Lockdown Brings out Old muses

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

[ooc: his current timeline is pre-"Final Problem", also rusty muse is rusty, apologies.]

There's a new person in the Nexus today. A very confused new person, who isn't sure exactly how he got here. Could be drugs. No, it can't be drugs. He has been more or less in lockdown during his detox, unable to access any drugs of any kind. John isn't even allowing him paracetamol right now. Which makes his detox headaches nearly too much to handle. Maybe that's what this place is...

Could be his mind palace, though it has never appeared like this before. He shakes his head to clear it of that idea.

He looks around, with complete confusion on his features. He reads the signs and takes in the population wandering around. None of it really takes away the confusion upon his features. He's not sure how to react to the information he's being flooded with...

His lips twitch as a song comes to mind. Lestrade had been the last person he remembered 'babysitting' him. He had brought a collection of music for them to listen to, so they could pass the time. So, one of those lyrics came to mind "Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?"

Comments

[outrageous_liar]

The Baron's world generally requires very little of either in order to function.

But, in fairness, the idea of somewhere being summoned up with the power of the mind isn't out of bounds at all.

"Oh! Like the King of the Moon. Well, self-styled Rei di tutto, but when all there is to a chap is his head flying about, the mind is used to create everything, really. Friend of yours?"

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

Sherlock shakes his head. "No. Nothing like that. It's a memory technique. That's all."

And sometimes more real than it should be. Especially when he's high. But he's not high. They've been watching him to make sure.

[outrageous_liar]

He is silent for a moment, assessing that.

"Well that's rather dull."

He shakes his head.

"Come along, lad. Get some fine port into you, you'll get your head screwed on straight. Then perhaps you can help me. I'm certain there's buried treasure around here somewhere. Has to be. We can seek out some neer-do-wells to point us in the right direction."

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

He's not dull, what is this strange man trying to imply? And he's not pouting, except that he sort of is.

"Nothing called 'port' is ever fine." It's grumbled rather than an actual protest. "Well, yes. Buried treasure. Like how my mind palace is supposed to look. Rather than this jumbled mess."

[outrageous_liar]

If he's insulting a good port, he may very well be dull.

But he adopts an air of mild exasperation.

"You're not in it, my lad. This is the real thing. Glorious, wonderful nonsense. You did see the dragon, eh what?"

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

"You have yet to prove it to me."

All he needs is a little proof that this isn't his mind palace. Why is that so much to ask?

[outrageous_liar]

He blinks at him slowly, then holds out his arms for a moment before pointing straight upwards.

"You did see the bloody great dragon, lad? What will it take, hmm? Because believe you me, I can lead you to any evidence you would like. Might even find a Goddess around here, you never know."

He pauses at that.

"Though the last time I had to sit through her husband talking about...oh, something something thermo-nuclactic missile. Or something to that effect. Quite unsporting, I felt."

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

"I've been called a dragon slayer. It would make sense for there to be dragons in my Mind Palace."

He rolls his eyes at the mention of goddesses and their spouses.

"None of this is proof that this is a real place and not a bad drug trip."

[outrageous_liar]

"You don't slay them, you ride them. Not bloody enough left to slay. Well, not of the big ones, certainly."

He reaches out to prod the fellow on the side of the foot with his cane.

"Oh, get up. Sitting here, sulking about reality. Come on, we'll find some proper nonsense. Prove things to you."

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "I'm not sulking. However, you do not seem intent at all on proving things to me. I must be moving along now. Good day."

Because if he can't get his head around this, then...

[outrageous_liar]

It's like talking to a clock, really.

"Adventure is right around the blasted corner," he says, pointing in the opposite direction. "Really, now!"

He's had conversations with rocks that have more of a thirst for these things. Though they had been particularly polite trolls.

"What would constitute proof, eh?"

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

Sherlock is fairly singularly minded, yes. He stops at the question.

"I'm not interested in adventure. First I need proof and if I knew what proof I'd need, then I wouldn't need proof, would I? I will know it when I see it."

Maybe. Just maybe not today. He takes a breath, calming himself. Trying to break the circle.

"All right. Say I can't get proof. Or say this place is what all these things say it is. What do I do? How do I live?"

[outrageous_liar]

"Not interested..." he staggers back as if struck.

You really couldn't have said anything more anathematic to him. You might as well have kicked his dog.

But then he hears the other half.

"Why you get on with it. You find what drives you and chase it to the ends of the Earth and beyond as the case may be! This place has something for everyone...even the...logical."

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

He purses his lips. "Somehow I doubt that very much, but I shall move along. Good day to you. "

He inclines his head, and turns sharply on his heal, then moves of down the street, taking in the shops and figuring out what his next steps should be.