S2 finale spoilers in-thread

[searchingfordistraction]

The key to Jim's room in Milliways seems to have disappeared.

Curious, that.



[OOC: Warnings for drug addiction and abuse, consent issues, and talk of suicide.]

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[consulting_detective]

"Sounds like I'm the one getting paid in this deal," Sherlock says.

He finds the rolled-up note and snorts another line, once again offering the second to Jim.

[searchingfordistraction]

Again, Jim turns him down.

"Does it? Relative value, I suppose. I never found much of it in drugs." Other than market value, of course, and even that only means anything in business transactions.

[consulting_detective]

Sherlock shrugs and does the second line as well.

And then he goes to lean back, and falls off the bed. At least he's enjoying himself?

[searchingfordistraction]

Jim laughs at him.

It almost sounds friendly.

[consulting_detective]

"I'm... fine."

He doesn't get up. He starts looking for something interesting under the bed, instead.

[searchingfordistraction]

"I know."

If it had been a bad landing, he would have heard the difference. He might even be considering doing something about it.

Under the bed are a few random objects that have skittered or rolled there from Sherlock's earlier ransacking search.

[consulting_detective]

Indeed. Under the bed is boring.

Sherlock does find a pen, though. Felt tip. Great for writing on the carpet with!

[searchingfordistraction]

He's going to have to remember to salt a few more interesting items around the room for next time. Entertaining as it is to watch Sherlock search for ways to keep himself occupied, it will dull upon repetition like anything else.

[consulting_detective]

Sherlock spends about three hours on the floor, and only gets back up when his pen runs dry. When he comes back up, he's positively smeared with ink, and the floor has now been decorated with some sort of monster eating a man from the inside out.

[searchingfordistraction]

Watching Sherlock, Jim makes a mental note to leave something for the cleaning staff by way of apology. Everyone who comes to Milliways for long enough hears stories about what happens when the cleaning staff have been angered.

No one is exempt.

"You can stay off the bed," he says, "I'd rather not have the duvet stained."

[consulting_detective]

He frowns. "That's not fair. Then you come down here with me."

He's trembling slightly with more energy than he knows what to do with. He wants to do something, and sitting in this room is getting boring.

[searchingfordistraction]

Jim is unmoved.

"There is an entire bar downstairs if you need somewhere to play," he points out.

[consulting_detective]

He looks over his shoulder at the door. John might be down there. What if John sees him like this?

There's only one solution to this problem, clearly. He reaches out and tugs on Jim's hand.

"Come with me."

[searchingfordistraction]

Jim is now literally unmoved.

"Can't you manage on your own?" he asks, amusement in his voice.

[consulting_detective]

He rests his head on the duvet (luckily, there's not much ink on his face. Both their hands, however...).

"It'll be boring down there alone. Come with."

[searchingfordistraction]

"Go clean yourself up, at least," Jim says, sitting up. "I'll go find you something that will fit."

Because clearly, nothing of Jim's is going to do the trick.

[consulting_detective]

It's going to be like trying to dress a coat rack. John's completely given up.

Sherlock nods easily and heads toward the loo. Where he makes an even bigger mess with the sink.

[searchingfordistraction]

Contrary to the expectations of absolutely anyone other than Sherlock, up to and including small children, Jim does, in fact, return.

Eventually. Once a safe interval of time has passed.

If only to make certain Sherlock didn't manage to accidentally kill himself somehow.

He even brings that fresh set of clothing he promised.

[consulting_detective]

Sherlock, whilst waiting for Jim to get back, got rather bored.

He seems to have located more pens, and at one point, pulled every ounce of Shakespeare he's not managed to delete from his memory and written it on one of the walls. The result is a bit chaotic, since it's all just been put down in stream of conscious and with little regard to which play that particular bit came from.

Quite a bit of the room has been trashed -- stuff knocked over, curtains pulled down. It looks like someone had one hell of a party. That, or like someone was looking for the rest of the coke.

That someone is now once again passed, face down, out on what remains of Jim's bed (the duvet, Jim will find in the bath).

[searchingfordistraction]

Honestly, he'd expected worse.

(Make that a generous tip and a handwritten note of apology to the cleaning staff.)

After a glance to ascertain that Sherlock is breathing, Jim tosses the clothes on top of him.

[consulting_detective]

Sherlock wakes suddenly, finding himself once again not quite sure where he is.

Oh.

OH. Right.





Fuck.


Self-preservation's starting to kick in right about now. The only thing keeping him from running is feeling like he's about to be quite badly ill.

[searchingfordistraction]

Jim slides his hands into his pockets, studying him.

"Back in the land of the sober, are we?"

[consulting_detective]

Sherlock doesn't move. Maybe Jim's like a T-rex. If he stays still, he won't get killed.

"What do you want?"

He has only the vaguest of memories from the last... however long he's been up here.

[searchingfordistraction]

"To make sure you're not dead," Jim answers.

"The rest of the mess is manageable but I do have to draw a line somewhere."

[consulting_detective]

Sherlock doesn't look around at the mess. In part, because he doesn't want to see what he did. Mostly because he's afraid to take his eyes off of Jim.

"Nope. Not dead."