"No, and I think you've had enough, too," John says, watching him.
Sometimes, when he sees Sherlock eating or having a few drinks, he feels considerable envy for him. Sometimes, he sees him lying on the floor in some uncomfortable position and even goes so far as to envy the crick he'll end up with in his neck.
Tonight is not one of those times. He sees Sherlock and all he feels is that overwhelming pity
Which he did, but it didn't excuse how much he abused the reasoning, and certainly not with the painkillers. Ridiculous he'd been allowed them in the first place, with his record, but they didn't help anyway. They had an effect, sure, and Sherlock's head was swimming, but it was in all the wrong places and he could still see colors in the ways that didn't work.
His feet cross and uncross on the sofa, and he abruptly turns his head to face John now. He's loathe to - all that damn crimson, it's not right, you know - but he does anyway. "Because you won't leave (HAVEN'T left), you see, you said yourself, and it's put me in an awful predicament - I have to knock a few things more loose," and one of his fingers taps messily at the side of his head, "before I can form that sort of argument."
John doesn't doubt Sherlock's tolerance, but he also doesn't doubt that he's still had too much. There's a limit for everything, even with Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes who won't sleep and is slowly, meticulously, killing himself. John wants to shake him. He wants to shake the sense back into him. Not that he had an overt amount before, but he was at least...he could function before. No, not function. Work.
"Maybe you've knocked enough loose," he suggests. "Maybe it's about time to start putting a few things back together."
'No, I don't want to,' he thinks, stubbornly. Actually, no, he says aloud, after a moment's consideration. His voice has that challenging edge to it - MAKE me stop, go ahead, I dare you - that it tends to when he's doing something he shouldn't. Sherlock swings his feet around and, despite his current mental handicap, misses the table and everything else in the way. He knows this flat, and he knows it well. Everything is in its place.
He looks at John and crosses his legs, sitting between the table and the couch. Everything -- is in its place.
"I don't believe in them, you know." He informs him plainly and matter-of-factually, hands gripping his feet as he leans forward. "Apparitions. I've told you that before and I'm telling you now."
Comments 71
Sometimes, when he sees Sherlock eating or having a few drinks, he feels considerable envy for him. Sometimes, he sees him lying on the floor in some uncomfortable position and even goes so far as to envy the crick he'll end up with in his neck.
Tonight is not one of those times. He sees Sherlock and all he feels is that overwhelming pity
Reply
Which he did, but it didn't excuse how much he abused the reasoning, and certainly not with the painkillers. Ridiculous he'd been allowed them in the first place, with his record, but they didn't help anyway. They had an effect, sure, and Sherlock's head was swimming, but it was in all the wrong places and he could still see colors in the ways that didn't work.
His feet cross and uncross on the sofa, and he abruptly turns his head to face John now. He's loathe to - all that damn crimson, it's not right, you know - but he does anyway. "Because you won't leave (HAVEN'T left), you see, you said yourself, and it's put me in an awful predicament - I have to knock a few things more loose," and one of his fingers taps messily at the side of his head, "before I can form that sort of argument."
Reply
"Maybe you've knocked enough loose," he suggests. "Maybe it's about time to start putting a few things back together."
Reply
He looks at John and crosses his legs, sitting between the table and the couch. Everything -- is in its place.
"I don't believe in them, you know." He informs him plainly and matter-of-factually, hands gripping his feet as he leans forward. "Apparitions. I've told you that before and I'm telling you now."
Reply
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