[haha. oh, nice. having a him (or a her, and that's something worth exploring) has entirely changed the field, entirely upended the board. it might be frustrating - if he had any real reason to hide. but he doesn't, does he?
there's the Sherlock he knows. there's John. he's already a found man, just a matter of time—
besides. why tiptoe about when he could just as easily dance?
the change, such as it is, is immediate. rounded shoulders ease and drop, posture straightens (and though previously only slightly out of line, the effect is dramatic). but the clearest thing, the most poignant shift in state, happens in the face. all those little tensions, the jerks and twinges of tiny little muscles caught up in a battle for control and clarity, fall. the tentative smile is gone. the raised brows, startled surprise is gone. in fact— in fact, everything's gone. suddenly, he is untraceable. there's not an inch of anything left in him - or perhaps, and more likely, there's plenty, but you can't see past the building's false face to know whether it's teeming or derelict.]
Hello, Sherlock. [the word sits bitter on his tongue even as he drinks in the man's little offerings, takes what he can from the glimpse he's spared. it's not a lot. the conversation, he trusts, will be worth more.] Pleased to see you aren't stupid.
[and now, now comes a smile, tweaking up at unnatural and entirely uncomfortable yet sleekly soft angles, small and slight and discordant and horribly at home in his face. it's light, gentle and absolutely, irrefutably (if it weren't for the death in his eyes) f o n d.]
video.
there's the Sherlock he knows. there's John. he's already a found man, just a matter of time—
besides. why tiptoe about when he could just as easily dance?
the change, such as it is, is immediate. rounded shoulders ease and drop, posture straightens (and though previously only slightly out of line, the effect is dramatic). but the clearest thing, the most poignant shift in state, happens in the face. all those little tensions, the jerks and twinges of tiny little muscles caught up in a battle for control and clarity, fall. the tentative smile is gone. the raised brows, startled surprise is gone. in fact— in fact, everything's gone. suddenly, he is untraceable. there's not an inch of anything left in him - or perhaps, and more likely, there's plenty, but you can't see past the building's false face to know whether it's teeming or derelict.]
Hello, Sherlock. [the word sits bitter on his tongue even as he drinks in the man's little offerings, takes what he can from the glimpse he's spared. it's not a lot. the conversation, he trusts, will be worth more.] Pleased to see you aren't stupid.
[and now, now comes a smile, tweaking up at unnatural and entirely uncomfortable yet sleekly soft angles, small and slight and discordant and horribly at home in his face. it's light, gentle and absolutely, irrefutably (if it weren't for the death in his eyes) f o n d.]