thoughtformed | (no subject)

Who: Thing One and Thing Two, Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee, Red Fish and Blue Fish. (The Sherlocks)
What: Good question...
Where: Another good question...
When: January 6th, early.
Warnings: Considering the pair, unnecessary levels of snark and potential future mention/discussion of drug abuse.

Sherlock's birthday opens unpromisingly on a brief text exchange — besides the coordinates provided, there is little to deduce about the message, and Sherlock for maybe half a heartbeat is deeply worried that his alternate counterpart might have some kind of mutual celebration planned. However, he discards the thought almost as quickly as it can flit through his mind: surely there cannot be any universe in which a Holmes enjoys his own birthday. The very idea is absurd.

But that being the least likely of scenarios doesn't provide Sherlock with many actual possibilities. Never one to abandon a good mystery — nor, really, any mystery at this point, months of starvation for anything interesting — Sherlock has no problem pushing John's — their — no, John's blasted over-friendly cat off of his chest and taking off to the designated location first thing in the morning.

Not a bad way to avoid whatever kind of birthday breakfast John might have tried to inflict on him, in any case.

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It was a good thing that Sherlock was being sarcastic in his not cruel but not entirely impressed way. If its any consolation, even if this particular Holmes was far newer a resident, there was a monumental seething beneath the layers that had to do with how he's dealt with it all so far. Which, he would add, was not so well.

"Well I would safely say that anything pertaining to drugs is highly unlikely, considered," our intimate knowledge of them, was implied but not stated. He breaks a moment for the coffee and then returns to matters at hand.

"We can't make bricks without clay, my clever other self." His eyes rise for a moment. "Yet I am feeling a distinct desire to go find some, and I very much feel you have absolutely no other engagements for the day."

With his weight resting on his elbows on the table, Sherlock is still looking at the other half dubiously, like he doesn't quite believe he has anything worth wasting time on their association, and half-fascinated. The concept of alternate universes probably will never interest him overmuch, but the thought of engaging with a mind almost guaranteed to be at least somewhat like his own, without the baggage that comes with Mycroft, or the villainous madness Moriarty brings, or the confusing discomfort of the woman -- that is enough to hold his attention. Perhaps two of them could make more headway than himself alone. Even if not, at least it might be entertaining.

"You'll be interested to learn you're already wrong, drugs have been involved once or twice, but you're right in that I have nothing pressing to attend." He leans back coolly, a gesture calculated to demand convincing, because of course there's more to share, including his underground kidnapping adventure, but already he offers up: "You'll be wanting what I know if we're to accomplish anything."

Edited 2013-01-09 05:09 (UTC)

"Most intriguing," was enough to encourage the other to continue. Once or twice wasn't enough to conclude that it was a major reason for the happenings here but once or twice was enough to interest him, and so he did inquire.

A simple nod was all Holmes gave as he lifted one arm upright and pinched his fingers against a thumb. His other hand idle upon the cup.

Sherlock doesn't entirely frown, but there is a faint sense of displeasure at his theatrics being virtually ignored. No matter. "First, hallucinogens distributed through the air." His eyebrows quirk up, "Interestingly enough, my initial suspicion upon arriving and looking over the network archives was that every incidence of mass consciousness-altering trauma was a result of hallucinogens, but not before or since have I been able to prove it, leading me to determine otherwise.

Second, a few months after that, myself, along with six other individuals whom I know to have been looking into the island at the time, were drugged in our beds, chained to seven civilians with no interest in investigation, imprisoned in underground facilities beneath the forest, and sent through something of a gauntlet run broadcast over the network on seven separate channels. Very exciting, rather like a tacky game show, but clearly designed to be a warning to those of us trying to get to the bottom of whatever's going on here, and also the last proven example of anyone being purposely drugged. Everything else has been --" and his mouth curls, a gesture of distaste, "-- otherwise inexplicable. They can drug us, but they simply choose other means of altering our collective consciousness."

Not ignored, Holmes. Unacknowledged. He listens quietly to the examples of what had already transpired here. Thumb and fingers gently rub together as he digests it all.

After some time he allows himself to speak again, but it's a very simple question:

"And your captors were not seen, hm?"