thoughtformed | The Mother of All Logs

Entry tags:

The Mother of All Logs

WHO: Anyone and Everyone
WHAT: All the kissin's
WHEN: Dec 16 - 18
WHERE: Wherever you want!
WARNINGS: Affection, freak-outs, possible R ratings

Ok! Here is the post for collecting all your kissing logs! If you want to do individual Network posts and then lead in to kissing that way, that's fine, but if you're looking to do a straight up log, this is the place to do it. That way we don't flood the community with all the log posts.

Instructions:

1. Post your character's name. One reply per character so that they're all neatly organized.
2. When you tag to a character's thread, put your participating character's name in the subject line.
3. ???
3a. Feel free to edit the post tags to include your character name for easier activity reporting
4. PROFIT!

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[ It hadn't been difficult to extrapolate his and John's relationship from the state of their flat -- though it had been surprising to share this information with him and learn that John didn't see things the way Sherlock did. Apparently the depth and breadth of his knowledge was not the way it was for everyone, and even if he tried to hide it, Sherlock could tell how impressed John was when Sherlock was able to deduce something apparently clever from observations he thought were basic and obvious, and in turn, Sherlock looked for more things he could observe and share information on in order to impress him further. It felt wonderful, if somewhat overwhelming, to be able to see things that evidently ordinary people couldn't see and have someone who thought him brilliant for it.

That Sherlock could so easily read the expressive tells on John's face in the first place was another indication, if he was keeping track of them(which he was, he always was, somehow he is always keeping track of everything, as if his mind was a computer with infinite storage capabilities,) of the nature of their relationship. When he dragged them outside to learn more about the island they were virtually stranded on, reading the faces of strangers was like casting a wider net, less consistent and precise, something that needed to be supported with more physically-available information, as opposed to John, for whom Sherlock evidently had previously amassed a great deal of semi-conscious data -- and surely he would only have done that if John was someone deeply important to him. It was just a shame he couldn't access the identity files, to carry a metaphor.

Today is another day where Sherlock has practically hauled John out after breakfast in order to take a walk around an area of the city he felt he hadn't gotten as close a look as he would have liked before, stepping carelessly through the practically empty streets with his hands in his pockets and his upper arms brushing John's shoulders as they go. He casts his gaze about like a hawk, sharp and quicksilver, filing away everything in order to sort it out later. Meaning to observe the status of the sky, he happens to glance up as they pass under a leafless streetside tree and catch a glimpse of a green plant growing innocuously on one of the branches above their heads. He stops short, eyes narrowing, peering consideringly at it. ]

John.

Edited 2012-12-17 06:42 (UTC)

[ He had been busy examining the area, trying to find someone who needed help, Sherlock's special brand of help with his incredible powers of somehow knowing every last detail about someone without knowing who they were. It had been fascinating so far. John stops, however, when Sherlock addresses him, or that was the name he had decided was his, anyway, and followed his gaze upward to the curious little bough with its tiny white berries and round little leaves. He points up to it. He knows the plant, he knows the tradition. But what it's doing there? That, he doesn't know. ]

That's... mistletoe, isn't it?

[ He looks about on the street for any passerbys. Is this some kind of prank?

Suddenly, John doesn't seem to care anymore. Tradition is tradition, and identity or not, John is still an Englishman. Within seconds, John's hands are at Sherlock's lapel, and he's yanking him down from his tree-like height to kiss him, and kiss him hard. Who could care less what is right and appropriate in public? Someone had obviously planted this plant here just for this purpose. And if a man could not use public mistletoe with his so-called husband, then what kind of justice would that be? ]

It is. It's --

[ Having been about to explain the cultural relevance of the plant, unsure of how well-known it might be without his memory, Sherlock is both startled and delighted by John's display of his own knowledge, and makes a noise to indicate both of those things. They've been avoiding any excessively physical gestures, still uncertain with their memories gone, but suddenly Sherlock can't begin to think of why they would think that mattered. His hands come up immediately to grip John's shoulders, ostensibly for balance until he alights on the much better idea of steering John to the side and pressing him up against the rough trunk of the tree. ]

Edited 2012-12-17 17:55 (UTC)

[ Exactly how it was that John had ended up with his back against the trunk of a tree was not something that he really cared to know, other than he was there, and he was locked in a passionate kiss with someone who he had apparently cared about more than anyone. Enough to marry him, anyway. This was perfectly normal, wasn't it? Maybe not... quite so enthusiastic, but John simply cannot help himself in this instance. But as he comes up for air, John stares at Sherlock, his eyes wide and left utterly breathless. While he cannot say that the experience was entirely unpleasant, because frankly it was more than adequate, but that overwhelming desire to kiss him had vanished completely. ]

That... That was. Oh... I'm sorry, I should have asked. That was wrong of me, and I am so, so sorry. [ And yet he makes no effort to move... ]

Not at all, that is the culturally appropriate response to the plant. Your reaction is perfectly reasonable.

[ For his part, Sherlock is equally perplexed by the sudden onset -- and equally sudden disappearance -- of the feverish desire for affection, and he spends the span of the next few heartbeats peering intently at John in an effort to deduce whether or not he was being dishonorable. But no -- John's face is as open and guileless as Sherlock has seen it over the past few days, so Sherlock poses an experiment. He presses forward, flush against his apparent husband, and kisses him again.

It's not disagreeable -- in fact it's very nice, not that Sherlock has anything to really compare it against that he can recall, but the sentiment behind it isn't as bone-crushing and all-consuming as it had been just a few seconds before, when he'd felt certain that if he could not kiss John he would die. ]

Interesting...

[ John makes no effort to stop him, and even returns the kiss, similarly unaffected by the immediate desire to be near him and to kiss him. It's quite nice, actually, and his fingers even tighten in Sherlock's lapel momentarily. He can easily see Sherlock's little experiment playing out, and it's obvious that he too had been overcome by the strange sensation. He swallows and clears his throat, his fingers running along the underside of his lapel, speaking in a quiet, yet curious and playful tone. ]

Are you... trying to tell me that you want to take me back to the flat?

[ Unfortunately the thought had not even slightly occurred to Sherlock, and so his momentary frown is both confused and dismissive. ]

What? No, come here.

[ With his hands still wrapped around John's shoulders he bullies them back under the mistletoe, glancing up briefly to ensure its location. When he looks back at John, it's back -- that blood-deep compulsion to kiss him -- and it hardly even feels external. It feels like the desire is welling up organically from his own mind, and Sherlock-with-memory must be a man with poor impulse control because Sherlock-lacking-memory doesn't bother trying to fight it, lowering his head in order to bring their mouths together again. ]

What are you-?

[ John shuts up almost immediately as soon as he is dragged back under the mistletoe, and he is once more overcome with the desire to kiss him. It isn't something that he even wants to fight, and surrenders implicitly to it, as though it's the most natural thing on the planet and cranes his neck to return the affection. Is this how it had been with the two of them while they were still happily married with their memories? If it had been, then this is definitely something that John can get used to. It is a moment before he emerges for air and takes a step backward, looking up at the mistletoe curiously. ]

Why only right there? It's not mad to think that, is it?

[ Doing the same, stepping back somewhat to remain out of the plant's -- effect radius...? -- Sherlock frowns up at it consideringly. If that's a usual result of the plant's presence, it's not one he's seen fit to store in the database of his mind; but then he had discovered over the course of the last few days that there are occasional gaps in his otherwise all-encompassing knowledge. Still, John seems as perplexed as him, so it's probably safe to theorize broadly that it wasn't especially usual. ]

No, there does appear to be some kind of... compulsion effect attached to the proximity of the plant.

[ Now he's eyeing the tree with no small degree of thought, his gaze flicking from branch to branch as he plans out a climbing path in order to reach it. He discerns one in maybe the space of a heartbeat, and immediately strides over to the tree and heaves himself into it, beginning to climb. ]

Ah- Sherlock, be careful that you don't fall and...

[ Oh who is he kidding? Sherlock's long legs could easily catch him in time. He folds his arms and watches him with a sigh. Somehow, it seems like telling Sherlock to do anything he had already set his mind to was a game he's better off not playing. To satisfy his own curiosity, he steps back under the little sprig and looks about. Luckily, no one seems to be on their way over. ]

I don't feel anything, Sherlock. It must just be with two people underneath it. What's that mean?

Well, I won't know without any data, will I? I'm hardly going to start making wild guesses out of nowhere. What good would that do?

[ The question is, obviously, rhetorical, as Sherlock promptly goes back to ignoring John and pulling out a pocketknife he'd found in his first search through his coat when he'd woken up identityless a few days proir, using it to cut off a little bit of each part of the plant for him to examine back at the flat. There was no point in pulling the whole thing down just yet. If the individual components don't yield any results, he can always come back for more.

He clambers back down and dusts himself off, delicately tucking the bits of flora into one of the pockets of his coat, then looks around. Suddenly studying this part of the island isn't nearly as interesting or important as examining the potential mind-controlling plant heretofore unknown to science (or, possibly, some kind of trigger they'd been programmed to respond to upon fulfilling specific criteria? Pointless to speculate.) With his hands both bunched in his pockets now, Sherlock bounces uncertainly on his feet for a brief moment before ducking down and pressing his mouth to John's again -- just because he could, and it felt nicer than he might have guessed, not that he'd spent much time thinking about it until five minutes ago. ]

[ What could Sherlock possibly learn from examining the plant? Did he even remember anything about plant biology? Or at least enough to get any solid data? There was certainly enough equipment back at the flat to help him at least examine the thing in a variety of different ways, but he can't exactly be certain that he'd be able to get many answers from it.

[ When Sherlock finally hits the ground, John watches him with a degree of curiosity, wondering what exciting adventures they might go on to next. He had the mysterious plant, now what to do with it? Would they disappear to a secret laboratory somewhere? Or would their flat suffice? He isn't, however, expecting the kiss that comes his way, and he returns it only just in time for Sherlock to pull back, the excitement of it leaving his stomach in ever-tightening knots. It's nice, though, and leaves him smiling, and just a little red around the ears. ]

So... what next? Where can we examine it?

The flat, obviously. You saw the equipment there -- I have no way of knowing whether the hospital will let me in to use theirs, but the chances are slim considering one of us had to build their own laboratory at home.

[ His thoughts are, for a brief moment, entirely derailed by the unexpected but not entirely unpredictable sight of John blushing. It was cold, of course, so they were both red-tipped along the extremities, but it was somehow more intriguing to recognize that in this case, his actions and John's reaction had had a direct correlation. Sherlock uses his height to his advantage, looming slightly as he returns John to their previous position against the trunk of the tree, and this time when he kisses him, intense and focused, it's against the tip of one pink ear. ]

That is a good point, and who knows if the staff there has the same affliction as- Hey! What are you-?

[ John finds himself bullied back against the tree trunk and having his ear teased by Sherlock's mouth. It tickles and sends goosebumps all over his body, to the point where he's caught half in a sound of protest and something that sounds like a moan as he tries to shrink away in vain from the other man, his shoulders drawn up uncomfortably. ]

J-Jesus, Sherlock, there are people out here. Is this r-really the place for this?

[ Sherlock frowns as he pulls away, looking around at the passersby he had previously not deemed worth noticing. It wasn't as if either of them had pulled out their genitalia, but John was clearly uncomfortable anyway, and Sherlock couldn't account for it. ]

I don't understand. Why wouldn't it be?

I don't know... I don't really have a lot of experience being married... It just... doesn't seem like something you do in public?

[ More than just a little pink, John's face and neck are nearly completely red with embarrassment, and he won't look him in the eye. At least not for long. He instead, fiddles with Sherlock's lapel and the collar of his shirt, the tiniest of smiles on his lips. ]

Maybe I just... want it to be more private. Can't have everyone seeing you getting me worked up. It's not decent.

Worked up?

[ His gaze flicks over John and he unexpectedly colors, two bright pink patches spreading out over his cheeks. ] I didn't -- I only wanted to -- you looked so...

[ Suddenly it's too much, too overwhelming. He doesn't step back, aware of the obvious -- albeit incorrect -- signal that would give, but he does take his hands away to give John some space, shoves them fitfully into his pockets instead. ]

[ John sighs and leans back against the tree trunk, bouncing from foot to foot, a little anxiously and looking a little guilty, though the colour on Sherlock's cheeks makes him laugh a little. ]

I didn't mean it like that. Don't be like that. I don't want you to... not. Not really, anyway. I just wasn't expecting it. I like it. But we have a problem to solve. Well, a couple of them, really. [ He drops his hands to Sherlock's pockets and pulls him closer. ] We need to either figure out what's going on with this mistletoe... or we need to figure out what to do with me now that I am worked up. And whose fault might that be, I wonder?

[ The flush doesn't leave Sherlock's face as he allows himself to be tugged forward until he's standing between John's feet, but as his gaze rakes across John's expression and his fingers brush against John's in his pockets, he also closes his fist loosely around the bits of unusual mistletoe there, and it reminds him sharply of the presence of a potentially interesting puzzle to unravel. The corners of his mouth turn down fussily, making him look comically childish, unwilling to take responsibility for a reaction he did not intend. ]

Well, I would like to understand what is going on with the behaviour-modifying plant while it's fresh.

[ His expression turns only slightly disappointed at the admission, and he nods, because frankly, he'd like to know more about the plant as well. If they could figure out the mysterious effects of the plant and why it was making people do these things, then perhaps they could find a way to help people similarly affected. ]

Somehow, I think I knew you'd say that. [ He sighs and releases the man from his grasp, standing straight and pushing off from the tree. ] Well, come on then, I think we've got some work to do.

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The Mother of All Logs

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YAMS YAMS YAMS

for a second I thought that was cbran trolling me omg

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