Sherlock Holmes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
not_a_hero) wrote2012-07-30 09:20 pm
not_a_hero) wrote2012-07-30 09:20 pm
Entry tags:
April 8, 2012
After this log.
It had been a full evening and half a day since John and Sherlock had their falling out, a twisted bunch of intentions and wrong responses. John had sat in his room for the whole time, dozing uncomfortably on his stomach and staring at the wall dividing him from Sherlock accusingly, as if it could split down and enlighten him to how to fix what he'd screwed up. The doctor had hoped, in vain, that Sherlock would come find him, seek him out with that smile on his face, high inspired or not. His wings flexed anxiously, and he wondered if he could convince them to get close again by reminding the detective he needed help to clean the wounds there, and see if perhaps that inspired a quiet moment as it had before. But, in the end, it was pure concern that finally prompted the doctor to stand, to stride purposefully to the door and take the couple of steps needed to get to Sherlock's room, opening the door as he knocked, calling out in hopes that the other man was open to his presence. "Sherlock?"
There was no answer. Sherlock flat was empty, the mirror above the fireplace still smashed from the event. Drugs were out on the table but only one of the syringes looked used with several more still packaged and sterile. Nothing anywhere else in the flat seemed touched.
On the table among the paraphernalia was a white piece of paper addressed to John.
John let out a long, shaky breath, which clashed loudly with the silence of the room. The doctor stepped into the replica of his flat sitting room slowly, dragging his fingers against the couch arm as he entered, eyes locked on the paper. Even when he reaches the table, he doesn't pick it up for a long time, simply staring at it lying there between the syringes and other tools and wondering if the sense of dread he's feeling in his stomach is logical. He finally reaches out and picks up the paper with steady hands, but his wings are ruffled and twitching in worry as he starts to read...
The note is simple, nothing elaborate but heartfelt in its brevity. "John, Sorry for being an idiot. -Sherlock".
"Dammit, Sherlock." John hissed, looking about the room as if the detective would step out of a corner and he could refuse the apology outright. Sherlock hadn't done anything wrong... in fact, John was positive a majority of what happened was his fault, not the detective's. "You're not an idiot. You're brilliant." He pressed to the empty room in the absence of who he really wanted to say that to, hating the way it echoed in all the empty spaces, too similar to the flat that awaited him back in his own world. Quickly, the doctor folded up the paper, tucking it into his front breast pocket, trying to deduce where the younger man would have gone. Wonderland was dangerous, especially now with all sorts of odd events happening. John glanced about the room one last time, trying to pick up on any hints, and ready to search the entire complex if he didn't.
In the open hole that was once the mantle mirror Sherlock--not a twenty year old version but a mirror version of the genuine article--walked past as though it were a cut-out in the wall rather than just an empty space. He didn't seem to notice John at first and backtracked slowly, peaking in over the edge, as he came to notice the winged man.
"Don't you have somewhere better to be? This isn't yours."
John jerked and spun around, gawking that the man in the mirror. He had no idea about the mirrorverse, or the copies on the other side. "Sherlock? You're... your proper age again." A smile tugs hesitantly at the corner of his mouth as he steps forward, careful to avoid the broken mirror on the floor. Sherlock sounded rather terse, but that wasn't a proper indication of how much he remembered about being stuck as a 22 year old. "I know it's not my room, but I was looking for you! Uhm, how did you get in there, anyways?"
"The same as everyone else." mirror!Sherlock leans forward, resting his chin on his palm, elbow in the mirror frame. "Of all the luck, you would have to end up in Wonderland. Such a pity. After all that trouble to get away in the first place. Well, no matter. There's something in here that would like to eat your bones. Why not come inside? I can promise you it will be dangerous."
John frowns. In spite of the usual hook at the end, Sherlock's words are rather menacing between the moments they were just confusing. What did he mean by 'getting away' and something that would 'eat his bones'? The doctor shifted uncomfortably, wings hovering in tight, defensive arcs just visible over his shoulders. "What are you talking about?" He says cautiously, flexing his hand.
"I'm talking about It. Aren't you curious?" He cocks his head as though he really can't tell, as though reading John is something he's not skilled at. "Come inside and see. I'm sure you'll be worth a meal at any rate." He extends a hand to help John through the mirror. As the arm and hand passes the threshold of the broken mirror, it changes from sinewy to slender, the hands less blunt with a decidedly feminine quality. Mirror!Sherlock ignores it but whatever changes occur are limited only to the side of the mirror's frame that John stands on. It's certainly not the arm with track marks and fresh wounds from the day before.
John jerks, takes step back away from the hand only sparing the change a glance as this Sherlock's unsettling gaze held his own. "I'm "worth a meal"? What do you-" He shakes his head, perplexed and wary. "Sherlock, you're not acting like yourself, what's going on? If this is about what happened yesterday, I'm sorry..." But even as he talks, he considers the arm again, realizing slowly it's become youthful, but not damaged, like a younger Sherlock's arms were. A chill shot down his spine, even though he wasn't sure what it all meant.
Sherlock shrugged, pulling his arm back on the other side. "Yesterday? You mean the gross display between you and a twenty-two year old? Really, I shouldn't be surprised. The book Dr. Watson had a very young wife. It was creepy to watch the movie, I mean, honestly old enough to be her father. People back then were sick. Well... I say back then but obviously..." He shrugs, looking around along the other side of the mirror's place. "Are you certain you don't want to come over here?"
At the insults, John's mouth twitches, just an indication of a snarl slipping past a soldier's schooled expressions. His wings, however, snap up, flaring in anger. Yes, the words sting, especially jabs at the moment he and the younger Sherlock had. But here are just so many things wrong about what was coming from Sherlock's mouth that he can't write them off as bitterness or anger. This just... wasn't him... somehow... "As charming as you are, I'm not feeling inclined, no." He says evenly, but even then it has a hint of snide. "Who are you?"
Sherlock sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm Sherlock Holmes. Obviously. You're a bit slow, aren't you? Look, you're not going to find him on that side so whatever sick fantasies you were envisioning are simply out of the question. Besides, I can do far better than you regardless of which one I am. But that doesn't mean you can’t die for a good cause over here. So why not come through?
"You mean my Sherlock is on... 'your side'?" John questioned, obviously wary of this man with Sherlock's face, and pointedly ignoring his insults and jabs. "You seem pretty keen on me dying, good cause or not, so why should I trust anything you say?" But he shifted forward, as if getting closer to the mirror would allow him to see inside and find his version of Sherlock somewhere around the man he now talked with.
"Really? 'My Sherlock'? You are exceedingly selfish. Isn't it obvious why it would be better if you died?" Sherlock shrugged again, "I mean, is there anything you've touched that hasn't gone to shit? Sort of the 'John Watson curse' I guess. Probably better if you just killed yourself, actually." He smiled a little, flippant but jovial. "I guess I can leave you to that in that case. 'Your' Sherlock will probably die over here anyway so there isn't much for you to live for. Curiosity killed the cat. It's lucky for me I'm more of a dog person."
John can't hide how that effects him. Not this time. The things he'd confessed in confidence to the younger Sherlock just the other day were now obviously being thrown back at him with his voice and his face... How could this other Sherlock know these things? John flexed his hand, resisting clutching at his shirt, at where it ached just left of his sternum... or perhaps resisting the urge to reach for the gun usually tucked into the back of his jeans, now absent. "Shut up." He said coldly, not giving Sherlock the satisfaction of ducking his head as he said so.
Sherlock smiles and waved to him, walking away from the opening and whistling his merry way through the mirrored version of the mansion.
John stares a long while at the empty doorway, rage, hurt but mostly shame rushing through him, making the former soldier tremble like the onslaught of a nightmare. Suddenly, he finds himself taking a step forward, until he's at the edge of the 'door' frame, breaking and cracking pieces of shattered mirror scattered around the base. He doesn't venture further, just breathes deeply and watches, wings flinching and ruffling in agitation.
---
It hadn't taken the younger Sherlock long to find something curious about the broken mirror. Climbing into it had been easy enough with the almost instantaneous results of reverting to his normal self making for a much obliged Sherlock Holmes. He wasn't a fan of his youth, and certainly not pleased with the mess he'd made. Feigning ignorance was at least one option still left to him; leaving the mirror side until the event was over was certainly not. Sherlock wasn't going to simply follow along with Wonderland's whims if he could help it and it seemed he most certainly could. There was cause to explore, in that case. He walked by the broken mirrors of John's room to make sure the other seemed fine but kept his distance, kept to the shadows, rather hating the way it reminded him of home and the distance observations he was reserved to. He didn't linger. There was much more pressing things to unearth than the sullenness of John.
When Sherlock made his way out of John's room, out to explore this mirror verse, he was being watched. Cool, disinterested blue eyes kept locked on Sherlock head as if looking down the sight of a gun from where their owner was perched. Mirror!John raised his hands, almost gracefully, into the mock position of cocking a sniper rifle, humming to himself pleasantly as he did so. "Headshot." He muttered to himself, then chuckled, folding his arms and waiting for the other two acknowledge his presence with boredom. Annoyingly and unimpressively clever, this one, as if it added up to anything in the world nowadays.
The feeling of being watched was uncomfortable in the strange surroundings. Perhaps a little paranoid, Sherlock kept his eyes darting for lurking strangers and his ears open for the hint of sound. He paused at the chuckle, turning towards the sound. He knew the voice, the laugh, the way the notes varied with his pleasure. It was John, different but most certainly John. The idea of a meeting a mirror version of the man made Sherlock's stomach sink low in his gut. John was a very good man. His mirror was sure to be a right cunt. "Hello?"
"Oh, hello." This John called pleasantly, reserved, in a cruel mock of how he figured his mirror self would greet Sherlock back. Then he all but sneered. "What's your business wandering about on this side of the mirror, freak?"
Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly. It was a very different person, not John by a long shot. There was no reason to react to the word so often thrown around by others. "I'm here on my own business. The mirrors are broken, as you've no doubt noticed. Generally this sort of chaos can only mean one thing: something very big is going on here and generally that activity is localized on the mirror side. Happen to know where I may find Queen Alice?" He doubted he'd be helpful but ti was still worth asking.
"Might happen to. Where she is doesn't really matter to you, though, since you're not going to figure out what's going on before it's over or you die." John said breezily, standing and fixing his shirt casually.
Sherlock sighed, clasping his hands behind his back. "And are you going to kill me?"
"Me? Nah." Mirror!John sauntered, giving the mirror!verse around them far more attention then the detective. "Just giving a bit of... doctorly advice."
"I think I'll ask for a second opinion then, doctor." Sherlock looked him over sharply, deducing from him as much as possible. A dangerous man and a heartless one. He'd be better off leaving him far behind.
"Perhaps from the other me?"
"Not likely given that he has no knowledge of this particular facet of this world and that any opinion he might have would be completely instinctual without any factual impute. No, I think I'll trust myself in this matter. Good day." He started walking again, hoping it would be enough to escape the mirror's radar.
[Missing Chunk]
Sherlock puts his hand out to help him, watching the way he seems to hesitate. The arm is covered in needle marks and scars that Sherlock doesn't seem to notice. "Not sure this will be painless but better to get it over with."
"Right." The differences telling, John reaches out and clasps Sherlock's hand, shifting his stance before stepping through the mirror. Suddenly, as soon as he's through to the other side, he loses his breath briefly, the distinct absence on his back a shock. The wings, the ache and weight, are gone. John tenses in surprise, but isn't in pain and when he reaches over his shoulder with his free hand to clutch at the skin that was previously raw, he finds it doesn't feel that way any more. "Oh." He says, taken aback. That explains why Sherlock was now back to his proper age, at least. '
Sherlock smiled, giving him a quick pat down. "Much improved. Where we're going, they'd only hamper you. Aesthetics aside, you're better off without them."
It was rather nice, not having them resting on his back anymore. John rolled his shoulders then stretched his arms above his head, feeling a knot here or there from tensing in odd ways against their weight, but otherwise it was as if they'd never even been there. "Even with aesthetics, I'm glad they're gone. They were far too expressive... and made it hard to walk through doorways..." He ends the reminiscing with a clap, the excitement at their upcoming dance with possible danger obvious in his body language and eyes. "Shall we, then? Where exactly do you think the Queen is?"
Sherlock smiled at him. Well, things weren't awkward at all then. Splendid. "She isn't in what appeared to be a throne room. She must be in quarters somewhere around the mansion."
This, this was easy. It was so easy to fall back into just being them, John wondered if he should be worried. "Quarters only found on this side of the mirror, I assume?" But he found he couldn't. His heart was pounding at the thrill of possible danger and the energy Sherlock radiated when it was time for him to be clever. "Could it possibly be found in a place that's represented on our side? Like... where a portrait is or something? Or is it just a useless hope to think that this might be easier than running all over the place?"
Sherlock shrugged, loving the way John tried to think it through. He always like that about him. Even faced with obvious superiority, he never gave up. "This world being a mirror, there are the same things on each side for the majority. The throne room stood out as being unfamiliar but with so many rooms, and with Alice not having always been queen, it's possible she could reside anywhere. Just not, I would assume, in the rooms currently occupied by residents as their mirrors would have those rooms here."
Wonderland was quite confusing. John looked a tad sheepish and rubbed his forehead. That's what he got for assuming things about the parallel universe of a place that he barely understood anyways. "Right then, so we've got some leg work ahead of us." The doctor glanced about before looking back at Sherlock. "You said Alice wasn't always the queen. Were you here before she was? Did the other queen have any important areas or rooms you think we should check first?"
"Well, the Queen was eaten by Wonderland so if she did, it may not still exist." He started walking, going slow enough to keep John close. It was dangerous after all. "I was here for about... four months before the coupe. The residents were all idiots who couldn't be bothered to listen to reason. They're lucky the Queen proved to not be the power behind Wonderland."
John followed after the taller man, training his eyes on him but distinctly aware of the world around them. It felt threatening. "I didn't realize you were here so long." The 'by yourself' remained unspoken. "Alright. So if those possibilities aren't probable, where do you think we should look first?" He hoped, vaguely, that they didn't run into that other version of Sherlock he'd talked to before while they were over here.
"I arrived in the first few days of July in Wonderland time. I left in December and returned in January. Honestly, I'd forgotten how long I'd spent here. Doesn't feel that long. Been busy I suppose." He looks through the mirrors as they go, checked on the other side as they go. "Ground floor and second floor are the most likely locations. Library and dining room are on the second floor making it the most attractive of the choices. Lucky us, that puts us in our native territory except it's still Japan in the real Wonderland and back to normal over here."
"So everything that's going on in the real Wonderland is neutralized here, not just the things effecting us." John got caught up looking through a mirror as they strode by, nearly tripping on a corner of carpet, before deciding to let Sherlock glance about figuring where to go while he remained focused on making sure there was no danger nearby. He contemplated pulling out his gun, but without a real physical reason to at the moment he resisted the urge. "Let's stay on the second floor then and look around until we're sure she's not here."
Sherlock nods. It's the most effective means. "Keep a look out for bones."
"...Bones?" John frowns, confused. "Why's that?"
"I saw quite a few of them. Recent kills."
"Kills? You mean you've seen bones of people--our fellow residents?" He swallowed, imagining the couple of people he's gotten close to in his short time in Wonderland, trying to recall the last he'd spoken to them. "Killed by what?"
"I'm not sure exactly. But whatever it was was large and strong enough to dispatch with flesh and bone quite easily. I assume those killed were mirrors but there's no assurance that is the case."
"Christ." John whispered, looking about them with more intensity, as if his already focused protectiveness wasn't enough to notice anything off. But now he was worried it wouldn't be anything near enough to keep them both safe.
"Don't worry. I have the utmost faith in your marksmanship."
Of course Sherlock could read his concern in his face or the gait of his walk or the way he shifted his shoulders. John straightened just so. "I'm flattered, but I have to admit I've never shot at something big enough to rip people to shreds before."
"That would be why we have several lives to waste here. Save yourself if it comes down to it, understand?" He didn't look back at John. John was keen enough in his observations as it was.
"I'm not going to turn heel and leave you, so don't you dare suggest it." John doesn't look at Sherlock either, just using his voice to press the lack of nonsense or negotiation in his statement.
"John, if your gun can't save one person, it may as well not let two down. Plenty of mirrors to leap through which we will both do if the time comes." Sherlock spares a quick look back at him, just to gauge his body language. "Just don't be a hero is all I'm saying."
"So long as you're not an idiot." John kept his eyes forward, pointedly making no promises. He didn't dare say aloud that if the hypothetical situation arose where he couldn't save Sherlock, it would probably be because he'd already be dead himself. The idea of watching the detective die again, even temporarily, was too much to consider as an option.
*RP-ed via AIM by Niko and Em
It had been a full evening and half a day since John and Sherlock had their falling out, a twisted bunch of intentions and wrong responses. John had sat in his room for the whole time, dozing uncomfortably on his stomach and staring at the wall dividing him from Sherlock accusingly, as if it could split down and enlighten him to how to fix what he'd screwed up. The doctor had hoped, in vain, that Sherlock would come find him, seek him out with that smile on his face, high inspired or not. His wings flexed anxiously, and he wondered if he could convince them to get close again by reminding the detective he needed help to clean the wounds there, and see if perhaps that inspired a quiet moment as it had before. But, in the end, it was pure concern that finally prompted the doctor to stand, to stride purposefully to the door and take the couple of steps needed to get to Sherlock's room, opening the door as he knocked, calling out in hopes that the other man was open to his presence. "Sherlock?"
There was no answer. Sherlock flat was empty, the mirror above the fireplace still smashed from the event. Drugs were out on the table but only one of the syringes looked used with several more still packaged and sterile. Nothing anywhere else in the flat seemed touched.
On the table among the paraphernalia was a white piece of paper addressed to John.
John let out a long, shaky breath, which clashed loudly with the silence of the room. The doctor stepped into the replica of his flat sitting room slowly, dragging his fingers against the couch arm as he entered, eyes locked on the paper. Even when he reaches the table, he doesn't pick it up for a long time, simply staring at it lying there between the syringes and other tools and wondering if the sense of dread he's feeling in his stomach is logical. He finally reaches out and picks up the paper with steady hands, but his wings are ruffled and twitching in worry as he starts to read...
The note is simple, nothing elaborate but heartfelt in its brevity. "John, Sorry for being an idiot. -Sherlock".
"Dammit, Sherlock." John hissed, looking about the room as if the detective would step out of a corner and he could refuse the apology outright. Sherlock hadn't done anything wrong... in fact, John was positive a majority of what happened was his fault, not the detective's. "You're not an idiot. You're brilliant." He pressed to the empty room in the absence of who he really wanted to say that to, hating the way it echoed in all the empty spaces, too similar to the flat that awaited him back in his own world. Quickly, the doctor folded up the paper, tucking it into his front breast pocket, trying to deduce where the younger man would have gone. Wonderland was dangerous, especially now with all sorts of odd events happening. John glanced about the room one last time, trying to pick up on any hints, and ready to search the entire complex if he didn't.
In the open hole that was once the mantle mirror Sherlock--not a twenty year old version but a mirror version of the genuine article--walked past as though it were a cut-out in the wall rather than just an empty space. He didn't seem to notice John at first and backtracked slowly, peaking in over the edge, as he came to notice the winged man.
"Don't you have somewhere better to be? This isn't yours."
John jerked and spun around, gawking that the man in the mirror. He had no idea about the mirrorverse, or the copies on the other side. "Sherlock? You're... your proper age again." A smile tugs hesitantly at the corner of his mouth as he steps forward, careful to avoid the broken mirror on the floor. Sherlock sounded rather terse, but that wasn't a proper indication of how much he remembered about being stuck as a 22 year old. "I know it's not my room, but I was looking for you! Uhm, how did you get in there, anyways?"
"The same as everyone else." mirror!Sherlock leans forward, resting his chin on his palm, elbow in the mirror frame. "Of all the luck, you would have to end up in Wonderland. Such a pity. After all that trouble to get away in the first place. Well, no matter. There's something in here that would like to eat your bones. Why not come inside? I can promise you it will be dangerous."
John frowns. In spite of the usual hook at the end, Sherlock's words are rather menacing between the moments they were just confusing. What did he mean by 'getting away' and something that would 'eat his bones'? The doctor shifted uncomfortably, wings hovering in tight, defensive arcs just visible over his shoulders. "What are you talking about?" He says cautiously, flexing his hand.
"I'm talking about It. Aren't you curious?" He cocks his head as though he really can't tell, as though reading John is something he's not skilled at. "Come inside and see. I'm sure you'll be worth a meal at any rate." He extends a hand to help John through the mirror. As the arm and hand passes the threshold of the broken mirror, it changes from sinewy to slender, the hands less blunt with a decidedly feminine quality. Mirror!Sherlock ignores it but whatever changes occur are limited only to the side of the mirror's frame that John stands on. It's certainly not the arm with track marks and fresh wounds from the day before.
John jerks, takes step back away from the hand only sparing the change a glance as this Sherlock's unsettling gaze held his own. "I'm "worth a meal"? What do you-" He shakes his head, perplexed and wary. "Sherlock, you're not acting like yourself, what's going on? If this is about what happened yesterday, I'm sorry..." But even as he talks, he considers the arm again, realizing slowly it's become youthful, but not damaged, like a younger Sherlock's arms were. A chill shot down his spine, even though he wasn't sure what it all meant.
Sherlock shrugged, pulling his arm back on the other side. "Yesterday? You mean the gross display between you and a twenty-two year old? Really, I shouldn't be surprised. The book Dr. Watson had a very young wife. It was creepy to watch the movie, I mean, honestly old enough to be her father. People back then were sick. Well... I say back then but obviously..." He shrugs, looking around along the other side of the mirror's place. "Are you certain you don't want to come over here?"
At the insults, John's mouth twitches, just an indication of a snarl slipping past a soldier's schooled expressions. His wings, however, snap up, flaring in anger. Yes, the words sting, especially jabs at the moment he and the younger Sherlock had. But here are just so many things wrong about what was coming from Sherlock's mouth that he can't write them off as bitterness or anger. This just... wasn't him... somehow... "As charming as you are, I'm not feeling inclined, no." He says evenly, but even then it has a hint of snide. "Who are you?"
Sherlock sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm Sherlock Holmes. Obviously. You're a bit slow, aren't you? Look, you're not going to find him on that side so whatever sick fantasies you were envisioning are simply out of the question. Besides, I can do far better than you regardless of which one I am. But that doesn't mean you can’t die for a good cause over here. So why not come through?
"You mean my Sherlock is on... 'your side'?" John questioned, obviously wary of this man with Sherlock's face, and pointedly ignoring his insults and jabs. "You seem pretty keen on me dying, good cause or not, so why should I trust anything you say?" But he shifted forward, as if getting closer to the mirror would allow him to see inside and find his version of Sherlock somewhere around the man he now talked with.
"Really? 'My Sherlock'? You are exceedingly selfish. Isn't it obvious why it would be better if you died?" Sherlock shrugged again, "I mean, is there anything you've touched that hasn't gone to shit? Sort of the 'John Watson curse' I guess. Probably better if you just killed yourself, actually." He smiled a little, flippant but jovial. "I guess I can leave you to that in that case. 'Your' Sherlock will probably die over here anyway so there isn't much for you to live for. Curiosity killed the cat. It's lucky for me I'm more of a dog person."
John can't hide how that effects him. Not this time. The things he'd confessed in confidence to the younger Sherlock just the other day were now obviously being thrown back at him with his voice and his face... How could this other Sherlock know these things? John flexed his hand, resisting clutching at his shirt, at where it ached just left of his sternum... or perhaps resisting the urge to reach for the gun usually tucked into the back of his jeans, now absent. "Shut up." He said coldly, not giving Sherlock the satisfaction of ducking his head as he said so.
Sherlock smiles and waved to him, walking away from the opening and whistling his merry way through the mirrored version of the mansion.
John stares a long while at the empty doorway, rage, hurt but mostly shame rushing through him, making the former soldier tremble like the onslaught of a nightmare. Suddenly, he finds himself taking a step forward, until he's at the edge of the 'door' frame, breaking and cracking pieces of shattered mirror scattered around the base. He doesn't venture further, just breathes deeply and watches, wings flinching and ruffling in agitation.
It hadn't taken the younger Sherlock long to find something curious about the broken mirror. Climbing into it had been easy enough with the almost instantaneous results of reverting to his normal self making for a much obliged Sherlock Holmes. He wasn't a fan of his youth, and certainly not pleased with the mess he'd made. Feigning ignorance was at least one option still left to him; leaving the mirror side until the event was over was certainly not. Sherlock wasn't going to simply follow along with Wonderland's whims if he could help it and it seemed he most certainly could. There was cause to explore, in that case. He walked by the broken mirrors of John's room to make sure the other seemed fine but kept his distance, kept to the shadows, rather hating the way it reminded him of home and the distance observations he was reserved to. He didn't linger. There was much more pressing things to unearth than the sullenness of John.
When Sherlock made his way out of John's room, out to explore this mirror verse, he was being watched. Cool, disinterested blue eyes kept locked on Sherlock head as if looking down the sight of a gun from where their owner was perched. Mirror!John raised his hands, almost gracefully, into the mock position of cocking a sniper rifle, humming to himself pleasantly as he did so. "Headshot." He muttered to himself, then chuckled, folding his arms and waiting for the other two acknowledge his presence with boredom. Annoyingly and unimpressively clever, this one, as if it added up to anything in the world nowadays.
The feeling of being watched was uncomfortable in the strange surroundings. Perhaps a little paranoid, Sherlock kept his eyes darting for lurking strangers and his ears open for the hint of sound. He paused at the chuckle, turning towards the sound. He knew the voice, the laugh, the way the notes varied with his pleasure. It was John, different but most certainly John. The idea of a meeting a mirror version of the man made Sherlock's stomach sink low in his gut. John was a very good man. His mirror was sure to be a right cunt. "Hello?"
"Oh, hello." This John called pleasantly, reserved, in a cruel mock of how he figured his mirror self would greet Sherlock back. Then he all but sneered. "What's your business wandering about on this side of the mirror, freak?"
Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly. It was a very different person, not John by a long shot. There was no reason to react to the word so often thrown around by others. "I'm here on my own business. The mirrors are broken, as you've no doubt noticed. Generally this sort of chaos can only mean one thing: something very big is going on here and generally that activity is localized on the mirror side. Happen to know where I may find Queen Alice?" He doubted he'd be helpful but ti was still worth asking.
"Might happen to. Where she is doesn't really matter to you, though, since you're not going to figure out what's going on before it's over or you die." John said breezily, standing and fixing his shirt casually.
Sherlock sighed, clasping his hands behind his back. "And are you going to kill me?"
"Me? Nah." Mirror!John sauntered, giving the mirror!verse around them far more attention then the detective. "Just giving a bit of... doctorly advice."
"I think I'll ask for a second opinion then, doctor." Sherlock looked him over sharply, deducing from him as much as possible. A dangerous man and a heartless one. He'd be better off leaving him far behind.
"Perhaps from the other me?"
"Not likely given that he has no knowledge of this particular facet of this world and that any opinion he might have would be completely instinctual without any factual impute. No, I think I'll trust myself in this matter. Good day." He started walking again, hoping it would be enough to escape the mirror's radar.
[Missing Chunk]
Sherlock puts his hand out to help him, watching the way he seems to hesitate. The arm is covered in needle marks and scars that Sherlock doesn't seem to notice. "Not sure this will be painless but better to get it over with."
"Right." The differences telling, John reaches out and clasps Sherlock's hand, shifting his stance before stepping through the mirror. Suddenly, as soon as he's through to the other side, he loses his breath briefly, the distinct absence on his back a shock. The wings, the ache and weight, are gone. John tenses in surprise, but isn't in pain and when he reaches over his shoulder with his free hand to clutch at the skin that was previously raw, he finds it doesn't feel that way any more. "Oh." He says, taken aback. That explains why Sherlock was now back to his proper age, at least. '
Sherlock smiled, giving him a quick pat down. "Much improved. Where we're going, they'd only hamper you. Aesthetics aside, you're better off without them."
It was rather nice, not having them resting on his back anymore. John rolled his shoulders then stretched his arms above his head, feeling a knot here or there from tensing in odd ways against their weight, but otherwise it was as if they'd never even been there. "Even with aesthetics, I'm glad they're gone. They were far too expressive... and made it hard to walk through doorways..." He ends the reminiscing with a clap, the excitement at their upcoming dance with possible danger obvious in his body language and eyes. "Shall we, then? Where exactly do you think the Queen is?"
Sherlock smiled at him. Well, things weren't awkward at all then. Splendid. "She isn't in what appeared to be a throne room. She must be in quarters somewhere around the mansion."
This, this was easy. It was so easy to fall back into just being them, John wondered if he should be worried. "Quarters only found on this side of the mirror, I assume?" But he found he couldn't. His heart was pounding at the thrill of possible danger and the energy Sherlock radiated when it was time for him to be clever. "Could it possibly be found in a place that's represented on our side? Like... where a portrait is or something? Or is it just a useless hope to think that this might be easier than running all over the place?"
Sherlock shrugged, loving the way John tried to think it through. He always like that about him. Even faced with obvious superiority, he never gave up. "This world being a mirror, there are the same things on each side for the majority. The throne room stood out as being unfamiliar but with so many rooms, and with Alice not having always been queen, it's possible she could reside anywhere. Just not, I would assume, in the rooms currently occupied by residents as their mirrors would have those rooms here."
Wonderland was quite confusing. John looked a tad sheepish and rubbed his forehead. That's what he got for assuming things about the parallel universe of a place that he barely understood anyways. "Right then, so we've got some leg work ahead of us." The doctor glanced about before looking back at Sherlock. "You said Alice wasn't always the queen. Were you here before she was? Did the other queen have any important areas or rooms you think we should check first?"
"Well, the Queen was eaten by Wonderland so if she did, it may not still exist." He started walking, going slow enough to keep John close. It was dangerous after all. "I was here for about... four months before the coupe. The residents were all idiots who couldn't be bothered to listen to reason. They're lucky the Queen proved to not be the power behind Wonderland."
John followed after the taller man, training his eyes on him but distinctly aware of the world around them. It felt threatening. "I didn't realize you were here so long." The 'by yourself' remained unspoken. "Alright. So if those possibilities aren't probable, where do you think we should look first?" He hoped, vaguely, that they didn't run into that other version of Sherlock he'd talked to before while they were over here.
"I arrived in the first few days of July in Wonderland time. I left in December and returned in January. Honestly, I'd forgotten how long I'd spent here. Doesn't feel that long. Been busy I suppose." He looks through the mirrors as they go, checked on the other side as they go. "Ground floor and second floor are the most likely locations. Library and dining room are on the second floor making it the most attractive of the choices. Lucky us, that puts us in our native territory except it's still Japan in the real Wonderland and back to normal over here."
"So everything that's going on in the real Wonderland is neutralized here, not just the things effecting us." John got caught up looking through a mirror as they strode by, nearly tripping on a corner of carpet, before deciding to let Sherlock glance about figuring where to go while he remained focused on making sure there was no danger nearby. He contemplated pulling out his gun, but without a real physical reason to at the moment he resisted the urge. "Let's stay on the second floor then and look around until we're sure she's not here."
Sherlock nods. It's the most effective means. "Keep a look out for bones."
"...Bones?" John frowns, confused. "Why's that?"
"I saw quite a few of them. Recent kills."
"Kills? You mean you've seen bones of people--our fellow residents?" He swallowed, imagining the couple of people he's gotten close to in his short time in Wonderland, trying to recall the last he'd spoken to them. "Killed by what?"
"I'm not sure exactly. But whatever it was was large and strong enough to dispatch with flesh and bone quite easily. I assume those killed were mirrors but there's no assurance that is the case."
"Christ." John whispered, looking about them with more intensity, as if his already focused protectiveness wasn't enough to notice anything off. But now he was worried it wouldn't be anything near enough to keep them both safe.
"Don't worry. I have the utmost faith in your marksmanship."
Of course Sherlock could read his concern in his face or the gait of his walk or the way he shifted his shoulders. John straightened just so. "I'm flattered, but I have to admit I've never shot at something big enough to rip people to shreds before."
"That would be why we have several lives to waste here. Save yourself if it comes down to it, understand?" He didn't look back at John. John was keen enough in his observations as it was.
"I'm not going to turn heel and leave you, so don't you dare suggest it." John doesn't look at Sherlock either, just using his voice to press the lack of nonsense or negotiation in his statement.
"John, if your gun can't save one person, it may as well not let two down. Plenty of mirrors to leap through which we will both do if the time comes." Sherlock spares a quick look back at him, just to gauge his body language. "Just don't be a hero is all I'm saying."
"So long as you're not an idiot." John kept his eyes forward, pointedly making no promises. He didn't dare say aloud that if the hypothetical situation arose where he couldn't save Sherlock, it would probably be because he'd already be dead himself. The idea of watching the detective die again, even temporarily, was too much to consider as an option.
*RP-ed via AIM by Niko and Em