Time Strips the Gears Till You Forget What They Were For

[doctorsoldier]

Continued from here.

The trip home from New Zealand is simply not as pleasant as one should be.  John stares up at the ceiling of the plane, studying the grooves in the walls as they fit together with the rest of the fuselage.  Sarah's very quiet beside him, and not the sort of quiet that happens when one is content and sore from too much holiday

Comments

[doctorsoldier]

Examine him? For what? Heart disease? Liver disease? Early onset dementia? John's a doctor, he's not a technician. Androids are meant to resemble humans, never quite like Sherlock and Mycroft, evidently, do. It makes John wonder how many more are out there. If they can blend in, if they really are not seeking any different treatment--

But the idea is still terrifying. The implications of uprising, of manufacturing soldiers (humans need to wait at least until teenage years to be viable for fighting and androids can be manufactured in less than a year, start to finish, for specialized military tasks). But that's just xenophobia. John is not that sort of man.

he wets his lips and sets his hand on Sherlock's ear. He's feeling for seams. Seams are what he's been told to look for in case lifelike androids full of explosives were brought in as casualties needing a doctor. He's thorough. He has to be. Delaying treatment to the truly injured could kill them. Allowing treatment to an android IED could kill everyone.

Nothing around the ears, he notes. The hair is firmly in place. Back and sides of the neck, clean. He reaches around Sherlock's waist to where most androids keep their ports (though the back of the neck is also a popular place for some models as hair could cover it). On Sherlock, this spot on his lower back is extra fleshy there at the base of his spine. It should be harder.

There shouldn't been a filamented cabling.

John's holding his breath.

[couldbdangerous]

Sherlock slips silently out of his shirt and turns so that John can see what he's examining. Now that the truth of the matter is known there's nothing he feels he needs to hide. Any touching is permissible and any questions will be answered. He owes John that much.

There's a selfishness in it too, of course. He finds he likes this. He can only encourage further curiosity. His pride in himself wants the questions. He wants to be asked about everything.

Mostly, though, he wants to be touched. To be reassured that he's not repulsive, mostly, though he finds that he likes it for its own sake, too. Enough so that he closes his eyes to shut off visual input and, for some indiscernible reason, sighs softly. He wonders if that's a programmed response, if he's meant to enjoy being touched under the appropriate circumstances, or whether he's developed that on his own. He doesn't know. The data are insufficient.

All he really knows is that he's never been touched like this before, not by anyone, and he enjoys it far more than he'd expected. And that... that is probably wrong. Taking advantage.

"I have done a selfish thing," he murmurs. "I was curious too."

[doctorsoldier]

John hums for a moment and finds the catch for the flap over the port. He asks if he can lift it and when he gets Sherlock's reassurance, does so as carefully as possible. Though androids do not usually have the pain receptors of humans, and for good reason as it would likely interfere with their jobs, he isn't sure how Sherlock is built. He wants to ask... But what sort of question is that for the first? Nothing actually seems appropriate. And the first question will lead to others. They'll come more easily each time. But it's the start... The start that he really can't figure out.

"Curious is... Well. Yes I know. You're the most curious person I've ever met. If you see something you can't explain, it becomes your candle." He has not once referred to Sherlock as an it. He will not do so either. Sherlock isn't. Well. Technically yes but to John, he's just Sherlock.

Still fascinating. Still maddening.

No no. More so.

He chuckles a bit and let's the flap go so it can fall back into place. "I've no idea what I'm after with this. Do you have a serial number? Do you... How do you see me? Are there organic parts or is it all hard and soft ware?" Rambling. Curious. John is curious too. "Did you always know? Were you... Did you start off young? And how many-- I mean, you're unique, you must be. It's pretty fantastic. Was I always suppose to be-- I mean, you don't need me. You don't. So why keep me? For appearances?"

[couldbdangerous]

Sherlock's eyes open, and he turns his to look over his shoulder, smiling faintly. Right, fine, if they're going to be doing that much talking then he's going to have to turn around again. "I have no serial number. I bear no marks of ownership. There is a chemical tag in my skin but that isn't registered either. Only Mycroft would recognise it if he saw it."

He tilts his head, skipping the second question until he can work out how to answer it. "I consist entirely of synthetic parts, but they function in a manner which is similar to organics. My skin is self-repairing to a high degree and my musculature is analogous to a human's, though stronger and more resilient. My sense organs are equally synthetic though of very fine manufacture. Mycroft naturally has access to prototypes which are not yet market standard."

He's ticking off points on his fingers now. "I always knew; I spent the first seven years of my life confined to a closed computer system. I say my life... it is of course arguable that not only was I not living at the time despite self-awareness but that I was not even myself. That data was, of course, deleted upon successful transfer to this body. Regardless I have always known my nature and purpose. The intention is not to mimic humanity, which is why I lack a heartbeat and pulse. I am synthetic, I have always been synthetic, and we are creatures of our own right."

A slight inclination of the head displays a stubborn pride which he's trying not to let show too clearly. It's not natural that an android should be proud of what he is, after all. "I am unique, yes, both in cognitive capacity and in construction but what I can do, most androids can do when not tightly restricted by their programming."

And John... John is a complicated issue. Sherlock reaches out to touch his knee as though it might help. "You... Mycroft intended for you to keep me safe and to help me pass as human, which you have. If I should have failed and someone were to contact the authorities he would have falsified records showing you to be my owner and that would have been the end of it. I let him find you and I let him try to convince you to stay because you were interesting to me. And kind. You didn't treat me as the others did. The ones who knew treated me like an object and the ones who didn't thought me too strange to be likeable, and then there was you. I liked you. You made me feel... acceptable."

Now a silence and a thoughtful frown. "You're my friend. I don't keep you; you stay, and you could stop staying if you wanted, though I'd rather you didn't. How I see you; I don't know how to answer that question. You're... John. You're human, and I don't always understand you terribly well, but I like you all the same."

[doctorsoldier]

That just made him laugh. And laugh. He's still giggling about it just the same, fingers resting over the back of Sherlock's wrist as if they belong there. It's a bit intimate, the gesture alone, the eye contact even more so. John's never shied away from it though. He's  never felt all that self conscious about t because he really does long to be under Sherlock's intense and knowing gaze.

Maybe it's less strange now. Sherlock could be female. Or male. The implication is less worrying and. Ore worrying at the same time. If gender doesn't matter for an android, has it ever mattered?  John is not a psychologist. He isn't the sort to really want to analyze himself either.

He's got too many demons.

John wets his lips, not exactly looking triumphant, but certainly satisfied. The answers are good. He feels contentment.

It's all a little less frightening.

"All of my stuff is here, Sherlock. Of course--  of course in staying.  And for the record. I like you too."

[couldbdangerous]

"And there is something on which we are in agreement. I quite like me as well. You see, we may as well be married," Sherlock teases, smiling. The smile fades quickly, though.

"You must be certain that you do, John, and you must be certain that you're ready. The world is going to know someday, one way or another. My obscurity was never meant to last and you'll be dragged along with me. Mycroft says that he believes all will go well, that the evidence will be incontrovertible, but I'm not so optimistic. He thinks too highly of the decency of humans at large. I fully expect outrage. I expect they will want to dismantle me and I expect they'll succeed." He speaks matter-of-factly but there's a faint resignation on his face. No matter how neutral on the matter he's attempting to be, he can't think of it as just an inevitability, just something that will happen and that's that. He's not supposed to mourn for himself, but he does.

"If your association with me would be a cause for shame, were it known, then you should go, or be ready to turn on me the instant public sentiment sways in that direction." And if not, then there's no cause for concern, but he knows very well the social stigma against associating with androids in any way more than that which is natural -- they are to be as a master and a servant, never as friends. Associating with a rogue android, on top of that, is actively criminal if the human in question fails to report the rogue or aids it in any way.

Mycroft had commented to him about John's loyalty not so long ago. Perhaps he is correct. Sherlock has to be certain all the same. Not for his own sake, but for John's. If he is destroyed, it will be a public affair and John will have to live with that mark on his record for the rest of his days, without even Sherlock there to help soothe him.

The thought is horrible and so he has to know. "I expect there is still time yet," he adds. "But think on the possibility."

[doctorsoldier]

"My reputation? Washed up old army doctor who probably is shagging his strange flatmate. I hear the talks. Trust me, Sherlock, I've got pretty much no reputation I need to worry about." John makes it for himself. He worries about himself and has his own, somewhat silent pride. His smile has stopped being awkward and completely brightens his dark blue eyes. Sherlock is precious to him. Even now.

No. More so.

"I'll protect you. I won't let them hurt you."

Ah, spoken like a soldier and, in a way, a great deal like a doctor. His fingers tighten on Sherlock's wrist.

Nothing's changed. Or, he's gotten over it.

Very loyal. Very quickly. Mycroft's picked a winner here. John nods twice and gets out of bed, not because he wants to leave the embrace of fingers, but because the bedroom door is open. And protecting Sherlock ought to include from Mrs. Hudson as well.

[couldbdangerous]

Sherlock is, if he's quite honest, rather surprised, but surprise is a pointless emotion and worth abandoning as quickly as possible. Practicality is better. Not adding that John might not be able to protect him, because that should be obvious, and it's currently irrelevant.

"You know, if you close that door, she's going to assume the worst about you. Might jump the gun and rent your bedroom out from under you; you'd best watch out," he says instead, flopping back onto the pillows.

"Unless that's what you're after. 'I have to stay, Sherlock,'" he says, imitating John's accent and intonation, "'I don't have a room of my own anymore, remember?' Which-- yes, clever, but you needn't go to such lengths, I promise."

He turns his head to look at John wearing a smile that quickly turns thoughtful. "I wonder. I'm curious. Do you believe me, John? When I say that I think and that I feel, do you believe me, or am I just a particularly good imitation of sentience? It changes very little, of course. You treat me well all the same, but I want to know."

The look in Sherlock's eyes is more curious than it is wary. He's used to the mentality that androids are no more than particularly well-made toys, capable perhaps of thought but only along the lines of any other computer. No sentience. No self-awareness. No life. "I can change the language I use if it makes you uncomfortable."

[doctorsoldier]

What people think doesn't matter. Well, no, obviously it does but John's right at the saturation point where he's stopped truly caring. There's a song a bit like this situation, about a woman and her friend whom everyone thinks are already together even if they themselves don't seem to see it. He decides that it is so much better not to think of it. And besides, Sherlock has a concern.

"I believe that you believe it. If you actually do-- well look at secondary school boys. They don't seem like they'd think and feel but they do. What do I know? You're the same as always. Just... I just want you to be the same as always too."

Don't change for him, Sherlock. Don't change at all and everything will be just fine.

[couldbdangerous]

"Ah, and now I know you're not just saying that to avoid offending me. Comparing me to secondary school boys would be the wrong way to go about it," Sherlock teases before wriggling over to the other side of the bed. He pats the side he'd just occupied invitingly, finding it a bit odd that John should be standing and not him. If they were to talk, John may as well be comfortable while doing it.

"Though I might note that logically if we are to assume that I am capable of believing something, then I must necessarily be capable of self-reflection, thought, and feeling, as belief entails all three," he adds, and that's mostly a tease too, even if it's true. And then, reassuringly: "I haven't changed. I've always been like this, as long as you've known me, even if I've obscured the technicalities until now. That's all it is; just how I function. It's an intrinsic part of who I am, true, but hardly the whole of it. I don't spend the entirety of my existence dwelling upon what I am any more than you do."

Oh, more of it, most likely, but not all of it. Not remotely. Particularly when there are other things to hold his attention. Things, for instance, like the problem of John Watson, a problem he's been working over in his head all this time. He's not going to mention it, not just now, but he's come to a rather intriguing conclusion.

Namely, that it's not him that John was jealous of at all. It was her. It seems quite plain now. If John had been jealous of Sherlock then he could've easily approached Irene himself once it became clear that there was no real romantic or sexual interest on Sherlock's part. Or he could've gone out to find himself a prospective partner of his own, an endeavour which was far more likely to be successful for John than for Sherlock. But he'd done neither of those things. He'd fumed over the texts and gone to sit in the sandwich shop downstairs, not terribly far away and not likely the very best place to pick up women (though Sherlock does have to defer to John's expertise in that regard and admit that he might be mistaken).

He'd been close. Waiting. He'd come back, but hesitantly. And now this. The stroking of the hair, the bit of a cuddle last night... well. Sherlock doesn't mind. He just doesn't like when John is upset. There's still no reason to be jealous, and he aims to prove that as neatly as possible.

"Are you still upset about Irene?" Or perhaps just rather bluntly. With an android it would be neat. But John isn't, he's a walking contradiction, and now Sherlock isn't certain he ought to have said that at all.

[doctorsoldier]

Luckily, 'are you upset about Irene' can have vastly different interpretations. And John is certainly not going to express one that has to do with being jealous. He slumps down next to Sherlock again, posture relaxed, fingers loosely laced together. "She did manage to get in, passed me, with your coat. So yes, actually, still a bit worried. She's still a blackmailer. And we don't know if she has proof about you and yes I did hear your deduction that she wasn't interested in blackmail but let's err on the side of caution, how's that?"

He can always play it off by saying that this was his home too. Security matters are something of a sticking point with him. Being shot at and all. Several times. That would be an excellent way to get around it all actually!

Sherlock's gaze and it's direction are noted as John lifts his eyebrows at him and smiles. It is meant to be reassuring. Even though he knows that Sherlock didn't need or want to be reassured.

Sort of put a damper on things really and he purses his lips in response.

[couldbdangerous]

Err on the side of caution. Right. Sherlock can... not for the life of him work out how he's supposed to both do that and proceed with his inquiries. Of course, he could just let it go. Be silent. Watch.

Or he could try for something in between.

"That's not what I meant," he says, "and I think you know that's not what I meant, but fine, if you want to divert me then I shall permit myself to be diverted." And let that be the end of it. He doesn't particularly want that to be the end of it, but he'll allow it to be, for now.

Not that that's the intention, of course. The intention is to get John curious about what he did mean, or to get him to confess outright. Or perhaps to induce him to ask other questions which might help Sherlock to get a better idea of what it is, exactly, that's going on in that strange, magnificent head.

Sherlock rolls onto his side, putting his hand out for John to take again. "That's it from me, I think. Isn't there anything else you want to know?"

[doctorsoldier]

Playing dumb doesn't work on someone that could read facial gestures and body language. is there an algorithm for that?  Can his processors just pick apart the ideas as if they were nothing but easily sorted Lego blocks?  How does it work? Why does it work? John isn't sure he cares about the last two answers. Asking the questions will just get him something insanely confusing to work with.

He lightly scratches at the back of his neck. "How do you mean then?" Yes, curious. And yes, playing dumb despite the risks. "Im only upset because she's a hazard. To you. To me. Both of us. Mrs. Hudson as well--"

It seems like a good enough reason to be upset. Oh God, Sherlock's likely got it all figured out. The hair stroking. The worry. The 'molesting'--

John doesn't want to sit there anymore, arms touching.

But to retreat is to be cowardly. 

[couldbdangerous]

"Yes," Sherlock says simply in response to the abruptly cut-off phrase. Yes because it's true and yes because yes, John is following. Good. "And yet I'm still here."

Which of course could indicate a number of things, some of them contradictory. He suspects, though, that he and John both have to think awhile before he clarifies. And so he's silent, still, neither retreating nor advancing, just quiet and content, smiling faintly. He means to send a message as much as to give himself time to think. It's good, really. It's fine. He doesn't mind. If anything it's a bit flattering.

"I only mention it," he says finally, brushing his knuckles against the back of John's hand, "because I don't like to see you upset."

Another pause is filled with a soft sigh. "She's quite interesting. I rather like her. I won't lie about that. I don't have to -- you're more interesting and I like you far better, so you needn't concern yourself with it. Besides, I told you: I'm married to my work, and you're an intrinsic part of it. I said so and I meant it, whatever that might entail."

Sherlock turns his head to look at the man next to him, John, his friend, and offers a smile. "I am curious, John. About her. About what she might want from me, yes, but I intend to be... a good spouse. That isn't a difficulty for me. So you don't need to be afraid of her. Or of me, for that matter, though I'll let you be now. I only wanted to say this much, so you know."

[doctorsoldier]

John's silence only ever indicates one thing: he has no idea what to say or he has no idea how to say what he wants. Luckily, his face is rather perfectly good at positioning itself to reveal exactly what it is he can not manage to say. All very scientific for a machine that can analyze such things at a record pace.

For instance:

Right now John is telling his flatmate that he is embarrassed at having been found out when he thought he'd managed to conceal it from even himself.  There's a rider in that too. He's also expressing an amusement to the spouse joke and likely is wondering just what sort of reputation he'd have for marrying a droid. That seems so much worse than being caught with a masterless one that can and often does completely disregard the whims and wishes of even law enforcement officers, let alone other humans.

The touch is a little startling too.

"So.". There we are. Actual words. "If you were--  if it ever made you curious, I mean. We could always have an open marriage."

What?  Was he going to suggest what marriages usually included?  Hell no!

[couldbdangerous]

Sherlock's face does a number of peculiar things. He tries quite hard to school his expression back to neutrality but this attempt largely fails. He runs his hand over his mouth and then, absurdly, he begins to laugh. He's perfectly capable, has plenty of times. That's not the odd part. He's just never been unable to resist it before.

"Oh, that was odd," he says with a slight frown once the fit is over. Perhaps that EMP fried him a bit more thoroughly than he'd thought. "Anyhow, I was going to say that that seems unnecessarily circuitous to me, though you retain the right to disagree. It would be silly of you to disagree given your reaction to current circumstances, but carry on all the same, if you'd like."

What an odd situation. He knows humans are quite good at meandering around subjects they find embarrassing or delicate but John is being really quite silly about the whole thing. "I don't relish the thought either, though I can't stop you if you someday decide that swearing off women was a rather crap idea. As I said, unnecessarily circuitous, but you may do as you wish."

He gives a familiar gesture, a sort of flapping of the hand to indicate that John should forget that for the time being, because there's more to be said. "I'm not that curious, John. I've already said I like you better. You're being very accommodating, thank you, but there's really no point."