[ Eyes are averted from the royal standing before him for a moment as he takes a moment to glance about the fair. As was mentioned before, things have gotten significantly more interesting, and Sherlock can't surpress the smile threatening to spill over onto his lips. Blackmail, kidnapped royals, mysterious intentions, possibly violent, definitely dubious, oh yes, this was most definitely his kind of case. Never mind the inappropriate absurdity of the situation, there had to be a simple explanation for the forced relocation of thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands.
Unfortunately, this hypothesis closed one door and opened up three more. Perhaps more. So suppose a clear motive was established. The more insidious enquiry of who would have the resources to pull off such an awesome crime remained as a nagging itch at the back of his mind, but for now that would have to be tabled. Can't verify a hypothesis with abductions, or worse, guesses, and it isn't good to assume conclusions without all the evidence.
Unfortunately, the fair grounds offered very little in the way of evidence. Lines of carnival booths, everything from kissing to shagging, toys to condoms, food stalls with phallic items to clothing booths offering outfits that could fit into envelopes, but no indication of where they where or how they got here. Sherlock bit his cheek and chewed, thoughtful yet pensive; whoever had designed this establishment had done so in a way as to prevent any clear answers from being determined. Frustrating.
Attention was once more relocated to the dark-haired man. ]
You, like all the others taken, have arrived here today. This mass abduction serves one of three purposes, those being entertainment, blackmail, or information. The second and third are reasonable assumptions given your status and the value acquirable from holding a man like you hostage, but fails to explain the necessity of the thousands of commoners relocated as well. Unless the association between all those kidnapped is purely random, which I doubt, there must be a method in this madness. [ Mumbled: ] Coincidence is never a good explanation.
[ Goodness but how he could go for a cigarette. Or two, or ten, or a whole bloody carton. Their captors had been kind enough to leave Sherlock with a handful of patches, currently the only thing keeping his attention steady. He exhales, then reaches into his pocket, pulling out a single, round patch. His left sleeve is bunched up, the backing is peeled off his vice, and the little object is stuck to his arm. The sleeve is pulled back into place as Sherlock clenches his fist and emits something dangerously close to a moan, lids fluttering shut as he waits for that rush. Damn, but who he wouldn't kill for the temporary asphyxiation associated with actually smoking a cigarette.
Satisfied, if only for the moment, the detective casts his new companion a glance before bending over to gather the beads scattered around the other man's feet. When he returns to his feet, he rolls the red bead between forefinger and thumb, eyes fixed on the colourful little item as he speaks. ]
To answer your original if not inane question, information. But not from you. The question you should have asked is what they have to gain by this, they being the people who captured us, [ His eyes flit back to the other man. ] as that's what we need to know.
no subject
[ Eyes are averted from the royal standing before him for a moment as he takes a moment to glance about the fair. As was mentioned before, things have gotten significantly more interesting, and Sherlock can't surpress the smile threatening to spill over onto his lips. Blackmail, kidnapped royals, mysterious intentions, possibly violent, definitely dubious, oh yes, this was most definitely his kind of case. Never mind the inappropriate absurdity of the situation, there had to be a simple explanation for the forced relocation of thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands.
Unfortunately, this hypothesis closed one door and opened up three more. Perhaps more. So suppose a clear motive was established. The more insidious enquiry of who would have the resources to pull off such an awesome crime remained as a nagging itch at the back of his mind, but for now that would have to be tabled. Can't verify a hypothesis with abductions, or worse, guesses, and it isn't good to assume conclusions without all the evidence.
Unfortunately, the fair grounds offered very little in the way of evidence. Lines of carnival booths, everything from kissing to shagging, toys to condoms, food stalls with phallic items to clothing booths offering outfits that could fit into envelopes, but no indication of where they where or how they got here. Sherlock bit his cheek and chewed, thoughtful yet pensive; whoever had designed this establishment had done so in a way as to prevent any clear answers from being determined. Frustrating.
Attention was once more relocated to the dark-haired man. ]
You, like all the others taken, have arrived here today. This mass abduction serves one of three purposes, those being entertainment, blackmail, or information. The second and third are reasonable assumptions given your status and the value acquirable from holding a man like you hostage, but fails to explain the necessity of the thousands of commoners relocated as well. Unless the association between all those kidnapped is purely random, which I doubt, there must be a method in this madness. [ Mumbled: ] Coincidence is never a good explanation.
[ Goodness but how he could go for a cigarette. Or two, or ten, or a whole bloody carton. Their captors had been kind enough to leave Sherlock with a handful of patches, currently the only thing keeping his attention steady. He exhales, then reaches into his pocket, pulling out a single, round patch. His left sleeve is bunched up, the backing is peeled off his vice, and the little object is stuck to his arm. The sleeve is pulled back into place as Sherlock clenches his fist and emits something dangerously close to a moan, lids fluttering shut as he waits for that rush. Damn, but who he wouldn't kill for the temporary asphyxiation associated with actually smoking a cigarette.
Satisfied, if only for the moment, the detective casts his new companion a glance before bending over to gather the beads scattered around the other man's feet. When he returns to his feet, he rolls the red bead between forefinger and thumb, eyes fixed on the colourful little item as he speaks. ]
To answer your original if not inane question, information. But not from you. The question you should have asked is what they have to gain by this, they being the people who captured us, [ His eyes flit back to the other man. ] as that's what we need to know.