[network/video] @309_W1C_2DZ; Day 205; Midday [open] cw: mention of suicide

[howdull]

[For once Sherlock is not on text only, he's on video in all his glory. Which is a very diminished glory today, considering he looks terrible. Too thin in the face, though his clothes hide the rest of him, and dishevelled as though he's spent a few months not really putting any care into his appearance. His hair is longer than the last time anyone has seen him, and he looks older.

He's moving frantically in short bursts of energy, jittery, as if he isn't quite sure whether he wants to stay still or keep moving.]

Data, yes, I should share that. [It's a mumble to himself as the tablet tilts, giving an askew feed of the detective.] Purposeful death does cause nearly guaranteed revival, this has now been tested several times with no known cases of permanent death.

[The tablet shifts again as Sherlock moves between morgue drawers, checking them one by one and then moving on.]

John. [It's a sudden shift in direction.] John Watson, has anyone seen him?

Comments

[devoutish]

Yeah, it is. You know he loves you.

[howdull]

[He's not so sure of that any longer, and that's what he means to say, but his death price has other ideas.]

And I love him, what does one have to do with the other?

[devoutish]

You're supposed to be a genius, Sherlock. I'm sure you can puzzle it out.

[howdull]

Surely the sentimental angle should have made him more likely to obey. Were John to ask me a last request, though I deem such things utterly foolish in the mawkish devotion most people give to them, I would see it come to pass.

[devoutish]

He didn't ask you to cut him open, did he. That sort of thing hurts a man's soul, even if it's a stranger.

[howdull]

[It does? How would he feel were he to cut John open? It would be unpleasant, but if it had been John's final wish...]

John is not an ordinary man, he could have borne it.

[But he didn't, did he?]

This conversation is pointless, all you're doing is wasting my time. If you have nothing useful to add, then leave me be.

[devoutish]

Yes, yes; he lets the trauma roll off his back, doesn't he.

[Clear sarcasm. Sorry, Sherlock.]

Right, then fuck off; I've got nothing more to say.

[howdull]

[And fuck off he does, hanging up with an irritated and distress looking expression the last image to be seen before it goes blank.]