Disquiet

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

Sherlock has been here about a month. He's more or less kept to himself, except when he's had to go out to get something to eat. It took about five days to settle in a bit and stop fighting the question if he was dreaming or not. He didn't like accepting that this wasn't a drug-induced high or that he was stuck in his mind palace. In the end, it helped that no one he recognised was here. After all, in his mind palace, there was always at least one person he knew.

But, it took that long because either of those options were preferable to the truth: he was in some weird alternate reality with no way home. Well, unless he found whatever door he had stumbled through to get here. And, he wasn't sure he wanted to go back. All that waited for him back there were recovery and facing the loss of Mary. Culverton Smith had been a fantastic distraction from the horror that it was his fault that Mary died. (Even if John told him it wasn't, he shouldn't have pushed Vivian.) It was a reality he didn't want to face. Yet, even here, the grief and guilt would sneak up on him.

It's why it was better to avoid people than be around them. Well, that, and the strange person who acted like she knew him so well and she didn't know him at all. That was... troubling. And he kept a look-out for her every time he did wander out. He hadn't decided what to make of her yet. So avoidance of that was the best possible answer. Still, he needed money. And while in theory, he understood the PIN devices, he wasn't sure they worked quite like the internet back home.

So, he's sitting on a bench in the plaza, next to a sign, which reads:
Sherlock Holmes,
the world's only consulting detective.

This is what I do:
1. I observe everything.
2. From that, I deduce everything.
3. Once I've eliminated the impossible,
whatever remains,
must be the truth.

But, that was really just attention seeking. He has a question of his own. So whenever anyone ventures close enough to read the sign, he allows for general introductions and eventually asks: "How do you live with yourself, if a vow you failed to keep led to the death of your friend?"

Comments

[somekindofspaceuncle]

It was interesting enough that it caught attention.

And so was the question. A young man, apparently in his mid twenties, who got intrigued, replies,

"I'm not sure. I don't know if I'd be able to live with myself. If I would, still, I'd do it for my other friends. They'd be grieving, too - so I should help them, not be selfish."

The young man frowns.

"But, I guess I might've treated the question to personally. When it was, I assume, in general."

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

Sherlock takes in the young man. Other than the most basic deductions, he's pretty much given up on trying to deduce anything about people. People here are just weird. And that weirdness messes everything up.

"And see, that's the problem. Tried that. Created a situation to solve a crime, catch a serial killer, and distract them from their pain all at once. I was rather pleased with myself."

They weren't, because he was doing drugs so hard and fast he nearly killed himself, but bygones. Now he's here and has had too much time to think.

1/2

[somekindofspaceuncle]

"Created a serial killer case in need of solving??

2/2

[somekindofspaceuncle]

Shiro stares at Sherlock. Then tries to smile, still a bit wary.

"Please tell me I've misunderstood that."

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "You're an idiot who doesn't know how to listen. Of course you misunderstood what I said. The crime and serial killer already existed. I created a situation to catch him, thus solving the crime."

Mycroft is right, there are a lot of goldfish about. Probably good that Sherlock learn that now, before he gets his hopes set too high for this place.

[the_rebel_son]

It's the sign that catches Lucifer's attention first and he stares at it for a long time. There was an introduction that Lucifer acknowledged but didn't reciprocate immediately because there was levity to his name among humans. He does eventually give his name and field any of the usual questioning that comes with having wings and offering Lucifer as a name.

Eliminating the impossible curls a smile into his expression. He was about to comment on the nature of impossible when the question comes at him.

"I question who or what forced me to make the vow. When we feel beholden to our words, it is easy for self blame to prevent us from seeing what has actually transpired. In my experience, cause can be easily misrepresented when a vow or oath is involved."

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

Sherlock met Az, and was a Christian at some point, though practising such traditions isn't something he holds to these days. But he frowns at the answer.

"No one forced me to make it. I made the only vow of my life to two of my friends and their unborn child. They didn't even know they were pregnant yet. But, I failed one of them. And that one died because of my failure."

It's more than that. So much more. Mary warned him not to push... but he did anyway.

[the_rebel_son]

Lucifer shook his head. "Vows of protection are rarely made when people are safe. There is no reason to vow to protect someone unless there is something to protect them from."

Lucifer found a place to sit, even if that was on the ground, because this seemed like it would be an interesting philosophical conversation. "I assume you did choose that vow because you already knew there was danger to them and it was not some random offer in placid contentment."

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

Sherlock frowns. He didn’t say what kind of vow it was. Though angel and listening, is t a difficult leap, he supposes. “It was both. A moment of contentment and knowing they would need protection from me.”

Well, not him specifically, the likes that get drawn to him. Like Moriarty and then Magnussen. He never thought MI6 would be a problem. He was a fool.

[chiaro_oscuro]

"A detective. Well, well. Good day, Mr. Holmes."

Ben reads over the sign, curious. So, a detective's taken up residence here. Interesting. But his attention's drawn by the question.

He's not sure if Sherlock's question applies to him yet - he's responsible for more than his share of death. But he has people here he's invested in protecting, and people have died in the Nexus before. So it's a scenario that could happen.

"If something I did or failed to do led to the death of one of my friends here, that would be an addition to my list of failings that I'm working to atone for. And if another person was responsible for my friend's death..." While Ben's temper is much calmer, he knows there's no law in the Nexus. "They would have to deal with me."

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

Sherlock takes in the man, trying to assess him. How he carries himself. (Luckily for most here, Sherlock is a little unconnected to popular culture.) But he's bothered by the threat. "You're a soldier of some kind."

He hasn't decided what kind yet. But the stance, the way the threat is delivered, but not at Sherlock particularly. Oh, he's seen and heard that often enough in John Watson.

[chiaro_oscuro]

"You're very perceptive. I'm not interested in fighting here unless I need to, though, practice aside. You could say I'm retired." Sherlock's instincts around Ben are right, he most certainly is a fighter, but he hasn't been given a reason to fight in the Nexus yet. He's not one to throw himself behind a cause blindly. "But old instincts...I'm sure you know how they are."

Ben's no pacifist, and he's not an idealist, either. The Nexus isn't a place where you can completely let your guard down. There's an alertness to his eyes and his stance.

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

Sherlock shakes his head. "Soldiers don't retire. I lived with one. He's my best friend. They carry the battlefield with them everywhere they go. Some find new battlefields so they don't look like they're mad. The rest... go mad in one sense or another."

Sadly, it's not instincts in this case. It's simple knowledge. "So, what's you're battlefield. Here I mean. Not your former one."

He doesn't care about the past. He cares about right here; right now.

[londonreporter]

Henderson examines Sherlock's sign approvingly. He's not a detective, he's a reporter, but both require some of the same skills, so this man has the journalist's respect. He's wearing fashions that are distinctly Edwardian in their style.

"Well! That's a heavy question, sir. I suppose at the very least I'd carry what happened with me for however long I lived. And that isn't an easy thing to live with, either. The preventable death of a friend. I saw it in soldiers, survivors of industrial accidents..."

He thinks of the incident with the Martians back in Surrey, but he considers himself the least to blame of the people involved. He'd warned them with every chance he had that it was a terrible idea, hadn't he?

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

Sherlock hums at the reply. "So a reporter, then. Possibly an investigative journalist, though I doubt that's what they were called in your time."

Sherlock offers smirks. "You've seen it in others, but never had to face it yourself. Be glad and hope you never do."

[londonreporter]

"Yes. Rupert Henderson, formerly of the London Bugle. 1900. It's good to meet you. You're right, I was one of my newspaper's reporters. And I did do investigative work."

Henderson liked his job, or at least parts of it. It's why he's considering the creation of a newspaper in the Nexus. "You see a lot of things in my line of work."

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

"I don't like journalist." For so many reasons. "But, in my time, they're more like sharks at a feeding frenzy rather than focused on reporting what is essential."

Sherlock offers a nod, though. "Rupert." He gestures to the sign. "Sherlock."

[delphicbooksandbaubles]

Aal's in her canine form today, the glamour of a black german shepherd over it as to not spook anyone..Though she knew some would not mind a wolf in their midst..Best to avoid any upsets etc. She thinks with a small nod and a little sigh. Her eyes are tired and sorrowful, as she pads toward the plaza. Her ears perk up as a certain scent wafts toward her.

The tip of her tail wags, and then she reminds herself to take it slow, calm. As she sights the bench. "Roo?" She murmurs softly as she pauses her head tilted half curious half low, and tentative. As she pads closer to the bench and peeks up at him she hopes cutely and harmless like as she lays her furred chin on the far edge of the bench.

He mite not be her' Squeaky' but he was a Holmes and what more new and among those who had powers that she was half certain he wouldn't know how to counteract if they took offense.

That was half the reasons she oft had to patch folks up..or They got super curious and poked some glowy etc..things when they shouldn't. She didn't care if..he hated her or..something..Well yes she did on one level but she could..bear it so long as he was safe and whole.

Her ears droop.

[to_the_wolves]

There’s a middle-aged woman with striking red hair, dressed in a well pressed suit and tie, who happens to be walking part Sherlock’s setup in the Nexus. One hand is shoved in her pocket, while the other is carrying a large sturdy leather bag. Based on the shape and size, there’s clearly a box inside, protecting something of value, given the way she holds it tightly.

Signs often mean someone is selling, trading, or bartering goods and she finds herself paying extra attention to them. Being a businesswoman means looking for opportunities, wherever they might be hiding in the Nexus. That of course means Sherlock’s does not slip past her gaze, but the text certainly catches her off-guard.

Upon reading the sign, her expression changes from confusion to curiosity, as if trying to process the information gleamed from just that one sign. She’s heard of the stories surrounding Sherlock Holmes but has never read any of them. It feels odd standing before someone who’s clearly a famous detective, and the question he presents is rather strong handed. It would be rude to stop and not answer his inquiry, so she does her best to hide any underlying feelings she has towards the topic.

“You move forward and live on in their name. Work hard to help others, to make up for that failed vow. Lingering on that death, especially as a form of punishment, will do no good for others or yourself.”

Her tone is serious, but there’s a hint of emotion behind the stern façade, as if she knows exactly what that feeling of failure is like. Death drives people to action or madness alike, that she is certain.

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

"So to put it in simpler terms: Forgive myself."

He shudders. John forgave him, everyone else who actually witnessed the exchange forgave him. Forgiving himself is a step too far, which is why he asked Mrs Hudson to stop him in the future. He tilts his head.

"For a woman on a mission, it is interesting that you should stop to engage in such a dialogue."

[to_the_wolves]

"It's not easy and it won't be perfect, but that's alright. You are alive at the end of it all. Don't squander your existence on past mistakes, instead use it to strengthen yourself for future days."

She catches sight of his reaction and says nothing more on it, not realizing that he's already started inquiring about her. She nods her head, managing a rather simply smile.

"The name Sherlock Holmes is rather famous in my world. It would be rude of me to simply stand here in shock or to walk by without extending a word. Apologies if my behavior is impolite." She extends her free hand to him calmly. "Marie Aldaine. It's a honor to meet you, Mr. Holmes."

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

He's going to ignore her initial comments. He already knows that much and being told again that he doesn't know what how to spend the currency of value Mary placed upon his life.

"I'm rather famous in my world, too."

The whole dying and coming back to life thing not withstanding. He stares at her hand for a moment and finally reaches out to shake it.

"Sherlock, please."

Not that he doesn't answer to 'Mr Holmes', but that will always be his brother, after a fashion. "Since I took my blog down, you mean John's blog, right?"

[smartass_captain]

It's the sign more than anything that catches a certain space faring captain's attention at first. The impersonal way its written almost suggests someone's let their AI out to have a peek around the Nexus, or perhaps some kind of droid. He's standing near the edge of the little group of people who've gathered out of interest watching rather than joining in right away. Jim's very favorite thing about the Nexus is the moment of anticipation when he thinks he might be about to meet a new species or culture for the very first time.

This impossible space between worlds seems to attract humans and more recently deitical figures, but it's a place where anything can crop up.

Jim's learned the hard way that this does also mean anyone can also show up here. Still, he's not on guard now as he watches the people begin to disperse from around the sign. He's utterly relaxed until a voice purposefully devoid of sharing emotion makes the breath freeze in Jim's lungs. It's not a question he expects from the face that voice brings to mind. Even if it is almost identical to one of the many faces that haunts the captain's sleep.

He's gone entirely still. Forgotten how to breathe. His pulse thunders in his ears. Stay calm, Jim. Stay calm--the man who looks at him doesn't seem to show any recognition in his expression. No rage nor perverse glee. He has to remember how to speak but thoughts ricochet disjointed in his head. Why is his heart so loud?

Captain Kirk swallows.

"I'm sorry, what?" He only very barely stops himself from asking the stranger if he's the one who killed his friend. "How did that happen?"

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

Sherlock has no idea who this man is. Nor why he would be so startled by him. Okay, so he's a startling person in general, but this is something specific. Personal. Sherlock is reading Jim, picking up on many little tells. Until he is thrown off by Jim's question.

And his face falls a bit yes he brought it up, but he doesn't like to be reminded of it. Not really. So he skips over the most painful parts and how it was his fault. "Someone fired a gun at me and she jumped in front of the bullet. I promised to always be there for her."

[smartass_captain]

The man Sherlock is watching is subsequently having and wrestling a panic attack into submission in front of his eyes with enough practice that no one else around them seems to find anything out of the ordinary going on. He's quite fine not getting any closer to Sherlock though. Will wait until people pass by to chime in no matter how inconvenient the distance is for a casual conversation.

"....She must have cared for you....quite a lot then." It's so hard to tamp down the thundering of his pulse to try and focus on words. This is a topic Jim can and should have numerous opinions on. He's lost friends, lost crew, lost family. It's not the same person. It's just not. There's life in this man's eyes, however closed off he keeps his expression. It's nothing like the ones that haunt Jim's sleep.

"How...do you usually deal with your guilt?" The urge to run wars with and equally driven desire for answers. If Jim leaves, he won't learn anything.