Fill 7/? - Zero Sum Game
anonymous
July 18 2011, 16:21:18 UTC
What Jim enjoys the most is seeing when Sherlock finally has the rough outlines of his entire cipher, because that means he’s gotten to the beginning, means he’s working on the last bit… means he’s found his own name, written there in numbers shifted by a VIC cipher - a paper no one understood, of course, because the variables made no sense. Jim knows the real solution to the problem posed in his hypothesis; he’s used it since, to publish further papers, to make advancements in a field that is still nascent (not really, Jim’s developed it quite far, but no one else has managed yet to understand at all).
The Nihilist ciphers are favourites of his, despite their obsolescence, because he can create by hand in them, and he loves to create by hand. Sherlock can crack them, too, or should be able to, and that’s the key, of course - that Sherlock focuses his full attention on Jim’s work, only to find this last, delicious fragment of information, this is your fault, you could have stopped this.
Jim grows bored, goes down to the basement, and finds Sebastian, standing over John. “Enough now,” he says, and Sebastian moves aside, a sullen glare settling in on his face.
Jim strokes a hand gently down his cheekbone. “You can have him again soon,” and perhaps the gentleness lulls Moran into a false sense of security enough to growl, “It isn’t him I want.”
A smirk. He ought to punish his lieutenant for his forwardness, but he’s been doing such a good job with their new friend that Jim lets it pass, this once. “Practise on him, and maybe you’ll earn something better.”
He bends down close to John and whispers the key phrase for the code into his ear. “Did you hear me?”
Refusal to respond. Jim tightens his grip on John’s left side, where Sebastian has done some of his best work. “Tell me what I just said.”
Silence.
“Tell me.” He doesn’t enjoy getting his hands dirty, but John seems like he needs a little more… persuasion.
John whimpers, something that might once have been a scream before he was so broken, and chokes out the words.
“Again,” and this time, he uses a mobile phone to record what John says, then sends it to Sherlock along with a text.
You and I are the same, modulo John, the message says, and I have John.
What Jim does not expect at all is Sherlock’s reaction to the message. He stares at his phone, eyes wide, then whispers the key phrase to the assembled crowd of mathematicians - not just category theorists now, but cryptanalysts and algebraic geometers and anyone else Sherlock thinks might be needed. The final section of the code is cracked in minutes (after all, they’re using all of Cambridge’s computing power, and the VIC cipher is hardly modern), and Sherlock is silent, unreacting.
Jim rather anticipated that it would make Sherlock angry, learning just how seriously Jim takes manipulating him, and just how frivolous the lives he’s spent seem in comparison. The shock, though, and the silence, this is something new, and something Jim cannot even begin to understand.
He shrugs. He’ll have to ask, and that might be fun, too.
Sebastian is still standing against the wall, waiting for Jim’s whiplash word, permission to resume his duties.
“Bring him to me,” says Jim. “We’re going to start a new game now.”
* * *
John is still shaking when Moran brings him up, but Jim has had him seen to, and the man seems at least coherent enough to string two words together. Good, he won’t be much amusement value otherwise.
He sits John down in front of the video feed, whispers to him about what Sherlock has done, all the bodies left crushed in his wake because he didn’t see the clues in time.
John gasps, “Not his bodies - yours.”
“Ours,” smiles Jim. “We share, Sherlock and I, share everything.”
“He’d never - share with you - ”
“He can’t help it,” and this is the best part of all. “We are each other’s Russell’s paradox; he is a part of all I am, he can’t exist without it. You only wish he could. The things you think you see in him - all lies.”
“You’re wrong,” John coughs out desperately. “Sherlock - ” groaning breath - “is different from you.”
The Nihilist ciphers are favourites of his, despite their obsolescence, because he can create by hand in them, and he loves to create by hand. Sherlock can crack them, too, or should be able to, and that’s the key, of course - that Sherlock focuses his full attention on Jim’s work, only to find this last, delicious fragment of information, this is your fault, you could have stopped this.
Jim grows bored, goes down to the basement, and finds Sebastian, standing over John. “Enough now,” he says, and Sebastian moves aside, a sullen glare settling in on his face.
Jim strokes a hand gently down his cheekbone. “You can have him again soon,” and perhaps the gentleness lulls Moran into a false sense of security enough to growl, “It isn’t him I want.”
A smirk. He ought to punish his lieutenant for his forwardness, but he’s been doing such a good job with their new friend that Jim lets it pass, this once. “Practise on him, and maybe you’ll earn something better.”
He bends down close to John and whispers the key phrase for the code into his ear. “Did you hear me?”
Refusal to respond. Jim tightens his grip on John’s left side, where Sebastian has done some of his best work. “Tell me what I just said.”
Silence.
“Tell me.” He doesn’t enjoy getting his hands dirty, but John seems like he needs a little more… persuasion.
John whimpers, something that might once have been a scream before he was so broken, and chokes out the words.
“Again,” and this time, he uses a mobile phone to record what John says, then sends it to Sherlock along with a text.
You and I are the same, modulo John, the message says, and I have John.
What Jim does not expect at all is Sherlock’s reaction to the message. He stares at his phone, eyes wide, then whispers the key phrase to the assembled crowd of mathematicians - not just category theorists now, but cryptanalysts and algebraic geometers and anyone else Sherlock thinks might be needed. The final section of the code is cracked in minutes (after all, they’re using all of Cambridge’s computing power, and the VIC cipher is hardly modern), and Sherlock is silent, unreacting.
Jim rather anticipated that it would make Sherlock angry, learning just how seriously Jim takes manipulating him, and just how frivolous the lives he’s spent seem in comparison. The shock, though, and the silence, this is something new, and something Jim cannot even begin to understand.
He shrugs. He’ll have to ask, and that might be fun, too.
Sebastian is still standing against the wall, waiting for Jim’s whiplash word, permission to resume his duties.
“Bring him to me,” says Jim. “We’re going to start a new game now.”
* * *
John is still shaking when Moran brings him up, but Jim has had him seen to, and the man seems at least coherent enough to string two words together. Good, he won’t be much amusement value otherwise.
He sits John down in front of the video feed, whispers to him about what Sherlock has done, all the bodies left crushed in his wake because he didn’t see the clues in time.
John gasps, “Not his bodies - yours.”
“Ours,” smiles Jim. “We share, Sherlock and I, share everything.”
“He’d never - share with you - ”
“He can’t help it,” and this is the best part of all. “We are each other’s Russell’s paradox; he is a part of all I am, he can’t exist without it. You only wish he could. The things you think you see in him - all lies.”
“You’re wrong,” John coughs out desperately. “Sherlock - ” groaning breath - “is different from you.”
“Oh, yes?”
“He has me. I’m the - axiom of separation.”
The smile drops from Jim’s face.
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