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nexus_crossings2020-05-07 02:49 am
highfunctioning_sociopath) wrote in nexus_crossings2020-05-07 02:49 am
Disquiet
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?"
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?"
no subject
Ah-
"I mean - not plagued by strange dreams, not mine, I think. Only sometimes mine. And voices. And I won't be a liability as a soldier, and as a friend, anymore."
But... there's something to consider. He first thinks deeply on whether this is a good idea, and whether it's his very own idea, for most certain.
It is, he's sure now. So Shiro voices it.
"I'm sorry. You were talking about yourself, and then I went and derailed the conversation. I suppose you could - I could - hire you? To explain some mysteries about my recent past. It involves a witch, an emperor, and other enemy soldiers. And hallucinations. And some operation t'was done on me, by said enemies, to- alter my brain in some ways? I'd pay. For you to solve the mystery. The clues must be all there, I think. If I just try and tell you everything from my time in captivity. Objectively."
no subject
He crosses his arms and considers the offer. "Without knowing anything about your homeworld and without being able to go there and see things for myself. It would be a challenge."
Sherlock doesn't sound put off by that. "I can't say I will be able to solve your case, just hearing you tell the story. But I'd be willing to give it a go."
At the very least, it will keep him from being bored, right?
no subject
"My name's Takashi Shirogane. I'm from Earth, and I was a pilot. Of Galaxy Garrison. I was, with my crew, on a mission on Kerberos. To search for any signs of life. And then the aliens attacked us. One of many kinds of aliens, not that we knew. We didn't even know aliens existed. The Galra. Of the Galra empire. They imprisoned us, and- well, in short, for a year, I was a gladiator. Like in ancient Rome. That's also why the Galra took my arm..."
Shiro glances at his right arm, the prosthetic one, that's clearly visible, at least, and it is more than modern tech.
"To enhance me, I'm certain."
"Long story short, I escaped. Back to Earth. Learnt it was a year. Galaxy Garrison opted to keep me in quarantine. I tried to tell them that the aliens were going to attack, soon, because there was Voltron on Earth."
"My old friend, who's like a brother to me, helped me escape Galaxy Garrison's quarantine. Three others were with him. We went and find the Blue Lion - part of Voltron, on Earth, it was true. Blue chose Lance - one of the others - and flew us all to princess Allura, of Altea, who explained everything. The Galra Empire had destroyed Altea and was conquering every other planet, too."
"The Lions of Voltron chose us. I fly Black, Keith - my brother - pilots Red, Lance - Blue, Pidge - Green, and Hunk - Yellow."
Shiro sighs.
"At least that's how it was, before I went MIA later while fighting the Galra Emperor, Zarkon, the former Paladin of Black, over control of Black. By the way, the witch I mentioned, she's Zarkon's wife. And she really does use magic, she's Altean, and magic, like many Alteans, like Allura, I'm not just calling Haggar a witch just because I loathe her."
"I woke up on the Galra ship, unspecified time later. That's not a good thing, seeing as I was the leader of Voltron. I escaped. But - before I escaped - this is where things get strange."
Shiro rubs his head, with a tiny Ouch. Apparently the headache's getting worse.
"I was called, by the Galra on that ship, Subject Y0XT39. That's not strange, they were experimenting on me, as always. What is strange is that I saw myself on the operating table. Not - I saw myself. From outside."
"I know it was a hallucination, trust me, I know it was, but every fiber of my being screams at me that it really happened."
"And the Galra said something about Operation Kuron."
He grits his teeth.
"I, I don't know, maybe it never happened."
Deep breath.
"And then I escaped. In a shuttle. Then, in a Galra fighter. You know, a small ship. I'd have died of oxygen loss if Black and Keith didn't find me after a week, while I was drifting in space, after I chased after Voltron but couldn't keep up, obviously."
"That's right, Keith can fly Black, too. I always knew he could. I had told him to become the leader of Voltron when I die."
Shiro smiles a little.
"Anyway, Keith thinks Black had tried, in the battle with Zarkon, to teleport me to safety. To save my life. That's his theory. Black does have that ability. But- I don't want to think that. Safety? I woke up in my second Galra captivity. I wasn't safe, detective. Not at all."
"Allura thinks Zarkon took Black over, for a moment. I don't believe that. Last I remember, in that fight, I won Black over. I've gotten my Bayard - think of it like a Key to the Lion - back from Zarkon who held it for ages."
Shiro frowns.
"I don't know what I believe."
no subject
"Well, that makes two of us. Problem with this story, is you started in the middle and talked to me as if I know or understand anything about your universe. I can safely say that I don't. At all. You may as well have been talking in Swahili for all I understood. Seems to me you want an answer to a question you don't know how to ask."
Which is about all he could make out of all the words that hold no meaning for him.
no subject
Shiro's angry with himself just now, more than anything.
What did you expect?
"Still, maybe just airing my thoughts helped, so thank you, anyway. When I feel I can explain more simply, I might find you again. The gist is: I was captured by an enemy. And I feel strange. I hope nothing was done to me - permanently, that is. Apart from old things. I don't think there's anything left to say, truly, sorry for wasting your valuable time."
no subject
"Something was done to you. Obviously. You've got a different arm at the very least. Question is, why do you need to consult a detective to tell you that much?"
no subject
"Listen. Say you saw yourself. From outside. No, more of yourself- no, it was-- Nevermind, I can't, I can't explain--!! What'd you think."
Agh, this is too much, this was a mistake, his head's hurting like crazy, and he's angry, so angry....! But he decides to persist.
2/2
"I had hallucinations while in Galra captivity, case closed, sorry to take up your time."
no subject
Given all the other weirdness here, it's not out of the realm of possibilities. And while normally, Sherlock would just let this go, it's not like he has anything else to do here.
no subject
More pain.
Don't.
"I don't know. It's crazy. I just - I'm just probably considering all the worst options, after everything that happened."
Don't.
"Let's just hope I'm not insane, and that's all. And you can form objective detective opinion about my sanity. And my war captivity traumas that are clouding my judgment, that's all. I'm thinking too much of... things. Those things. That's that, right?"
Good.
no subject
Sherlock suddenly stands and starts to pace. Because he realises the mystery isn't in another universe. It's standing right in front of him.
no subject
He sighs. Then smiles slightly, and says, genuinely meaning it,
"You look slightly nervous, Detective. I think we should give it a rest. You're still getting used to the Nexus, after all. And - I was wrong about you. You do care. That's great."
no subject
He's almost prowling. "You hear but do not listen. I said the voice wasn't trying to protect you. The implication being it's trying to protect itself."
He shakes his head. "Oh I do care. About the thrill of the chase, the mystery to be solved. Oh yes, I care about all of that. So, why would a voice try to protect itself, hmm?"
no subject
"And it's a wonder it never says I should get some painkillers? Sorry, bad joke."
no subject
He taps his own head with his finger tips. "Like I said, it's protecting itself. So, why would a random voice want to protect itself at the expense of the person carrying the voice? I mean usually, voices work to protect you, or pick at sore spots. This one... does more somehow."
Sherlock had been joking about a brain transplant. Maybe he wasn't wrong.
no subject
Shiro's eyes narrow, and his voice is harsh, as he replies,
"Do you always enjoy it when a broken soldier can doubt own sanity? I know what my problem is... probably. It's trauma. Same as after first escape."
But after first escape, Shiro was only hearing own voices and own memories, in nightmares. Not another very particular voice when wide awake.
He knows that, he knows that, and yet- this is all - this all not right. And maybe this conversation isn't right. Yes, that's it! This is a mistake.
Pain. In his head. His own. And anger. His own. So what would any other voice have to do with that? How can he converse nicely when it's hellish pain somewhere deep inside? And besides. Maybe there's no voice. Just like his memories are his own.
Something's wrong. Something's wrong.
Maybe this whole talking with a strange detective is what's wrong. That'd make sense, wouldn't it? And that's the young man's own thoughts. Because of the pain.
Something... something was wrong before the conversation, too, and he knows it. Waking up slightly wrong. Every day.
But it's fine, as long as everyone else is fine.
Yes,
Just let it be.
What could be done, anyway?
Wrong. Something is wrong.
"Now shut up, Holmes, you quack detective, and lay off, I'm not your study subject!!"
no subject
"I lived with a soldier. I know plenty about broken soldiers. And I'm a detective. You hired me to solve a mystery, which by nature of the mystery you want me to solve involves you."
So, he very much is Sherlock's study subject. He gestures to the bench. "I was sitting here when you arrived. I'm not preventing you from leaving. And you're not entirely convinced it's trauma, or you would hire a doctor, not a detective."
With that, he sits back. He expects the young man to leave.
no subject
He turns to do just that.
But then, he sighs forlornly, and just stops. Then, sits on the bench next to the 'quack'.
"I know I shouldn't have yelled at you. I used to be... not like this, trust me. Quiznak, I want to be the man I was. The Shiro I used to be. That's still me, I guess, because my whole memory isn't lying to me."
He readjusts his sitting, visibly uncomfortable.
Then, he tries to smile.
"Quiznak is Altean equivalent of shit, or something else impolite, by the way."
Because right now Shiro realises the detective here might've not left home, Earth, before.
"Fuck!"
Shiro says, with emphasis, slowly, experimentally. It sounds slightly strange, as if he might be not quite used to that word.
"Fuck, there I go, I DID hire you. I, I should pay you before I go. It's - it's what I'd do."
He sounds somewhat confused. He winces.
no subject
"While I'm finding that I need some form of financial support here, I have never charged a fee prior to the case being solved. And I have never charged for cases solved in less than an hour. This one will take more time, I think."
Sort of. To an extent, Sherlock believes he's solved it. But he doesn't know how to fix what he's solved. He misses John. John would know what the next step should be.
no subject
He frowns.
"I know - It's on me. Somehow, this is my fault."
It is.
"My fault for getting captured enough. My fault for not pressing, when... when I told Lance I'm not fine and Lance got frightened I'm not fine and blamed low oxygen levels to my face, and I agreed. And Lance agreed. Would Keith have agreed? I hope not."
Shiro shakes his head.
"I'm fine, honestly."
no subject
He purses his lips together. "Is there anyone from your universe here in the Nexus?"
no subject
"There's also prince Lotor, the newly chosen Emperor of the Galra Empire."
Ponders something quickly.
"I can call both, if you'd like. I usually keep an eye on Lotor. Always, practically."
no subject
They're probably going to be more help than Sherlock if this man is possessed somehow or had another conscious or brain implanted into him.
no subject
Wince.
"I will. Thank you."
He trembles. His prostthetic arm lights up a little, then turns off again.
"It's too early today, I need to rationalise - to think of how to put it. Logically. The quiznaking princess can wait one day for a precious soldier, after all."
"Anyway, thanks, detective. You are not a quack."
no subject
He means he wants confirmation if he's right.
(no subject)