grimmig | ASGARD; ic contact

[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.]

[The really fascinating thing is the similarities between them, the sudden alteration in body language. Both the male and female Moriarty happened to be experts in body language, happened to be experts in crafting themselves into being someone they weren't. Sherlock is capable of this, too, but he rarely, if ever, goes with the lie. He can handle an accent, use a turn of phrase, pretend to be rougher or different, but he usually just utilizes himself, as if he's asserting himself onto board where the puzzle is laid out and waiting.

But the way they go about it is different, like they're a pair of blank slates waiting for the opportunity to imprint something upon themselves. He idly wonders if Jim is an artist. He imagines he'll find out in time.]

My intelligence was never in question. [It's a graceful, easy reply, considering that his conversations with his own Moriarty would become sharper. But this is an introduction. He is not taken with this man, nor will he ever be. This man will never be a weak spot, a point he's eternally grateful about.] My uniqueness on the other hand, that's different. I feared I was the only one who had that threatened upon arriving here.

[A white lie. He neither worried nor cared much about it. Sherlock sees himself as utterly different from the other Sherlock. He's completely comfortable (and even pleased) with the fact. To have his extraordinary status ripped away from him wasn't even a point of adjustment.]

Threatened? No. Bless. [not about him, not about Sherlock at all - he's fishing, and woe betide he who throws lures to a dolphin who's no time for friends. I see you. I see you.

so, instead of dancing to a merry piper's tune (though he's got plenty to say on the matter, none of it informed and he'd really much rather wait and see), he gives that one little insight and dives off in another direction entirely:] Have you got a Watson?

[it's a big question. Watson, in his experience, is entirely synonymous with a catalyst for rot. are you withered, Sherlock? are you withering?]

No.

[Not at the moment, he doesn't, and that's the reason for the response.

(Plus, he wishes to protect her identity.)

He does have a Watson, but he keeps the fact that she exists in his life away from his features. Sherlock is careful not to give away any indications that he's lying. There are discrepancies, of course, just so it isn't a perfect imitation, but it is close enough.]

But I have met the Watson here. The one I believe you are familiar with.

[in the end, he finds it not in the face but in the words. "the Watson". falling unceremoniously into Jim's implication of "Watson" as a universal presence - the, not a, or just Watson. I've met the Watson. suggesting importance. suggesting relevance. suggesting, by extension of context, a plural.

of course, there's margin for error. "the" isn't exactly an uncommon word.

still, in situations like this, it does so help to have a gut worth trusting.

his pokerface is just as adept, only it manifests in the opposite way - an active quirk to his smile, dismissive? hungry. ]

Oh? And what do you think?

[now this really is fascinating territory.]

[Sherlock is aware of his error, but thinks nothing of it. There are always flaws, always mistakes, and Moriarty's response is mild enough to make him doubleback over his phrasing. Too rash at times, despite his own brilliant mind. He cannot be perfect, as it turns out.]

I underestimated him at first.

[It's a confession of sorts, but one that he would readily admit to.]

But he is far easier to deal with than the other Holmes, so I will appreciate his presence just the same.

If it's any consolation to you, I did the same. Wrote him off as useless. Turns out he's really quite the opposite.

[ the perfect trigger. the most exquisite means of accelerated decomposition. the cherry on top of the cake. first he'd dismissed him, then idly resented what he represented - it really was very late on in the game that Jim bothered to recognise what a valuable virus John Watson was.

of course, utterly meaningless in regards to anyone aside from Sherlock Holmes (the Sherlock of his own interests, anyhow), but anyone aside from Sherlock Holmes was just as meaningless to him, so the whole thing balanced out.]

Poor little soldier boy.

[oh, but this conversation is just stock full of brilliant little offshoots—]

Oh, you've met him. [a beat]. You know, I really think we all ought to meet up for tea one day. It'd be so much fun.

[voice floating about, lightly tripping on dreams (teasing or fantasising? honestly, he's not so sure he could tell you himself just yet. the line between daydream and nightmare isn't always just the position of the sun in the sky.)]

[Sherlock is not surprised that the other Sherlock's Watson is far from "useless," because "useless" is a connotation that implies a great number of things. That he means to utilize him, more than anything. It's a thought he had himself when bringing in Joan when all matters related to M. That is, before he knew who Moriarty truly was, before he already walked her into it in one way or another.

His Moriarty had done the same. She had seen Joan as useless, had seen her as nothing but a girl biting at his heels. She had been wrong.

And he has a feeling this Moriarty is wrong, too, missing the complete and absolutely interesting factor of what makes men like Sherlock Holmes nearly dependent on individuals like J(insert the rest of the name here) Watson. ]

I imagine you'll be better off meeting my Moriarty. [He decides it's a good idea to skip ahead.] Much more pleasant company, all in all. The tension in the air would be stifling, otherwise.

Already planned. [i d i o t. it shows in his face, an entirely dissatisfied downturn of the mouth] Duh.

[aaaand the skies clear, blue and fluffy white again, any menace hinted with the glint of moist bright teeth wiped away in the blink of an eye. once again he's the happy man, the quiet smiling man, the calm unaware of any storm. no no, now now, don't wander off on your own, Mr Holmes. it's awfully impolite to walk ahead when I'm still quite happy strolling along back here.]

You and me and him and her. Can you imagine? It'd be hilarious. John could stay home, he gets a little trigger happy— Then again, I suppose Sherlock might be too, given how we last parted...

[and he's lost, focus all middle-distance, face that hazy smile of a meander down memory lane (only entirely alert - are you intrigued? how much do you know? how much do you want to?)]

Edited (it'd be nice if i could format and finish my words wow) 2014-02-14 14:25 (UTC)

The petulant nature of this Moriarty is fascinating, and he's almost child-like to Sherlock. There's nothing about him that Sherlock finds attractive. And not even on a level of sexuality. He can see why this man matches the other Sherlock, but he can also see why they would never make fitting nemeses. They could likely match intellectual blows, but they would never be fit for one another.

Sherlock reckons that his Moriarty will appreciate that. Or she already does.]

Do try not to sleep with her. [It's all he has to say on the matter. Duh or not, he doesn't care overly much for it being an obvious arrangement. It's idle chatter.]

And when you last parted. You mean your death. But he did not pull the trigger.

Oh. [brows shoot up along his forehead, Jim all scandalised (amused) surprise. oh. that's not to say that ultimate narcissism hadn't flickered briefly across his mind or that it won't again, but it is at least for now firmly buried in the discard pile - she's far too fascinating to waste on the carnal. the thought had been conceptual at best, lasted no more than a second, one of those corpse-floating-up-to-the-surface-and-disappearing-under-again moments. doesn't everyone have those? no? it's hardly odd to consider what it might be like to sleep with yourself, surely. but she's not him, so he hopes, and he's not her, and he's certain when the time comes to find out that there will be much more interesting things to do with a creature like Jamie Moriarty.] Well.

[the expression fades. this is much more interesting than playing the slandered housewife. leaning in, Jim rests his elbow on a table, settles his head into his hand and peers intently at Sherlock Holmes.]

No, he didn't. Did he tell you the story? I hope not. He's an awful storyteller.

Edited 2014-02-18 03:15 (UTC)

He tells me little.

[Which says much but says nothing at all. Sherlock isn't very fond of the man who shares his name. For all his arrogance, he isn't keen on the fact that someone might see his time as being too valuable to be applied toward assisting someone. The fact that he doesn't seem keen to jump to the opportunity to work with an equally brilliant mind leaves Sherlock unimpressed with him.

They could use one another as a valuable resource, an insight to different worlds and experiences. Instead, they do not. It's disappointing.

He imagines Moriarty will put it together. In some ways, the pair of them could be a difficult foe to deal with, but alone, they are limited. They have clarity, certainly, but they are not exercising what they could. He imagines his Moriarty will be aware of that, at least, and she does know how to tape into available resources.

The man he's speaking to will undoubtedly be seen as one of them.]

But thankfully, you are a very good storyteller, aren't you?

[ the smile that spreads is cool and cold and oh the joys of that, the joys of being the one left to spin the yarn (and if Sherlock doesn't know, if Sherlock Holmes doesn't know the stories of Sherlock Holmes the chances are high few others do and isn't that wonderful, isn't that just so perfectly useful to know?) teeth glimpse through lips and Jim Moriarty is a dangerous man and a magic man a craftsman but above all else he's his own man and gently, gently, he drifts his way back into his own scene.

the ball's in play, but there's no telling when he'll take his serve. ]

I am. I'm quite exquisite.

[ did you want to hear it, dear? you'll have to say please. ]

[Ah, of course; of course he relishes the opportunity to speak about the other Holmes. But it is through this that Sherlock believes he will at least come to understand some way of approaching matters. He will, at least, understand the nature of their relationship. What is it that makes them behave the way they do? How do they stand? He can see so much already, but a story spun can tell a lot—as long as you do not ignore the source.

Sherlock personally does not believe that stories stand alone outside of the mind of the author. He does not believe that they should be left open to interpretation. There is always a hand involved. But the hand itself can change. Words and meaning can change, and in some way, that is what makes human nature so fascinating, so engaging. It's what makes it something that he must figure out.

That personal touch.

But he refuses to say please. Sherlock is not a man of manners.]

Well, do go on.

[well, if you won't ask nicely...

Jim makes a little face, mouth downturned and sad and vaguely apologetic.] It's a long story and I've had a stressful time, new world and all. I'll save it for another day. Suffice it to say you won't find a better fairytale. It's got its hero, its villain, its supporting cast of ants, and the twists are something phenomenal.

I wrote it, so when [if] it [ever] comes time for telling I hope you'll enjoy. No - I know you will.

Edited 2014-03-06 00:01 (UTC)

John Watson is a blogger. I believe I'll have to go with the version crafted for a wider audience.

[It's a way of taunting him. To show that he is able to exhibit closeness of some kind. It is not only meeting him, and he is not one to turn his back on opportunities for information.]

I would wish you well in settling in, but I don't care.

[it earns him a shift in Jim's face, a death in expression and a twitch of his upper lip, some sneer not quite followed through. fine. if you're going to be like that.]

Goodbye then.

ASGARD; ic contact

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video. so sorry for the delay oh boy

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