[ If the man's apprehension is apparently to Sherlock, the detective is doing a fine job of refusing to acknowledge it. There's a flurry of thoughts swarming about in his head, from the subliminal messaging accompanying the city's chip device to the carefully considered concept of why they're here, what they're doing here, how they got here, where here is, who put them here. Nicotine flows freely through him and the detective cards through his deliberations like an ordinary man would the pages of a book. If they were here for the purpose of blackmail, what was to be gained? If they were here to be submissive to the control of those who put them here, why were they being controlled? Were they being raised as an army? If they were put here for interrogation purposes, what did all of these people have in common that...
The other man is talking. The only thing that irritates Sherlock is that there's no handy little set of name tags on these people, and he really doesn't care enough to discern the names of most of them. Sherlock listens for a moment, resisting the urge to offer scathing sarcasm in response, and is rewarded by the man's insights on the matter.
Brows raise. Then furrow. A smile creeps across his lips and he exhales an interested hum at the revelation. ]
A quota, yes! Yes, exactly what they're doing, a mass designated to satisfy the needs of our kidnappers. Oh this just gets more and more interesting! [ Fingers are steepled together and it's clear that Sherlock is positively drunk off of the excitement of this situation. Never mind the fact a moment ago he was livid, resigned but enraged at the confines of the establishment and the particulars of their situation. Now it's the best thing to have happened to him and he isn't going to miss the opportunity to crack this case for the world.
Hands raise to press the tips of his fingers just beneath his chin and he closes his eyes, brows knitting together. ] Not an accident. Every person was selected for a purpose; variety was necessary. No collective so capable would have made academic mistakes.
[ He ponders that a moment, raising his head, opening his eyes. Seconds crawl by, and the thought process is lost. As he's stated before, it's impossible to come to a definite conclusion without all the evidence, and he's been provided with very little so far. Gaze switches back to the other man, and Sherlock decides this royal before him may be of some use in the future, not only for his status and its possible part in the situation, but for the intellect the man has displayed.
A hand extends, not a gesture Sherlock is accustomed to offering, so the motion is stiff. ] Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. Aid me in my investigations, and I will keep you informed of discoveries regarding our predicament. Unless you'd rather distract yourself with the city's surfeit.
[ A glance behind him to a child of thirteen being fondled by two, far older women, then back to the dark haired man in front of him. ] I sincerely hope not.
I'm so sorry this is so late. Midterms ate me alive!
The other man is talking. The only thing that irritates Sherlock is that there's no handy little set of name tags on these people, and he really doesn't care enough to discern the names of most of them. Sherlock listens for a moment, resisting the urge to offer scathing sarcasm in response, and is rewarded by the man's insights on the matter.
Brows raise. Then furrow. A smile creeps across his lips and he exhales an interested hum at the revelation. ]
A quota, yes! Yes, exactly what they're doing, a mass designated to satisfy the needs of our kidnappers. Oh this just gets more and more interesting! [ Fingers are steepled together and it's clear that Sherlock is positively drunk off of the excitement of this situation. Never mind the fact a moment ago he was livid, resigned but enraged at the confines of the establishment and the particulars of their situation. Now it's the best thing to have happened to him and he isn't going to miss the opportunity to crack this case for the world.
Hands raise to press the tips of his fingers just beneath his chin and he closes his eyes, brows knitting together. ] Not an accident. Every person was selected for a purpose; variety was necessary. No collective so capable would have made academic mistakes.
[ He ponders that a moment, raising his head, opening his eyes. Seconds crawl by, and the thought process is lost. As he's stated before, it's impossible to come to a definite conclusion without all the evidence, and he's been provided with very little so far. Gaze switches back to the other man, and Sherlock decides this royal before him may be of some use in the future, not only for his status and its possible part in the situation, but for the intellect the man has displayed.
A hand extends, not a gesture Sherlock is accustomed to offering, so the motion is stiff. ] Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. Aid me in my investigations, and I will keep you informed of discoveries regarding our predicament. Unless you'd rather distract yourself with the city's surfeit.
[ A glance behind him to a child of thirteen being fondled by two, far older women, then back to the dark haired man in front of him. ] I sincerely hope not.