20th jan near nightfall technophantomJanuary 20 2012, 04:50:13 UTC
Ghost had been waiting (well, lurking, more like) in Sherlock's living room, lit by the glow of his computer as he sifted correspondences, going through his things because--well honestly because he was a little concerned for Sherlock. Knowing what he did about the fictional analogue from his world gave him some insight on their relationship, on how they appeared to depend on one another.
When he heard the other man, he drew his hands out of the computer, shutting it down immediately, and floated over to inspect the wall of mysteries instead. He had bypassed it initially, figuring it would mean less to him, but his interest was genuine enough.
[Sherlock's correspondence had been little and less of late. None needed with his work at Rossum, the emails with the police force growing more and more strained.
He knew there was someone in the flat - had seen the gentle glimmer of light from the window. But when he came to the door he found it just as he'd left it. No sign of a lock pick or forced entry... That narrowed down the candidates significantly.
Pushing through the door, he made no effort to hid his presence as he trudged up the stairs. He spoke as he walked into the living room.]
[Though even from his tone, it was obvious he wasn't.
He shrugged off his jacket, hanging it on the hook before slipping off his scarf.
He didn't look directly at Ghost. He was overwhelmed enough just walking through the City's streets, and he tossed himself down on the couch with a sigh. He pressed his hands against eachother - fingertip to fingertip, palm to palm.]
[Well this is more concerning to him than it was before, and he drifts a little closer, scanning Sherlock] Your vitals are normal. Has your attention span been altered?
When he heard the other man, he drew his hands out of the computer, shutting it down immediately, and floated over to inspect the wall of mysteries instead. He had bypassed it initially, figuring it would mean less to him, but his interest was genuine enough.
"Hello, Sherlock."
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He knew there was someone in the flat - had seen the gentle glimmer of light from the window. But when he came to the door he found it just as he'd left it. No sign of a lock pick or forced entry... That narrowed down the candidates significantly.
Pushing through the door, he made no effort to hid his presence as he trudged up the stairs. He spoke as he walked into the living room.]
Ghost.
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[Though even from his tone, it was obvious he wasn't.
He shrugged off his jacket, hanging it on the hook before slipping off his scarf.
He didn't look directly at Ghost. He was overwhelmed enough just walking through the City's streets, and he tossed himself down on the couch with a sigh. He pressed his hands against eachother - fingertip to fingertip, palm to palm.]
I made a mistake.
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[he flits over to perch on a cluttered side table, resting his forearms on his knees, watching Sherlock with a strange, rubied intensity]
What happened?
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It offered me something.
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A distraction. So if I-- [He paused, cut off, and restarted.]
If I continue to act atypically, I assure you the results are only temporary.
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No. Desire has a... specific range of abilities.
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[more curiously] It may help if you told me what Desire said.
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Stimulation. Distraction. Yes, exactly.
Its words are of no importance. Its actions are what count.
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There. See? There.
[That immensely satisfyingly and disappointing thrill. He squeezed Ghost's shoulder.]
That. That exactly. Well. Not exactly. It touched my face, but you take my meaning.
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