More Than a Man [closed to the Doctor, bendytimed before Fauxbellion]

[on_your_nerves]

Sherlock Holmes would have preferred to keep his head down as much as possible as far as the Daligig were concerned. To investigate them properly, he needed freedom of movement and given the current atmosphere, with people apparently getting repodded all the time, it seemed that to keep his freedom, he really needed to avoid their attention.

However, one really couldn't run an investigation without actually investigating.

It had started with the smallest clue, a strange substance that had been oozed at about knee level on the side of a building in the City. Most wouldn't have noticed it or just assumed it was mud if they had seen it and very few people would have actually seen it, as it was far, far away from the usual places the crew inhabited.

Chemical analysis, courtesy of the Contagion and Containment lab and the scanners on the omnicoms (which took the fun out of things just a bit, as far as Sherlock was concerned) had registered it as a viscous colloid containing glycoproteins and water. There were also various antiseptic enzymes, immunoglobulin, and inorganic salts.

In a word: mucus. Alien mucus. Mucus that had epithelial cells that matched one of his samples taken from the crew areas, left behind when a touring entourage of Daligig, Kessek, and Ghyll passed through a hallway. He hadn't been able to see which species left the substance, but the Daligig and Kessek didn't seem prone to oozing anything. The Ghyll, on the other hand, looked a bit...moist, as if they had a protective coating of something over their skin.

Ghyll mucus then, at knee level, which was arm level for them. It fit. It was on a city street that wasn't often used or inhabited, though, which begged a very important question: what were Ghyll doing wandering around the City, which for the most part seemed to be lacking any vital technology or structures for them to be working on?

That led to him discretely monitoring their movements until he stumbled on exactly what he suspected was there: a secret entrance that possibly went to the restricted areas of the ship, perhaps one of many. It was hidden right behind the very mundane front door of a building, which as far as he could tell was actually just built around a large nubby juncture of Stacy, where the stone and asphalt of the city met Stacy's flesh. So far, he had determined that it didn't seem to be guarded and also that it wasn't entirely solid flesh on the other side of the door. There was some sort of membrane there, semi-transparent and resistant to use of force, that was blocking off a long tunnel, one lit up with tiny phosphorescent lights like the Pod Caverns.

Finding it was an accomplishment, certainly, but getting through it like the Ghyll did was another matter entirely and that was why he was risking exposure a great deal by prodding around the entrance, trying to find a way to let the membrane open up and let him in.

How did that saying go? He tended to delete trite sayings. Oh yes.

"Needs must when the devil drives," he muttered to himself.

Given what Kerrigan had shown him, given what the Daligig had done to her, it was fairly safe to say that devils were driving.

Little did he know that within the tunnels, the Ghyll had been making some interesting modifications to Stacy's nerves, which were giving out signals that were quite detectable to those that were keeping an eye out for anything interesting...

Comments

[makeherblue]

The thing about a good snoop was you had to keep practicing at it. It also helped to have loads and loads of things that looked like they needed a good snoop. He had both. So much that even he almost didn’t know what to do with all that snooping that needed to be done, which was saying something when you thought about it considering all his centuries of experience at exactly this sort of thing.

The Doctor had more or less had time to recover from what had happened on Kalimba. Sobek was…well. Not just a bad memory but he was a thing of the past and there was the whole mess with the Daligig to keep him busy. It helped, keeping busy. Usually did. Most of the time. Well, all right, 70% of the time. 70% was a nice number. He liked 70%.

He had to stoop to squeeze into the tunnel, the way lit by pin-points of glowing green light, pulsing with a throbbing beat like blood rushing through a vein. It was a maze, hot and humid, and he could feel a bead of sweat already trickling down the back of his neck. The Doctor pushed on ahead with the sonic screwdriver, its head buzzing away and doing its own kind of snooping. With the Daligig on high alert, there was really no better time to snoop where he wasn’t supposed to than right this very moment, this very second and he dove into it, squishing along the tunnel and happy to ignore the slime slopping all over his feet.

He certainly didn’t expect to run into a human in the middle of his snoop deep inside Stacy’s bowels. The Doctor nearly snooped right into him and drew himself up straight, almost as if he was offended that someone had decided to just – just block a perfectly good snooping route.

“Oh!” The Doctor said, taken aback, his sonic snapping off. “You’re a bit farther out than the rest of them, aren’t you? The Doctor,” he shoved his hand at the human. "Pleasure. I'm sure."

[on_your_nerves]

His reaction to the voice behind him was to turn and almost take a swing at the Doctor, thinking he'd been found out. He stopped himself only just in time. Sherlock was not an easy man to startle, but the idea that someone would be watching his back was almost instinctual now, something that had actually gotten him into a trouble a few times when he'd been dismantling Moriarty's network by himself.

John hadn't been there then and he wasn't here now, though, mainly because there were some things (see aforementioned network of Moriarty's) that he felt were too dangerous. Just because his friend would barrel headfirst into danger with him didn't mean he should always take advantage of that fact.

After calming himself, he stared at the man curiously, taking in as many details as he could (a bowtie, really?) and then opted to do what what would probably make the least amount of fuss and noise, holding out his hand cautiously to shake the Doctor's. There were very few reasons that were enough to prompt him to politeness, but expediency was one of them.

There were several possibilities at play here. This was someone possibly in league with the Daligig, but if he was, he'd have likely informed them that someone was snooping rather than confronting him directly. Option two: could have coincidentally spotted Sherlock, despite his efforts to be unseen, and followed out of curiosity. More likely than any other option, though, was option three: that he was someone investigating like Sherlock was.

"Sherlock Holmes," he said, opting to ignore the Doctor's strange mononym for now. A bit more business-like than callous, but only by a very small degree, he said quietly, "If you're here for any other reason than the one I am--to investigate what the Ghyll are doing this far out into the city--you need to leave immediately."

For as much Sherlock's good as the Doctor's own. He didn't need any distractions at the moment, what with that strange membrane blocking the tunnel and him having no idea how to get past it.

[makeherblue]

The Doctor sized up Sherlock, his eyes flicking down him for a second. Clothes that didn’t quite fit, a suit that stuck out when you thought about it because you tended not to see many of those on the ship – much less on someone who had just arrived. His face broke out into a smile as his fellow snooper (snoopee? Lurker? Skulker of corridors?) held out his hand. The Doctor took it in his and gave it a big enthuastic handshake, pumping it open and down.

“Wonderful name. Ring to it. Although I rather miss the hat,” the Doctor didn’t miss a beat. He leaned forward toward Sherlock, still shaking his hand for what was probably several seconds too long now and just enough that it would be annoyingly difficult to get his hand back. “Ah, yes. That. I thought as much. Seems we’re snooping in the same direction. Great minds think alike, etc.”

He was literally the first person he’d seen this direction which said something about Sherlock’s intelligence. With a name like that, he certainly hoped so! You couldn’t have a name like that and not be brutally, amazingly, (perhaps ridiculously) intelligent. The Doctor finally released Sherlock’s hand, turning – all right, squishing – on the spot and back the way he’d come. It was winding enough that it was unlikely he’d been followed.

“So, this membrane! I’m sure you have a theory on it.” The Doctor peered at Sherlock expectantly. “Aside from being a big slimy thing blocking the way.”

[on_your_nerves]

Sherlock stared at the Doctor for a moment, still trying to get a proper read on him. Despite his best efforts to catch up, his knowledge base was woefully lacking for the new world he'd found himself in and it meant that he couldn't make his deductions with his usual accuracy, something he found frustratingly inconvenient. Aliens, superheroes, psychics, and other such oddities that didn't exist back home threw something of a spanner in the works.

Was this man a professor? No. Not quite. An actual doctor? No. Scientist? No. Detective? No. All of the above? Maybe. No. Yes? Something else, Sherlock ultimately decided. He was something else, all his own, and Sherlock was determined to find out exactly what.

That would take time, however. In the meantime, he was perfectly comfortable explaining his theories.

"Aside from the obvious," that it was a big slimy thing blocking the way, "there appears to be a ring of muscle around the edges of it. I believe the Ghyll stimulate Stacy's nerves somehow to cause the membrane to part--how do you know about that ridiculous hat?"

Since he'd been so focused on the problem in front of him, the Doctor's comment on the hat had only just registered, and his delayed response to it was him turning and looking supremely irritated. The chances of random people from his world being there were slim, statistically speaking. That meant that most of the ones that knew who he was had recognized him as a famous literary character. If that was the case here, why was the Doctor talking about the hat? Was the hat famous? Why would the hat be famous? He didn't want the hat to be famous.

[makeherblue]

The Doctor only beamed at Sherlock staring at him, as if he was quite flattered to be stared at. He even fluffed himself just a bit, threw in a preen because he could.

“The hat? Everyone knows about the hat. Mind you, it’s a very nice one. Very extremely multi-functional (big fan of multi-functional).” The Doctor suddenly turned and nosed at the ring of muscle. “You know, most people would’ve missed that. Not much of an eye for anatomy. Anatomy-ish things,” he amended.

Flashing Sherlock with another winning smile, the Doctor reached out and touched the membrane, running his fingers along the edges and the slightly more rigid parts that were the bits and pieces of muscle and living tissue connecting to the membrane. A good sonicing might coax the muscles to open or, and this was the part he hadn’t exactly…told Sherlock not in some many words, or a sonic impulse could convince Stacy that it was a brilliant idea to contract the entire tunnel around them. Awkward, basically. The Doctor turned toward Sherlock again with his hand resting on the muscle ring, the other on his hip after brushing his tweed jacket out of the way.

As companions went, he could do loads worse than Sherlock Holmes.

Besides, it would be wonderful to have someone to travel with that would ask all the right sorts of questions and not be likely to walk into traps or off cliffs (which, in their defense, sometimes just popped up right under their feet).

“So! Options. I believe we have a few. We could wait for the Ghyll and try to find a spot to snoop, or we could try to stimulate the muscle and see what happens.” The Doctor didn’t bother mentioning option 3: that they could both turn around and go back to minding their own business. He didn’t see the point in insulting both their intelligence.

[on_your_nerves]

As companions went, he could also do loads better than Sherlock Holmes, quite a few might say.

Then again, maybe not, given option three hadn't even crossed Sherlock's mind. Option three hadn't even been in the same hemisphere, hadn't come remotely close to skirting the airspace of Sherlock's brain, as if it was a heavily monitored no-fly zone. Anti-aircraft boredom missiles had been lined up at the border to shoot the idea down if it even came close to being an actual consideration.

"Not many spots to snoop in a narrow tunnel and waiting's so immeasurably dull."

Not that he was incapable of it. The odd stakeout was important in his line of work, but that didn't mean he enjoyed sitting there bored out of his mind.

Sherlock looked over at the Doctor, his eyes glittering just a bit with something that was altogether a bit too wild to just be excitement.

"I'd much prefer barreling head first into possibly-deadly peril, if it's all the same to you. Provided you're amenable, of course."

[makeherblue]

That was also true. But the very least a companion could do was be moderately interesting and you couldn’t say Sherlock Holmes didn’t excel at that sort of thing. Even if he hadn’t had the sense to look into wearing that hat all the time. (Who wouldn’t want to? Look at that thing. It was like a work of art. It positively screamed to be worn). The Doctor’s face lit up with a smile at Sherlock’s answer.

He couldn’t have worded it better himself.

“Very amenable. (Probably one of my middle names),” the Doctor said, sounding thoughtful. He rubbed his hands together as he shouldered in next to Sherlock, not seeming to care about silly things like personal space because really, humans. That was all he had to say about that for now, the Doctor adjusting the settings on his sonic screwdriver. It beeped, buzzed, and even blipped at Sherlock as the Doctor ran his hands over it, almost as if he intended to turn it into a Time Lord’s version of a Rubick cube. “Is Watson here, by the way? Shouldn’t you be snooping with him?”

The Doctor peered over his sonic screwdriver critically at Sherlock. Was this a trick question? A test? It didn’t seem to be vitally important to the Art of Lurking and Sneaking and Otherwise Finding Yourself in Places With Keep Out Signs. The Doctor continued to fiddle with the sonic, every now and then reaching out to stroke part of the muscle here and there, massaging it. There was a low rumbling sound every time he did, something of a purr you could feel up through your boots.

[on_your_nerves]

Sherlock watched all of that fiddling and adjusting of the screwdriver raptly. The advanced technology of the ship wasn't something that was beyond the pale of what he was capable of imagining, but it still held some fascination for him.

"There are certain circumstances where I find it prudent to exclude John from my investigations," Sherlock answered coolly.

Typically, they were circumstances that involved Moriarty.

"Considering that the last individuals that directly defied the Daligig were nearly dismembered, this just might be one of those circumstances."

He added, "John will be furious if he finds out, of course, so if you meet him and he asks how we became acquainted, tell him I said something brilliant, you were impressed, then I insulted your intelligence."

John would find it quite believable.

[makeherblue]

The Doctor frowns. Oh yes, torture-by-Daligig trumps having a friend around to hold wires and look appropriate starstruck at how insanely brilliant you’re being. (He notes that Sherlock doesn’t seem to be too concerned about the same thing happening to him. It’s so very him.)

“So far you’re doing a terrible job of insulting my intelligence,” the Doctor says, still frowning at Sherlock with the suspicious look of a man who thinks he’d have to go to inhuman levels to accomplish that. Any other human and it might be possible. Sherlock Holmes, though. “He has to be used to you having a good snoop, I’d think. Along with all the risks.”

The sonic buzzes away at the ring of muscle as the membrane suddenly retracts with a squelch and a sigh. The Doctor gives a low ah-ha, looking pleased with himself – and also for Sherlock, because, well, he’s Sherlock Holmes - and sticks his head into the new opening. He takes in a great big sniff and then pulls his head out, swiveling toward Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes, sans his Watson and his hat. The Doctor can say that he’s looking forward to jumping around ship guts with Sherlock. He’s got that long lanky look that leads him to suspect that he could really leg it if he put his mind to it and he’s so thin that getting shot might actually be difficult with how skinny a target he presents. In other words, a companion that he won’t need to keep checking up on.

The Doctor exchanges looks with Sherlock, seems to come to some sort of decision, gives him a smile and a nod and takes point, slipping into the opened tunnel. It pulses with the same ooze-covered walls, the Doctor leading the way with his sonic out.

[on_your_nerves]

"Lately, John's been a bit oversensitive to the fact that mortal peril to my person tends to come along hand-in-hand with the snooping, for reasons that are somewhat understandable," Sherlock commented mildly, quietly, purposefully not saying anymore than that about the situation, as they slowly stepped forward through the tunnel.

Why was he talking about their relationship, anyway?

...Why was he conceptualizing it as a relationship? Friendship. It was a friendship. (Definitely a friendship, he liked having one of those.)

"In regards to the wounding of egos, I'm surprised you haven't taken to insulting mine. You're a super-intelligent alien--which is a terribly easy deduction, by the way, fairly obvious from the two heartbeats I felt when I shook your hand--" There was a reason he let him hold on just a little too long when his personal space was encroached "--and the ease with which you're operating a deceptively simple-looking piece of technology (we all know what it means when people can make complex technology look simple to use). I haven't given alien life much thought, but I'd always assumed that with greater intelligence there would be a considerably greater degree of unwarranted superiority."

It happened that way with humans and other humans all the time. Look at him.

[makeherblue]

The Doctor supposed Sherlock was right – or that he was right that John Watson was right. Humans did have a thing or two about mortal peril or even not-quite-mortal peril. In fact most of them weren’t terribly fond of peril in any flavor, actually, which made it a minor miracle that they went off on any adventures at all. The Doctor nodded as he led the way, not missing a step when Sherlock honed in on the fact he was an alien. It wasn’t surprising. He assumed the human would find out, although to his credit Sherlock was rather matter-of-fact about it instead of trying to tug on his hair checking to see if it was real. (Which was wonderful, because the Doctor had loads of hair for all sorts of unpleasant pulling in this body).

“There’s that,” the Doctor said, sounding oddly pleased because who could resist being called a “super-intelligent alien”? “Intelligent” was stating fact: throwing in the word “super” in front of anything made it even better. “It does get dull, though, looking down my nose at aliens. Awful crick in the neck!”

The Doctor turned and rewarded Sherlock one of those great big smiles of his. Sherlock may have been closer with his deduction than he was comfortable admitting. A few centuries back he would have been dead right, especially in his younger days. These days the Doctor tried to be more than that. Still…there were moments were it was incredibly difficult not to reach out and shake humanity and say no, that is not the proper application of a fusion engine and stop wandering into dark spooky caves.

Sherlock, though. At least if he went wandering into one, it was fully knowing what he was getting into. The Doctor could appreciate that. Besides, he rather loved a man who understood the power of observation.

“I told Dickens this and it’s the same for you – big, big fan of you and your work. You ought to meet him sometime. He’d probably love a chat with you. (Assuming he didn’t toss you out of his house first).” The Doctor ducked a low hanging pustule, moving further down the tunnel with his sonic buzzing away. So far it hadn’t pinged anything.

[on_your_nerves]

"Dickens, Dickens..." Oh, he knew that one, didn't he? "Boring Victorian novelist? The one that wrote with all that saccharine sentimentality? John had the Christmas one on the television this Christmas and every time the boy with the crutch opened his mouth, I nearly went into diabetic shock, despite not being a diabetic. He laughed when I accused him of making a measured attempt on my life."

Dickens probably would have thrown him out of the house, yes.

Sherlock's thoughts drifted back to what the Doctor had said about looking down at people, and it said something about him that he wondered when it ever got dull. Why was the word 'dull' even applicable? It wasn't a matter of being superior as a person, either, it was a matter of reality, of truth. (It was also a matter of recognition and acknowledgment, but he wasn't self-aware enough to realize that.) Most people were idiots. Even John was in his way, though he made up for it with other qualities besides intelligence and over the time Sherlock had known him, he'd started to open his eyes to all sorts of things he'd missed seeing.

"And you deal with many aliens? Or perhaps I should ask if instead you deal with many humans. Is wandering off with them into mortal peril your usual habit?"

He didn't always understand people's motivations, especially when they were mired in sentiment, but he did notice human--er, people's behavior. This seemed far too natural for the alien, meeting someone, not even knowing for sure if he could trust them, happily walking into this with him (even though Sherlock was the one hanging behind for once, he still firmly saw this as his little adventure and the Doctor as his companion in it).

And this was mortal peril, after all. It was becoming more and more apparent the further they walked into it. It was quiet, no sounds, nothing registering on the sonic, and that meant it was too quiet, and quiet never meant anything good. Quiet was the moment before a sniper's bullet struck, the moment before a bomb went off, the moment before the villain walked back into the room after you'd thought he'd left. Quiet was dangerous.

[makeherblue]

If there was any one thing Sherlock could say to lower the Doctor’s previously-gleaming opinion of him, it was that. Saccharine sentimentality! Boring novelist!

The Doctor almost turned on the spot to shake a finger at Sherlock because for being supposedly the brightest human ever in existence, he clearly had a less-than-developed sense of taste! It was probably a good thing they were supposed to be snooping and in danger of running headfirst into the Daligig at any second, or he would have a Word Or Two with him right on the spot. “Yes, I’d say that’s the one,” the Doctor’s words were slightly clipped.

Apparently Dickens was a bit of a sore spot for him, being a close friend and all. The Doctor felt almost protective over the human. And yes, he was still grumbling in his head about “saccharine” and “boring” (boring, it seemed, was the worst offender of the two), as they squished along the tunnel.

The Doctor was distracted from focusing on Sherlock’s absolutely horrid (lack of) taste by his question.

“More of a hobby, less of a habit.” The Doctor shrugged. He was about to keep walking when he thought better of it, swinging around to face Sherlock with his sonic cradled in his hand. “I’ve found humans are generally good company if you run into that sort of thing. Although sometimes they’re down a tentacle when you could use some to hold some wires for you.” It was beyond him why humanity hadn’t had the sense to evolve some tentacles. With how often they liked to stick their noses into others business, whether it was over the neighbor’s fence or at their neighbors that next couple of light years over, you would think a few tentacles would be just what they needed. If Sherlock couldn’t appreciate Dickens, then the Doctor hoped he could appreciate some extra limbs from an evolutionary standpoint.

It’d probably help with his cases. Or so the Doctor assumed. He liked to think he assumed correctly.

The Doctor had noticed the silence as well. It was heavy, the sort that weighed down on your shoulders and very being, and even the general thrums and throbs of Stacy felt like they were much quieter here. The Doctor after a few moments turned the sonic off, tucking it into his pocket for now as they came to another membrane. It was semi-transluscent, enough that he could see several large shapes rising up on the other side. The Doctor crouched down, giving a careful sort of squish on the floor with his boot, and turned to Sherlock.

[on_your_nerves]

Sherlock had pressed against the wall next to the Doctor and here they finally heard some noise, hushed, high-pitched voices breaking the silence by speaking to each other.

Ghyyl.

Sherlock stood there, stock still, all thoughts of their previous conversation dismissed as he listened to every single word and sound he could hear.

[fate_favored]

"They will find us. They will find us and stop us if we go too far," said one voice.

"They do not know. They do not suspect us," said another.

"Of course they suspect us, they suspect everything," said a third.

"Not of us. They expect loyalty of us just as they expect it of everyone," said the second voice again.

It was becoming quickly apparent that the Ghyyl weren't speaking about the crew.

"We have tricked them," the second voice went on. "We have carried on the charade long enough enough that they do not suspect. We must take advantage of this. We must work quickly and sabotage their work."

"We cannot go too far."

"We must go as far as we can. Our lives mean nothing in the face of this. They mean nothing in the face of saving our beautiful creations. We must give others the freedom we do not have ourselves."

There were the sounds of tools firing up, not unlike the Doctor's sonic screwdriver.

[makeherblue]

The Doctor pressed his ear against the slightly warm membrane surface, concentrating on the voices on the other side.

Ah, so the Ghyll had plans of their own. Three, judging by the differences in their voice pitch. He could safely say he hadn't expected that. The firing up of what sounds either like weapons or tools-that-could-easily-turn-to-weapons was something more expected, but the question was...do they barge in now and introduce themselves or wait for the Ghyll to leave? Considering the fact that they're right at what was probably this area's idea of a door, it seemed their options were incredibly limited. So who were the Ghyll talking about? The Daligig seemed the most likely candidate - his encounter with the Kessek hadn't left him coming away with a suddenly sparkling opinion of their leadership skills. The Doctor shifted his head slightly so he could exchange looks with Sherlock, as if he wanted to gauge what the human thought. He’d made it this far. It seemed like the next logical step to jump feet first in this.

The Doctor didn’t open the membrane immediately. He crouched down to examine a collection of nerves at the base of it, throbbing slightly with that soft flickering glow that you sometimes found throughout Stacy, forming what looked like some sort of node. He’d seen a few in Engineering that looked like this, only this one was different. Veins spiraled along the tunnel to connect to the node, more racing out under the membrane. The veins from that Ghyll’s direction were glowing a soft blue, pumping back to the node.

So. Sabotage. In his experience, that word meant loads of things, and considering they were literally on top of this, the Doctor supposed now was as good a time as any to make introductions. You never knew what could happen when you offered a hand – or tentacle/misc appendage – to the aliens with their Conspiracy Thing.

Besides, he suspected even suggesting they turn around was a waste of breath to Sherlock.

The Doctor pulled out his sonic and aimed it at the node. The node flared with a burst of light and gave a sort of whistling hiss, the membrane retracting as the Doctor bobbed to his feet. He was already stepping through the opening with his hands up in surrender (because really, you ought to get that out of the way when possibly walking into things like this).

“Hi,” he said, all smiles. He waggled his arms from where he was still mid-surrendering. “Does this mean ‘I surrender’ to your species? Because it’s borderline universal where I come from! Right, so, us. A surrender and a chat, preferably.”

The Doctor flapped his hand at himself, then at his companion.

“I’m the Doctor. This is Sherlock Holmes,” he let the dramatic pause sink in and seemed disappointed when it didn’t have quite the effect he’d been hoping for with his new Ghyll friends. “Sorry! Couldn’t help eavesdropping. Something of a habit.”

[fate_favored]

The Ghyyl cowered as soon as the Doctor made his way into the room and looked no less intimidated after he'd spoken, instead huddling together making little terrified squeaking noises.

[on_your_nerves]

Sherlock looked irritated by it, though his expression was carefully composed as he walked in, hands clasped behind his back. He was going to try to be on his best behavior as some of his usual methods of rattling whoever he was interrogating might only backfire here because of the cultural differences.

"Do stop snivelling. We're not here to inform on you; we simply want answers and the Daligig seem loathe to provide them."

[makeherblue]

Oh dear. So maybe that wasn't quite the impression he'd been hoping to make.

Sherlock wasn't helping things along either - besides, the Doctor thought there was a world's difference between a snivel and a squeak, the Doctor shooting his new companion a frown. That wasn't his idea of Sherlock's best behavior! The Doctor swung around to focus on the nearest Ghyll.

"Not the biggest fans of the Daligig, no." The Doctor peered at the alien, who looked like he had a good mind to start trembling on him. "We're friends." He hurried on before Sherlock could correct him. "And chances are we'd like to help you."

[fate_favored]

It took a few moments, and the Ghyyl exchanging some worried glances.

Finally, one of them stepped forward, its strange little face scrunched up with concern.

"You must not tell the Daligig of what we were doing here or all is lost. It would doom us and doom yourselves. Promise us you will not tell," the Ghyyl said with great solemnity.

[on_your_nerves]

"Yes yes, we pinky promise, cross our hearts, hope to die, et cetera, et cetera," Sherlock said impatiently. He wasn't exactly predisposed towards restraint when he was on the verge of solving a puzzle or getting answers to burning questions, and as far as burning questions went, the ones he had right now were scalding.

Right now, the Doctor had front row seats to viewing the personal character of this version of Sherlock Holmes and he wasn't quite the virtuous figure of the stories. He was absorbed in the discussion with the Ghyyl but the way he looked at the little aliens made it clear that he saw them as simply a means to an end, components in a puzzle. There was no concern or compassion in his gaze as he looked at them and he was entirely unaffected by their very visible fear.

"Now, what were you just doing to the ship? Sabotage of some kind?"

[makeherblue]

Sherlock, must you sound so insincere? To the point that even a pinky promise won't do it and the Doctor was actually surprised when the Ghyll only gave their version of a nervous little nod. Clearly they weren't the best judge of humans.

The Doctor was frowning at Sherlock as he pressed the little aliens for questions, as if it was starting to sink in that this Sherlock wasn't quite standing up to his personal idea of what he really ought to be like. He almost had the sinking suspicion that Sherlock might not be too fussed if the Ghyll actually Were caught by the Daligig - only that he would get to the bottom of this and that in the end it didn't matter whether these particular Ghyll were later caught or not. The Doctor tried to smooth things out, looking rather ruffled now. He hadn't worked up yet if it was disappointed in Sherlock or not.

"Sabotage or improvement. Desperately needed jiggery-pokery," the Doctor went on. He, unlike Sherlock, planned to take that promise to the Daligig very seriously. "So! Dooming ourselves and you. Nasty thing to avoid, I think. Anything we could do to help?"

He liked that much better. The Doctor never could resist nosing into dangerously interesting things like this.

[fate_favored]

"We are trying to help disengage the control protocols the Daligig have on her mind. We cannot do this entirely on our own, but if the crew takes certain actions after our work is finished, they may be able to free her entirely. She will be free, and you will be free."

The other Ghyyl cut on, "We want to give you what we cannot have."

[on_your_nerves]

This Sherlock was rarely what anyone thought he should be, but before the Doctor could come to the conclusion that he was entirely disappointed in him, there was the slightest flash of something on his face, a brief expression of comprehension, then something softer and far more human, before the mask was up again.

Maybe that humanity, those humaney-wumaney bits that made humans what they were and made them into something the Doctor cared very much about, were buried in there somewhere. Maybe it was just that he rarely let them out to breathe.

"You're slaves," he declared, somewhat breathlessly.

[makeherblue]

The Doctor was quiet for a moment, watching Sherlock come to that conclusion. He stepped in then, glancing from one Ghyll to the other.

"If we're free, then what about you? Can we free you while we're at it?" The Doctor offered the Ghyll a smile, looking slightly too old on his face, and now he was rather sorry he hadn't talked much with a Ghyll until now.

This is the very thing they've been looking for, and because slaves recognized slaves. The Doctor's expression softened. In helping Stacy, there had to be a way they could help the Ghyll was well - or, at least, the Doctor was confident he could come up with something, provided he could learn more about the Ghyll themselves and if Stacy was freed as well. There was something to be said about a ship that was more cooperative than before.

[fate_favored]

"There is no hope for us. Many of our kind no longer hold to the old ways. We have been bred for obedience, we are conditioned from birth. Only some of us escape it. If you are able to stop the Daligig from all that they do, perhaps, in generations from now..."

[on_your_nerves]

"How many species do they have enslaved? Are the Kessek slaves as well? The GIA?"

Exactly how deep did the rabbit hole go?