[ of all the possible scenarios John Watson had imagined when Sherlock decided to point the gun at the semtex between him and Moriarty, landing unceremoniously in a baseball field with the wind knocked out of him certainly did not count as one of them. just another bemused new arrival to siren's port, then
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But this was John's blogging style, not to mention the time of the entry was a good deal before it was posted-- his friend's typing was pitifully slow. The Core never did favors. This had to have a catch. Then again, wasn't subjecting John to this place bad enough?]
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--SH
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Sherlock?
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Don't type, it takes you ages. [That and he needs proof that it's really you.]
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Sorry, just making sure. [ a beat. ] You're here too, then.
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What do you mean?
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Yeah, they're not very good at being reassuring. But it's every bit ominous, apparently. I just got here, too.
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That was the impression I got from them. When did you arrive?
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Ehm, yesterday. I haven't really had a chance to see what all the huff is about though.
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[ and obviously, that was the last thing he wanted to do. ]
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