Sherlock Holmes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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kore_logs2012-11-26 07:51 pm
could_be_dangerous) wrote in kore_logs2012-11-26 07:51 pm
Entry tags:
with folded arms, you occupied the bench like toothache
Who: Sherlock Holmes, Lydia Martin
Where: Library
What: Ego showdown? Awkward friendship? STAY TUNED.
Warnings: Probably none.
Kenzi does keep telling Sherlock that he needs to get out more, which normally would be enough to keep him locked up indoors for the rest of his days, but she's not entirely wrong. Or, at least, he'd rather peel his own skin off than stay in here a moment longer with nothing to do but sit up in the attic and watch or attempt to devise other despicably low-tech ways of foiling their captors.
The point is, he's bored, and there's absolutely nothing to do that might help -- certainly not reading, but the library is right across the street and doesn't seem to be a popular locale, which minimises his chances of being seen or having to deal with anyone else at all, a pleasing prospect.
There are, of course, the usual library denizens. The girl, for instance, the one who'd wanted to meet with him and who he has therefore summarily been avoiding. At least she isn't likely to recognise him as long as he doesn't open his mouth. That gives him some small feeling of security as he wanders through the shelves, occasionally pausing to run the tip of one long finger across the spine of a book. Libraries. The last time he'd been in a library was--
Was not worth dwelling on. Delete-- no. Never that. But put it aside for now.
Still, the feel of them under his fingertips is familiar, grounding, even if the titles all look incurably dull, even once he's slipped out of the fiction section. Perhaps not a terrible idea, this. It won't cure his boredom, but it does make him feel less like blowing something up. Himself, perhaps.
Where: Library
What: Ego showdown? Awkward friendship? STAY TUNED.
Warnings: Probably none.
Kenzi does keep telling Sherlock that he needs to get out more, which normally would be enough to keep him locked up indoors for the rest of his days, but she's not entirely wrong. Or, at least, he'd rather peel his own skin off than stay in here a moment longer with nothing to do but sit up in the attic and watch or attempt to devise other despicably low-tech ways of foiling their captors.
The point is, he's bored, and there's absolutely nothing to do that might help -- certainly not reading, but the library is right across the street and doesn't seem to be a popular locale, which minimises his chances of being seen or having to deal with anyone else at all, a pleasing prospect.
There are, of course, the usual library denizens. The girl, for instance, the one who'd wanted to meet with him and who he has therefore summarily been avoiding. At least she isn't likely to recognise him as long as he doesn't open his mouth. That gives him some small feeling of security as he wanders through the shelves, occasionally pausing to run the tip of one long finger across the spine of a book. Libraries. The last time he'd been in a library was--
Was not worth dwelling on. Delete-- no. Never that. But put it aside for now.
Still, the feel of them under his fingertips is familiar, grounding, even if the titles all look incurably dull, even once he's slipped out of the fiction section. Perhaps not a terrible idea, this. It won't cure his boredom, but it does make him feel less like blowing something up. Himself, perhaps.
no subject
How did he know about California? Probably the same way she'd first assumed they were on the East Coast. Details. Observation. Clearly he'd mastered the art of reading targets.
It was infuriatingly impressive. Part of her wanted to just walk away and leave him with his own thoughts. But another part of her wanted to know more.
"You're still talking. Breakdown how you got California, because there should only be three people that know anything about me." With the exception of Bruce, but he didn't have all the details like the others did.
no subject
Especially not now, now that he's mentioned the rest. "Your accent, incidentally. Idiom usage. Quality of skin and hair secondary factors. Manner of dress. All quite elementary."
Equally mediocre, but that goes without saying, at this point. Still, he can see that she's ruffled, which amuses him greatly. It's been ages since he's had a halfway decent argument with anyone; perhaps she'll deliver.
"I also know that you're used to getting what you want, keen on it, willing to use other people for your own ends -- and no doubt you question why you shouldn't, if you're so much cleverer than they are, if you're capable. If you think of it at all." There the similarities, if there are any, are likely to end. She's not mad. Not like Sherlock is. An advantage in most senses, surely, but a disadvantage in plenty. That under discussion only one of many.
"Other things. Obvious. Why you come here. Why you opt to make yourself appear as normal and as empty headed as possible on first meeting. None of that is very interesting either."
no subject
No, she wouldn't have. Not now. Everything he's saying is both fascinating and enraging her. Ruffled is putting it lightly. She purses her lips, turning her body away just slightly, and looks him over a little more intently.
"I wasn't put on this Earth to keep you interested. I have more important things to do than listen to a pompous shut in and social outcast tell me why I'm not normal." Ah... he'd hit a nerve with that one. She lifts her head and stands a little straighter.
"Only a boring person can be bored. Maybe you're the one with the problem."
no subject
He pulls another book down from the shelf, turning and leaning back against it as he rifles disinterestedly through the pages. "As, incidentally, do ad-hoc, ad hominem attacks predicated on little more than the inevitable chafing one sustains when one's skin is so very thin. Surely you can do better than that. It was infantile." He wrinkles his nose and gives a sweeping gesture of the hand.
"And speaking of, you might now have been born for the sole purpose of entertaining me, no, but I wasn't born to present myself and converse with you upon demand either." Something to think about, perhaps. Likely not, if she's at all like Sherlock is.
"The intended subject of which, incidentally, you've still yet to present."
no subject
Lydia manages to erase any trace of anger from her face and puts her usual mask in place. Lydia Martin doesn't give a fuck. At least, not on the outside. She turns away from him, twirling her hair around her finger, and quickly switches tactics. It's amazing how fast she can go from confrontational to infuriatingly sarcastic and mildly manipulative.
"Fine. Since I'm so boring and you're so unwilling to talk, I'll just take my theories elsewhere. I'm sure Party would be able to provide some excellent insight into what this place really is and how to get home. Or maybe I'll even ask Dean! So many brilliant mines to consult with, so little time. I'm sure someone else will be interested in figuring out an exist strategy."
She starts walking away, back to her table. Slowly. With much hair flipping.