. There's another moment, tense, and Lestrade turns and snaps, "Damn kids."]

[sh_consulting]

[The images around Sherlock all suddenly snap and disappear, his attention entirely pulled towards the boy. His brow furrows and creases. This is no place for a child. This is a crime scene.

He stands, watching the boy run. The crime scene was closed. How did he get through the barricade, unless - his eyes widen. Obvious. Obvious. He must have been there the whole time. Possibly even through the killing...

The first eyewitness to the serial killer.

He takes off after the boy at a run.]

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[The boy is running with the ease and practice of someone who runs away from people more frequently than not. He runs and leaves bloody footprints in the road, his sneakers so thin that the treads are worn and gone. He runs like a fiend.

But even then he's no match for Sherlock, who has longer legs.]

[sh_consulting]

[Even running Sherlock cannot help but track the bloody footprints as he goes by - images of shoes upon shoes flicker around him, trying to find the exact brand and the exact year while at the same time estimating exactly how much wear it would take and how many steps traveled to get that exact pattern. Even as his mind was doing all these things, though, he was still running.

As he caught up to the boy, the scene was changing, and Holmes was getting younger. It was almost Oxford, now, in the fall, and he grass was turning brown - the bloodied footprints standing out like a neon beacon. His breath was turning into a fine white mist as he reached an arm out to stop the boy.]

Stop! Wait --

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[A hand lands on the boy's shoulder, and he turns. The projection's eyes are narrowed and suspicious and he looks Sherlock in the eye]

I'm going to be in trouble.

[sh_consulting]

No. Not necessarily. [His hand stays there - the grip gentle, but firm.]

Not if you tell me what you saw.

[And as it comes to mind, images of the killings spring up around him. Body after body - maybe a half dozen total, strangely fuzzy for the most part but with intense, stand out detail where Sherlock has pinpointed what is important. There's something about these bodies - they aren't entirely dreams. They're memories of a case long lost. Cold but still nagging at the back of Sherlock's mind.

His gaze is intense, and piercing.]

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[There's no release in the suspicion, and Arthur is suddenly extremely aware of someone holding onto the arm of one of his projections, even though he shouldn't be, even though it's impossible. It's just a projection.

It's just a projection of Arthur at age 10. But Arthur is too far, and the boy is replying already]

He came out of the vent.

[sh_consulting]

[Sherlock's head tilts to the side and his hand drops as the crime scene expands around him - shivering over the oxfordian grass like a mirage. The vent... the vent.. Ah! There. But it's so small...

His eyes dart back to the boy.]

The Vent? You're sure?

But how did he -

[Suddenly John is there - not the real John, a projection - and he has his cane, leaning on it heavily. He gives Sherlock a dark look.]

What on earth are you doing?

[specifythepoint]

The man came out of the vent!

[The boy stares up at John, then back at Sherlock, and then he looks down, away. Whatever this is, it's none of his business.

Arthur shows up a moment later, pulling his projection away.]

[sh_consulting]

[Sherlock blinks and suddenly there's a man instead of a boy. In dream logic, of course, he doesn't find this strange at all, especially since the man and the boy share the same face, aged up.

There's a flicker of recognition across his face and Oxford shifts slightly, as if the grass is now in central park... But he can't quite link the face to a name, though he knows he should - knows he could - but it just isn't there.

Something nagging at the back of his brain... fanfiction...?]

I - but he couldn't have, it was too small. Are you sure that you saw... [But he was frowning, his voice trailing off, and they were fully in Central Park, now.]

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[Arthur is about to scowl, but he softens it at the last instant, which just makes him look slightly irritated instead of actively angry.]

Do you usually listen to the words of ten year olds?

[At least this man's subconscious isn't on the warpath]

[sh_consulting]

[Sherlock's eyes narrow and he looks at the man, really looks, and the details jump and he can see the lapel of the suit and the hair product and the shoes and the slight twitch in the lips.]

Children are often a much more reliable witness. [But the case isn't solved and Watson is looking at him quizzically and there are seven deaths, now, and only one lead. The footprints are still there, blood blazing a trail into the trees, and all Sherlock wants is to be able to concentrate.]

You would know if he was lying. You would remember.

[specifythepoint]

[The more Sherlock looks, the more the details sharpen, enhanced by Arthur even though it's not willing. The lines of his coat, how tailored and precise it is, the careful placement of pocket squares, the way his vest is buttoned.]

I remember he came through the vent.

[sh_consulting]

And? That can't be all. The vent was so small, he must have done something to be able to get through i--

[His attention snapped to the footprints, which caused them to light up and glow like fire in the gloom. He looked back at Arthur out of the corner of his eye.]

You'll have to come with me. You can identify him.

[There was a gun in his hands, suddenly. Lestrade's gun (he pick-pocketed him when he was annoying). They had a killer to track down.]

[specifythepoint]

[The Glock in Arthur's hands is almost an immediate reaction.]

No.