Jim's flamboyance is drowned out by the pressing, far more disturbing notion that somehow he's alive, he's survived, and he's here with Sherlock, talking about toys or teddy bears and goodness only knows what. As the Irishman speaks, Sherlock can feel his teeth grinding together, jaw tight with every flighty word dropped from Jim's lips. As the other man circled him with all the intent of a vulture, Sherlock stared straight ahead and furrowed his brows, a crease forming between them as his mind whirled. The gun, it could have been loaded with blanks, could have been a trigger for a sound, could have had a blood bag attached to the back of his neck that would explode when the gun was fired, could have, might have, should have...
...and then he's speaking about John. Sherlock allows his brows to relax, an air of nonchalance once more sweeping over his features. Or at least the closest thing to nonchalance he can manage, which is more nonplussed than it is stolid.
His head falls to a tilt, and he stops, and thinks. Analyses, deduces, induces, and comes to his own abductions. ]
You're not here by your own free will. How interesting.
[ When the man stops before him and starts talking about claiming him, Sherlock drowns Jim's voice out again. Only this time, his mind his active, focused, picking out little details about Jim's clothing, his grin, even the melodramatic albeit anticipated body language he's being offered. Especially about the fact that Jim's still playing the little game he always played; there's no irritation on his face, no sense of rage chiseled into his features. The fact that he's here along with Sherlock at least indicates that Jim's ultimate move, his final solution to their little problem has resulted in a draw, and Jim isn't even angry?
Something's off. Something's off, even as the villain continues to insinuate something lewd involving the both of them (or at least that's what Sherlock's assuming, by this point, he's long since stopped paying attention to what Jim was saying), without the slightest hint of scorn about his features.
If anything, he's excited. Perhaps Jim has forgotten everything that transpired; the rooftop, the fall. Maybe his plan to cheat death was only half-successful, and he was cursed with amnesia for his efforts. Perhaps this is part of his plot, of him burning Sherlock, maybe the last installment of their little game was just a warm up for the grand finale. How much more can he do?
There's a billion questions to ask and only one answer he wants to hear.
The thought process ends, as does his logical analyses of the psychopath. Time for pleasantries and polite conversation. Or something like that. ]
Must annoy you, not knowing where you are, or how you got here.
[ A guess, though a well-informed one. While Jim has taken the time to gloat about the implications of the beads, he's never once claimed to be the reason for said beads existing, for Sherlock being here, or anything regarding their current situation being part of his game with Sherlock. The detective purses his lips, ignoring the final comment regarding stamina, even if he could have fit an insult into there. Best not to engage Jim with these matters. ]
no subject
Why aren't you dead?
Why aren't you dead?
Why aren't you dead?
Jim's flamboyance is drowned out by the pressing, far more disturbing notion that somehow he's alive, he's survived, and he's here with Sherlock, talking about toys or teddy bears and goodness only knows what. As the Irishman speaks, Sherlock can feel his teeth grinding together, jaw tight with every flighty word dropped from Jim's lips. As the other man circled him with all the intent of a vulture, Sherlock stared straight ahead and furrowed his brows, a crease forming between them as his mind whirled. The gun, it could have been loaded with blanks, could have been a trigger for a sound, could have had a blood bag attached to the back of his neck that would explode when the gun was fired, could have, might have, should have...
...and then he's speaking about John. Sherlock allows his brows to relax, an air of nonchalance once more sweeping over his features. Or at least the closest thing to nonchalance he can manage, which is more nonplussed than it is stolid.
His head falls to a tilt, and he stops, and thinks. Analyses, deduces, induces, and comes to his own abductions. ]
You're not here by your own free will. How interesting.
[ When the man stops before him and starts talking about claiming him, Sherlock drowns Jim's voice out again. Only this time, his mind his active, focused, picking out little details about Jim's clothing, his grin, even the melodramatic albeit anticipated body language he's being offered. Especially about the fact that Jim's still playing the little game he always played; there's no irritation on his face, no sense of rage chiseled into his features. The fact that he's here along with Sherlock at least indicates that Jim's ultimate move, his final solution to their little problem has resulted in a draw, and Jim isn't even angry?
Something's off. Something's off, even as the villain continues to insinuate something lewd involving the both of them (or at least that's what Sherlock's assuming, by this point, he's long since stopped paying attention to what Jim was saying), without the slightest hint of scorn about his features.
If anything, he's excited. Perhaps Jim has forgotten everything that transpired; the rooftop, the fall. Maybe his plan to cheat death was only half-successful, and he was cursed with amnesia for his efforts. Perhaps this is part of his plot, of him burning Sherlock, maybe the last installment of their little game was just a warm up for the grand finale.
How much more can he do?There's a billion questions to ask and only one answer he wants to hear.
The thought process ends, as does his logical analyses of the psychopath. Time for pleasantries and polite conversation. Or something like that. ]
Must annoy you, not knowing where you are, or how you got here.
[ A guess, though a well-informed one. While Jim has taken the time to gloat about the implications of the beads, he's never once claimed to be the reason for said beads existing, for Sherlock being here, or anything regarding their current situation being part of his game with Sherlock. The detective purses his lips, ignoring the final comment regarding stamina, even if he could have fit an insult into there. Best not to engage Jim with these matters. ]