The mind is its own place ... Can make a heaven of Hell, a hell of Heaven (OTA, tag Sherlock)

[iamhumanity]

Unmindful of the cold, the creature, nameless, keeping to the edges, had his pockets filled with foodstuffs, as he walked, agile and awkward all at once, he would dig into one and pull out a cracker, a sweet: to have such plenty still startled him. He watched, looked, explored, unmindful of the chill, still with no shoes

Comments

[i_ambored]

Sherlock doesn't spend a lot of time in the opera house. It serves to distract him sometimes and a place for some of his thoughts but as a manager of the place, he is lacking. Mostly because he doesn't care.

He is currently sitting in one of the chairs in the audience staring at the empty stage as he works through a cold case that he'd found in the archives of the newspaper.

[iamhumanity]

The grandeur of the space compelled the creature forward; he was looking up, around, so he did not see the man in the seats until the crinkle of the wrapper of a cookie he sought in his pocket might have given himself away.

[i_ambored]

Sherlock's head jerked over to the sound and the man. The man that looked like him. If it hadn't been for Anne looking like Irene, he might have thought it was some sort of subliminal mind control.

As it was, he was curious and stood. "It's quite grand."

[iamhumanity]

Turning to see who spoke, hands up in subconscious defense, the creature stopped short at seeing a face he had only seen in passing, when he dared look in a mirror, but unscarred, smooth (though in need of a shave). He cocked his head, asking, "wh-who are y-you? Who m-made you?"

[i_ambored]

Sherlock's eyebrow rose at the odd question of who made him. It was an odd way to ask of his parents.

"Sherlock Holmes and you could say that DNA made me."

[iamhumanity]

Was the creature then hewn from parts that looked like this man? Was he, by that reckoning, a relative? He moved closer to Sherlock Holmes, unlike how he acted with most everyone else, and peered at him. "Do I not re-resemble you?" In a grotesque, garish way.

[i_ambored]

Sherlock looked him over minutely to see if there were any differences except for the most obvious ones. "You could be my twin." In a cracked mirror but morseso than his brother Mycroft.

[iamhumanity]

"And does that n-not repulse y-you?" asked the creature, staring back. "Does that not fill you with disgust or-or rage?"

[i_ambored]

"That you look like me?" Sherlock understood from his body language that he was projecting his experiences onto Sherlock. "Not in the slightest. I would much prefer you to my brother Mycroft." Even if he had no idea who this stranger was, and likely even if he did.

[iamhumanity]

"Y-you don't kn-know me." Which meant that this man - the creature's doppelganger - must really have hated his brother.

Hatred, a human trait: one the creature learned too easily and well. "W-what I am ca-ca-capable of."

[i_ambored]

"That you are capable of anything, puts you a step above my brother." Though Sherlock had to admit that when Mycroft did put his mind to something he was usually quite effective.

[iamhumanity]

"W-why d-do you dislike h-him so?" asked the creature, head cocked to the side.

[i_ambored]

"Because he is lazy and doesn't live up to the potential that he could." And some of it might have been that their father liked Mycroft better. For Sherlock the worst of it was that Mycroft wasted his intelligence.

[iamhumanity]

What a strange conversation, even by the creature's limited standards.

"Do you w-work here? In th-this place?"

[i_ambored]

"Occasionally. The village saw fit to make me the manager." Sherlock still didn't take it seriously, Nor would he. It wasn't stimulating for his mind, which is why he found other things to do.

[iamhumanity]

"And do you n-not find it enj-joyable?" asked the creature, staggering back to look about again. "The qu-quiet is prof-found."