[ The emotion is obvious, smeared across Mello's features like a child's finger painting across freshly coated white walls of a few-million quid home. There's something between anger and awe, and Sherlock can feel a smirk starting to pull over his lips, despite the inanity of the situation. The movement to his rosary beads is caught, though Sherlock decides to tuck the thought away. Falsely religious for the sake of impressions, or falsely religious to deceive himself? An interesting thought.
When the initial shock is brushed aside in favour of the man scoffing, disregarding what's been said, or at least minimising the impact of Sherlock's words, the detective blinks slowly, lazily, as if disinterested by the man's attempt to deter the situation. He's pleased enough that the blond is impressed, but the detective wasn't looking for reaffirmation of his abilities: he knows he's good. There is a part of him that wishes to respond to the affront on his ego, but then the man says something interesting and Sherlock almost thanks the powers that be for finally throwing something worth his while in his direction.
A beat. ] Hm, odd. For a man unimpressed by my abilities and in possession of his own 'superior' powers of observation, I find it strange you wanted to acquaint yourself at all.
[ And then he straightens, and takes a step forward, intruding on the man's personal space. Unlike the vast majority of the people contained, there is nothing sexual about the gesture, nor threatening. If anything, it's posed as a challenge, as he stares hard into the eyes of his newfound companion and attempts to assert his position, his curiousity because he is oh so very curious indeed. Most of those who've approached him have lost Sherlock's intrest within moments.
But this man is smart. Sharp. Ready. It's a breath of fresh air amongst the constant ennui offered up here. ] You've undoubtably discerned my lack of interest. I'm obviously not in a position of power either. [ Lids drop to half-tilt as Sherlock regards the leather-clad blond with interest, pausing, waiting for silence to filter in between them. The last question Mello posed goes unanswered as Sherlock responds with one of his own: ]
Why did you arrange for this meeting?
[ Not that Sherlock hasn't come to his own conclusions. The man wants answers, he looks hungry. He, like Sherlock, isn't satisfied by just the mental imagery being projected, the carnal acts commencing in every direction. Sherlock doesn't think the man would object to some of those acts, as it's clear between the two of them who's morals are more ambiguous, just by the sheer act of deceit the man has already admitted to. But he does doubt that those distractions are enough to satisfy the craving, the undying need to know what's going on. He's too sharp to be mollified by the promise of endless amounts of sex and pleasure.
Of this much, the consulting detective is certain. He knows that look, because it's like looking into a mirror. A darker, more religious, red-leather-clad mirror with scars. ]
no subject
[ The emotion is obvious, smeared across Mello's features like a child's finger painting across freshly coated white walls of a few-million quid home. There's something between anger and awe, and Sherlock can feel a smirk starting to pull over his lips, despite the inanity of the situation. The movement to his rosary beads is caught, though Sherlock decides to tuck the thought away. Falsely religious for the sake of impressions, or falsely religious to deceive himself? An interesting thought.
When the initial shock is brushed aside in favour of the man scoffing, disregarding what's been said, or at least minimising the impact of Sherlock's words, the detective blinks slowly, lazily, as if disinterested by the man's attempt to deter the situation. He's pleased enough that the blond is impressed, but the detective wasn't looking for reaffirmation of his abilities: he knows he's good. There is a part of him that wishes to respond to the affront on his ego, but then the man says something interesting and Sherlock almost thanks the powers that be for finally throwing something worth his while in his direction.
A beat. ] Hm, odd. For a man unimpressed by my abilities and in possession of his own 'superior' powers of observation, I find it strange you wanted to acquaint yourself at all.
[ And then he straightens, and takes a step forward, intruding on the man's personal space. Unlike the vast majority of the people contained, there is nothing sexual about the gesture, nor threatening. If anything, it's posed as a challenge, as he stares hard into the eyes of his newfound companion and attempts to assert his position, his curiousity because he is oh so very curious indeed. Most of those who've approached him have lost Sherlock's intrest within moments.
But this man is smart. Sharp. Ready. It's a breath of fresh air amongst the constant ennui offered up here. ] You've undoubtably discerned my lack of interest. I'm obviously not in a position of power either. [ Lids drop to half-tilt as Sherlock regards the leather-clad blond with interest, pausing, waiting for silence to filter in between them. The last question Mello posed goes unanswered as Sherlock responds with one of his own: ]
Why did you arrange for this meeting?
[ Not that Sherlock hasn't come to his own conclusions. The man wants answers, he looks hungry. He, like Sherlock, isn't satisfied by just the mental imagery being projected, the carnal acts commencing in every direction. Sherlock doesn't think the man would object to some of those acts, as it's clear between the two of them who's morals are more ambiguous, just by the sheer act of deceit the man has already admitted to. But he does doubt that those distractions are enough to satisfy the craving, the undying need to know what's going on. He's too sharp to be mollified by the promise of endless amounts of sex and pleasure.
Of this much, the consulting detective is certain. He knows that look, because it's like looking into a mirror. A darker, more religious, red-leather-clad mirror with scars. ]