William Sherlock Scott Holmes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thevictoriandetective) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
nexus_crossings2016-12-02 09:54 am
thevictoriandetective) wrote in nexus_crossings2016-12-02 09:54 am
All roads lead back to Baker Street [OPEN]
Normally when one opens the blue door to 221 B Baker Street they are presented with a hallway and the interior of the corridor that leads up the stairs.
Normally.
But when Sherlock Holmes, clad in his normal dark gray coat and blue scarf absently opened up the door and stepped through, shutting it without a second thought, he was more than mildly surprised to see that the interior was now a plaza with other people in it, and all sorts of things that usually weren't present outside of Mrs. Hudson's door.
The detective blinked, and tried to remember when he'd last slept.
Nope, he actually had gotten a proper sleep the night before, having finished a case. He'd even woken up late. Perhaps he'd been hit with some kind of gas? He sniffed the air, could be odorless.
Oddly enough though, this didn't feel like a dream. It had logical consistency. Well, if that logical consistency continued to hold up, he was going to have a LOT of questions.
Normally.
But when Sherlock Holmes, clad in his normal dark gray coat and blue scarf absently opened up the door and stepped through, shutting it without a second thought, he was more than mildly surprised to see that the interior was now a plaza with other people in it, and all sorts of things that usually weren't present outside of Mrs. Hudson's door.
The detective blinked, and tried to remember when he'd last slept.
Nope, he actually had gotten a proper sleep the night before, having finished a case. He'd even woken up late. Perhaps he'd been hit with some kind of gas? He sniffed the air, could be odorless.
Oddly enough though, this didn't feel like a dream. It had logical consistency. Well, if that logical consistency continued to hold up, he was going to have a LOT of questions.
no subject
What about the slim man in the 1940s hand me down threadbare suit and slacks buying coffee from what can only be described as a human sized bidepal lizard woman with a little cart she's pushing through the plaza?
Or how said man out of time reaches for his very modern Starkphone and replies to a text sent to him by one of his friends before he feels eyes on him and looks up at the man with a thoughtful frown.
"Good morning. Shaayhee's got some of the best coffee in the Plaza, if you haven't tried it yet." Gesturing to the Argonian woman he'd just got done paying while he clutches his own cup to keep his bony fingers warm.
no subject
Sherlock stares, not even properly deducing, he just stares, at the sight. That..was either very clever costuming or that was an actual lizard woman. Considering the point of anyone to do all this just to trick him only served to cement the fact that this was, in all probability, likely very real.
"I'm sure," he said dryly. But the strange old fashioned blond man was at least talking to him. He frowned and observed his state of dress and appearance, wondering what he could deduce from them.
"What is this place exactly?"
no subject
"It's a meeting point between worlds. Which sounds crazy, I know. It's kinda like the subway station really. People come and go from all different places but for a little while, we're all stuck here together whether we're from Brooklyn or Manhattan or New Jersey."
He pauses to take a sip of his coffee and makes a happy little sigh at the warmth it gives.
"Do you want a tour? I've been here a while so I kind of know my way around."
no subject
"Yes, actually."
He didn't seem to be the type to take advantage, everything about him screamed...earnest. Sherlock's ice blue eyes flicked back and forth as he took in his appearance. Clothes were hand-me-downs, belonging to someone...close to him. The clothes were well cared for, moreso than one would assume cast-off clothing would be from say, a thrift store.
Old fashioned though. He really did look like a young, mini grandpa. Sherlock imagined he must be bullied relentlessly, even without his curious style. The detective ought to know, he'd suffered similarly in school, before he too shot up in height and learned how to box.
It was odd, because he was also reading military, even though he didn't look like he was particularly fit. Despite his physical features, his level of grooming, posture, and haircut was easily categorized as military.
If Sherlock didn't know any better, and he didn't, and if he was telling the truth--and he had no reason to believe he wasn't--this curious fellow might possibly be from the past. Shoes really gave that away, too. Late 30's or early 40's, World War II era. It would make sense how he managed to get into the military.
"Japan or Germany?" Sherlock ventured a moment later.
no subject
"I'm Steve, by the way. Been here for a year and a half give or take. Time is weird here, so I've no idea how long it's been back...back home." He clears his throat and sips at his coffee. Gestures to the many doors of varying sizes and makes. "We're in the Plaza now, it's the central point of the Nexus. Most folks arrive here in some fashion. Walking through a door, or on some occasions, more violently."
He turns back to the taller man, looking up so he can meet the other's gaze. His head is turned slightly (hearing trouble in his left ear from a nasty infection) when he talks.
"You'll want to remember where your door i--ah? Sorry?" The sudden question throws Steve off. Blue eyes shifting from left to right as Steve frantically tries to put together what the man means by his question. "We're not either, I don't think. Though I've met a German soldier and a Japanese police officer since I've been here."
no subject
It was something how quickly Sherlock adapted to the concept of traveling through worlds, though he was still under the kind this could be a dream. Still, his mind worked at lightning speed and it was an easy deduction to make in a place with many worlds having access to it.
Hmm, he's been here for some time. "One can go back and forth, correct? Or are we trapped here?" He was just saying something about remembering where ones door was.
no subject
Steve looks down at his clothes. Hands. Ponders how exactly this man could possibly know something like that for a few seconds. Does he recognize Steve too? He gets that a lot. At least he's not asking Steve what's wrong with him. Steve sighs slightly, then shrugs.
"Wanted to be, didn't make the cut." Bucky was definitely over there by now. on the German front. Steve tries not to wonder if he's okay. It kills him to think about, because, well...
"Most folks can go back and forth at will, yeah." Steve just isn't one of them.
no subject
"And how does that work, exactly? How does any of this work?" There was an excitement in his words, from someone who enjoyed mysteries and the unknown.
no subject
Steve isn't useless.
"....I don't know." The answer is honest but carries a lot of weight. "I can't go back. It doesn't work for me."