The Inevitable [closed to Kerrigan]

[on_your_nerves]

Good God, he needed a cigarette. Between the world being destroyed and all his friends besides John possibly dying along with it (or the entire thing being a total lie), John punching him and storming off, the talking ponies, the random superhero bringing up his cocaine addiction, and arguing with a space elf over (ugh!) politics and clandestine rebellions...actually, forget one cigarette. He needed a whole carton. Strike that, maybe a truck full.

Reaching into his many coat pockets on an instinctual search for cigarettes he knew weren't there, he found that a pack actually was there. And so was his lighter.

Maybe there was a God. Maybe there was a merciful God, or at the very least, maybe the ship really was as benevolent and merciful as she tried to make herself out to be and decided to smile upon him by snatching up a box of cigarettes with his belongings.

...Probably not, but this at least still was a fine bit of serendipity. Sherlock would take it.

Leaning into the doorway of a building in what he didn't realize was another blind spot in the city, he lit up his first post-end-of-the-universe cigarette and took a long drag from it. To be honest, it wasn't really enough, and like it always did when he least wanted it to, old cravings crawled up in the back of his skull and demanded something stronger.

"Not now."

No, not now, though the way he closed his eyes as he leaned against the door of the building and let out a lungful of smoke, would have made it clear to anyone looking that he was a fair bit more overwhelmed than he could even admit to himself.

It seemed that for now, however, he could be content with causing himself harm with only one cigarette at a time.

Comments

[aboutthatevac]

Kerrigan had followed him since he left. She was good at keeping a low profile. That was her job- or at least it had been until the zerg infested her.

Earlier she had heard his indecision. He was thinking of turning them over to the Council. That wasn't too alarming, she figured that they would know about the rebellion. What was more disturbing was his uncertainty regarding the Daligig. If he went to them- well, that would be much more than bad. Now, however, his mind was moving too fast for her to read him and her head all ready felt like it was split in two.

The tobacco triggered a brief, pleasant feeling in the pit of her stomach but it was soon washed away. Jim wasn't here. With luck he wouldn't ever wake from podsleep. She pushed those memories aside.

"You were right about one thing." She said, coming into view. "They are foolish to trust everyone." As she spoke her ghost suit pulsed orange, capturing her own psychic energy.

[on_your_nerves]

It really wasn't the worst indecision one could have. In fact, it was fairly reasonable to wonder who exactly he should trust, if anyone. Their alien saviors, apparently capable of horrible things, utterly ruthless, but trying to win a war that would be nearly impossible to win, where ruthlessness might be a sad necessity? The elected government, purported to be ineffectual? The two that wanted to branch off and lead the rebellion because of the Council's hesitance or maybe because of their own more personal agendas?

It was all happening a bit too fast for him to sort out, a rare thing indeed, but all Sherlock knew was that he didn't like the idea of his trust being assumed rather than earned. In the end, there was only one person, one single, individual person he trusted in all this mess, the one he always trusted, the one who had trusted and had faith in him despite all odds.

He wasn't even entirely sure John would talk to him again or trust him again, but he certainly trusted John.

Everyone else could go hang.

Of course, those inkling thoughts of pointing out to the Council that Tarrant and Ildraniath were gathering up newly released individuals and explicitly telling them they were working outside the government--just to see what would happen and how everyone here would react (it would be so telling)--were just that. Inkling thoughts. So were his thoughts of poking and prodding at the Daligig to try to discern what they were really up to, to see if they were saviors, deceivers, or something in between.

Just because he was thinking about all the possibilities and actions he could possibly take didn't mean he planned on acting on those little flitting thoughts. Not until he had more facts.

But with a mind that chugged along as quickly as his did, it was likely difficult to tell.

Sherlock took another drag from his cigarette, not leaving his place in the doorway.

"I was right about more than that," he said with very measured arrogance, in a way that made it very clear he was quite comfortable wallowing in his own ego, smoke trailing from his lips as he spoke.

[aboutthatevac]

"Perhaps." She couldn't speak for the rest of her conspirators. Honestly, she didn't really care as long as they got the job done.

True, Sherlock had John. But Kerrigan? She trusted no one, especially not herself.

"But less than you give yourself credit for."

[on_your_nerves]

"Do explain the situation to me then. Supporting evidence of why I should listen to you, or them--or anyone on this ship--would be illuminating as well."

To be honest, if it wasn't for the fact that the last people that tried to run off and escape the war had apparently nearly been tortured, he'd take John, learn how to fly a spaceship, and just leave. Saving the universe he could do, if he it meant he could quietly continue doing his work where needed. But politics? Espionage? Figuring out people and the lies they told and why they were telling them? Not really his area unless they were the motivations for a crime or the ways they were trying to deny they'd done it.

Sorting out alliances and loyalties was something he'd given up doing in primary school. That was Mycroft's line of work.

[aboutthatevac]

Kerrigan closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and focused. All her memories were set aside. Everything except for the little she remembered of the Daligig's experiments on her. Once she had those thoughts clear in her head she reached out and focused on Sherlock. She sent those images, and even worse the feelings.

Her memories were vague. What was clearest about them were her emotions- a blinding, impotent rage, a sense of overwhelming vulnerability and terror.

She awoke naked and restrained. Everything about her was laid open and dissected, including her mind. One by one her defenses were taken from her. She couldn't strike them. She couldn't even touch their minds. For the first time she had no idea what anyone was thinking. There was no connection to anyone. But after her lobotomy they didn't stop. The experiments continued. The pain was not only physical but psychic and nearly unbearable.

[on_your_nerves]

There was a moment where the detective was just going to wander off--he did, after all, still have an appointment with Nightwing, to secure his place consulting with Security--but then Kerrigan invaded in his mind.

The cigarette dropped from his hand to the asphalt and then he was down on his knees, and then on on all fours, collapsing to the ground in a wretched little ball.

Rage. Rage and rawness and fear. Rage. Some of it his own, directed at her for doing this to him, vulnerability (she was in his mind, how was she in his mind, how was she doing this to his mind, how was she making it not his own?) The terror was real. It was his own terror at having his mind tampered with, at not being able to trust his senses, at having someone else's imposed on him. It was terror at the overwhelming doubt he felt now that he realized his mind could be tampered with so casually.

And pain the pain so much pain pain like he'd never felt before all in an overwhelming rush.

For anyone, it would have been an intense experience, even traumatic, but for Sherlock Holmes making him feel a rush of terrible feelings, feelings that weren't his own, feelings that he could only feel because the sanctity of his mind had been compromised, it was pretty much the worst thing anyone could possibly ever do. Forcing such intimacy on him when she was a near stranger, it was something that was unforgivable in his eyes.

He couldn't process what he wasn't used to having to process.

Sherlock retched and the only reason nothing came up was because he hadn't eaten yet since podpop and nothing was in his stomach.

His mind overwhelmed, his senses torn asunder, there was only one thing he could think of to do, like a dying man might call out for his mother on the battlefield, and that was to call out in a plaintive, slurred voice, "Jooohn!"

It wasn't that he thought his friend was anywhere nearby, able to help him, it was just instinct. Instinct that, finding himself in terrible pain, he call for the person he was closest to.

[aboutthatevac]

Kerrigan watched and smiled.

"You asked."

Kerrigan felt no sympathy for this man. She didn't know him. She didn't care about him. All she knew was that he had insulted her. He questioned her judgment. He dared to ask what the Daligig had done. It was his time to pay for it.

Her heart pounded as she stared at this small, simpering creature. Her mind fed off of his terror. He knew his place now. And she? She felt alive.

[kaya_waterwave]

Covering up Howard's shifts and where Haruka was gone was no picnic, but Kaya was not one to shirk responsibility, and chances were, this being a ship and so recently after pod pop that something was going to happen. She was glad for the eventual time off in these instances though, so she made the most of it. The city was pretty much where she always resided, and would be here more than anywhere.

So the bleeding man who seemed to be delirious was now the focus of Kaya's attention. She had him lying down instantly while she was walking to the W.I.T.C.H. bus, applying pressure to the wound and scanning for what she could use.

She was all business now.

"What happened?"

[aboutthatevac]

Kerrigan hesitated. She knew she would have to turn herself in and she fully intended to do so but a confession now could delay his treatment. On the other hand withholding information would make her suspicious and distract her anyway.

"I attacked him." Kerrigan was reluctant to let go of Sherlock. She didn't see how this girl could help. "What can you do?"

[thisclinchesit]

The low roar of an engine could be heard coming closer to the area - it wasn't more Medical staff, though - it was Security.

With some reports of hostilities at podpop and Kang's warning about another dragon - well, a vague report about someone losing blood was probably worth checking out. Shoutarou could only hope the trip would be for nothing.

Rubber skids on the asphalt as he pulls to a stop, then pulls his helmet off and replaces it with a fedora while dismounting. He jogs up, and there's a definite shock on his face at the blood and the situation - as well as what Kerrigan said as he got within earshot. "...hope you're not planning on doing so again," he comments, regarding the hold she had on the wounded man.

[on_your_nerves]

Sherlock's eyed focused just enough to look at Shoutarou.

"She ruined my coat."

Yes, Sherlock, clearly that is the most pressing matter at hand. Not the fact that you still have a knife sticking out of you or the fact that your blood is all over the place in much the same way spaghetti sauce is all over the place after a toddler eats spaghetti.

No no, don't worry about that whole dying thing. No, the coat. That is clearly the aspect of this situation that deserves the most focus at the moment.

[kaya_waterwave]

Kaya was all business here. Granted, she was really curious about the way this had played out, including why his coat had played such an important part, but that was for after he was on the mend. She had her waterskin out already and was already starting to quickly strip him of his shirt, so she could get a better look at the wound and how bad it was.

"If that were the case, she wouldn't have brought him here to begin with," Kaya said. What sense would that have made. "He'll have to go to med bay soon, but I can at least heal some of this up."

She looked over at Sherlock, since she sometimes had this issue with people. "Do you hear that? I'm going to heal you a little, with waterbending. This might feel a little strange, but it won't hurt."

[aboutthatevac]

Kerrigan stepped away but kept watch over Sherlock.

"Once he's at Med Bay I'll turn myself into custody." Her voice was hollow.

"Who is John?" She asked. "He called his name." She said, turning to Shoutarou. "Someone needs to tell him what happened."

Medbay

[on_your_nerves]

When Sherlock woke up, he had no idea where he was, though it looked like some sort of medical bay. He supposed he must have lost consciousness on the way to being transported there.

He felt better instead of worse so that was heartening but he was still in pain and oh look, the knife hadn't been extracted yet. It didn't look as bad though.

"Someone please tell me we're at the part where I get narcotics."

[couldputitback]

"Actually, we have non-narcotic painkillers on the ship. Welcome to the future." The accent was British, from Essex, and the doctor moved into view. "I'm Doctor Hussain. Don't worry. We'll have you fixed up right quick."

[on_your_nerves]

"Oh, where's the fun it that?"

He got stabbed and he wasn't even going to be able to get high on morphine?

[couldputitback]

"You'll have to take it up with the Daligig. Or possibly Starfleet." She wasn't sure where the painkillers had come from.

She stepped forward, taking a better look at the knife and the wounds that Kaya hadn't been able to heal. "Got on the wrong side of somebody, didn't you?" Didn't like the look of the way that blade was stuck into him. "All right. I can handle this. It's going to take a minute, though, and it's going to be...quite possibly gross."

[on_your_nerves]

Sherlock snorted, then winced because the way his body had shaken was painful.

"I'm not exactly what you would call squeamish."

The exact polar opposite in fact. Squeamish was in whole different zip code.

[couldputitback]

She winced. "Try not to do that," she replied, then started pushing up her sleeves, only to her elbows. "You won't feel anything," she added, just as the power aura came up around her hands. The energy stretched from her hands to the injuries in his chest. At which point, everything started to basically...pull apart.

With Sherlock completely awake, the pain from the stab wounds numbed by the energy basically cutting off the nerves involved.

After Faiza leaves...

[on_your_nerves]

They were alone now, after all the waking up covered in slime, and the bickering, and the punching, and the yelling and the worrying. After months of pain and grief for one of them and months of loneliness and guilt for the other. Sherlock's eyes were closed and his hands were resting over his chest, pressed together as they'd so often been back home. Right now, he needed to relax a bit and get his wits about him again--while he was physically in much better shape than he had been, getting stabbed that many times and over something so ridiculous had come at something of a shock. Just a bit.

That he went quiet now was probably enough for John to realize that. Sherlock was always very good at pretending he was unruffled (and oftentimes he genuinely was) but John was far too close to him to go without noticing a few feathers in disarray whenever there were any.

Re: After Faiza leaves...

[nerves_of_steel]

John leaned against Sherlock's cot, drumming his fingertips idly against the edge.

So. This was happening. Sherlock was alive, and they were actually on a living ship that traveled through realities, and apparently Conan Doyle had gotten a knighthood for writing stories about the two of them in at least one reality.

John couldn't help himself. He started laughing.

[on_your_nerves]

"Hmm."

It was a noncommittal noise.

"Did the ludicrousness of the situation finally catch up with you?"

[nerves_of_steel]

"Yeah," John wheezed. "Something like that. Christ, what a day this has been." He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, wrinkling his nose as some tried slime flaked off under his nails. "...How are you holding up?"

Something of a stupid question, but at least it kept them talking. Gave him a chance to finish sorting out in his head what he actually wanted to say.

[on_your_nerves]

"I'm in mourning, John."

It was a very dramatic proclamation, especially coming from Sherlock, and especially given that he didn't sound like he was in mourning at all. Maybe it was the flat affect of shock, but there was something more to this, something that was going unsaid.

[nerves_of_steel]

John pressed his lips together, reaching back and clasping a hand sympathetically on Sherlock's ankle.

"That's normal," he said reassuringly.