kore_logs | (no subject)

Who: Blaine Anderson and open.
Where: The park.
When: Day 28
What: Blaine's exercising in the park. Anyone's welcome to join him.
Warnings: None that I know of?

If Blaine had to pick a word or phrase to describe his feelings, he'd say he was going stir-crazy. His vision was back, and now he just wanted to do something, to be active. So he went to the park and after having a good long look around, he decided this was as good a place as any to try a little boxing.

Sure, it wasn't a gym, and it wasn't equipped like one at all, but there was a lot of open space to move around in, and that was good enough for him. Granted, he knew he probably looked stupid, punching invisible targets, but it felt good all the same.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He did look an idiot bouncing around like that, enough to be notable even to the jaded eyes of someone accustomed to labelling nearly everyone an idiot. Sherlock saw, watched, observed, sighed, and tried to consider that a job well done, tried to move on to something else. That would be the best thing to do under the circumstances. Maybe not really the kindest, but it'd look that way, and that's what really mattered to most people. Besides, when had he ever cared about being kind?

But the truth of the matter was that no matter how hard he tried it was still difficult for a man of his intellect, and given the astonishing depth of his isolation, to resist being pedantic. It simply couldn't be done.

And so Sherlock altered his trajectory, allowed his steps to take him through the park, to well within earshot. “Arms too high; even I'd have a clear shot at your ribs. Who taught you to fight?”