Part 1 - Ring Around the Rosie

[wieldtherainbow]

The briefing was, well, brief, given the complicated situation they were being thrust into. Stacy tried to give them as much as she could but apparently her intel on this universe was rather limited.

For this reason, they were dumped rather unceremoniously on a vast planet, with grassy green fields, the dropship that dropped them off retreating on autopilot and disappearing back into the transdimensional ether. It was a lovely planet at the very least, with vast deep blue skies, teeming with vegetation, but oddly, they all would likely find themselves dealing with the unnerving inkling feeling that they were somehow being watched. There were no sentients or even animals in site, however.

The only thing they could do right now was wait. They had been told that they would be found, that they would be offered rings, taken into these different Corps of people, and they they needed to make sure the war ended in a way that didn't devastate life in this universe.

That was something of a tall order.

[ooc: Go!]

Comments

[on_your_nerves]

"From the moment I heard about the fear lodges."

[wieldtherainbow]

"I'm flattered."

[on_your_nerves]

"You shouldn't be. You should be ashamed. You should be miserable at the thought of what you are. You should be cursing your very existence."

[wieldtherainbow]

"We both know that's not how it works, Sherlock," said the voice in the dark. "That's why I'm your greatest fear. I can't be controlled and I don't feel remorse and I'm as far removed from humanity as you can possibly be. I'm everything you could have been, I'm everything you still could be, and I might even be everything that you really are deep down inside."

He let out one brief little laugh. "In fact, the last one sounds spot on, don't you think? You are sitting here talking to me, after all."

[on_your_nerves]

"It's not true," he snapped. "At least...not on the last count."

[wieldtherainbow]

"Oh, don't give me that. All the murderous rage and hatred and vindictiveness you're feeling right now--that you're capable of feeling all the time--says otherwise, Sherlock. Half of why you've suppressed every emotion you've ever felt was to get away from the bad ones."

The voice paused. "Bad. They always called you that growing up. You were bad, though, weren't you. Such an awful little child. It's why you've had John phrase it the way you do, as 'not good,' because you just can't stand hearing that word. Bad."

The voice took advantage of the silence in response to keep talking. "You've always felt it. Either you didn't care at all or you were angry, you were vindictive--and how many times have you wondered if you could get away with it, wondered if it might the kind of challenge you need to finally keep the boredom at bay?"

"I'm your worst fear because beyond anything else, even though you pretend you don't care at all about what kind of person, you do. You truly do--and the unfortunate truth is that you're a monster. You are me and I am you--and you know what I am."

[on_your_nerves]

"I'm not you."

It was practically ground out, through teeth that were very nearly gritted together.

"I'm never going to be you."

[on_your_nerves]

"Oh, but you are," said the other Sherlock, leaning closer in the dark. "That's how this entire business works. You're already me. You're already a murderer at heart. I'm you, but you don't have to be afraid of me anymore. You just need to accept the truth, that you're a monster, that you're going to frighten anyone that's ever tolerated you off, and that you're a frea--"

[on_your_nerves]

He was cut off by a fist to the face, and it was the start of a vicious struggle in the dark, one punctuated by whispers, by vicious truths said only for his ears, about who he really was, about how he didn't care about how much he was feared, and about how he liked being feared, deep down at heart.

After some time had passed there was manic laughter in the dark. It would have been impossible for any outsider listening in to tell which one of them was laughing. Maybe even Sherlock himself wasn't sure. In the dark, his hands got wet. Bones cracked and flesh was mashed and his hands got wet, drenched in warmth.

When it cracked open again, Sherlock walked out of his fear lodge with a face and body splattered in blood, the small spark of light on his ring lighting the way. It hadn't taken altogether too long to become what he really was, deep down inside.

"As I said," he said to Lyssa Drak, holding out the hand his ring was on so he could receive the ring's power back from the book. Each consonant was clipped, "Not altogether that difficult."

The power of his ring restored, his costume sprang up fully formed on his body. Testing out the full power of his ring, an array of weapons spray up fully formed around him, rotating in a lazy orbit. A butcher knife here, a garrote there, a pick-axe here...

Causes of death. The knowledge was almost instinctual, made it easy for him to draw on for constructs.

[wieldtherainbow]

"You're ready now, Sherlock Holmes of the unknown sector, ready to bring the universe to its knees. Welcome to the fold."

[on_your_nerves]

"Not quite yet," said Sherlock. "There's just one loose end I have to tie up first."

He flashed Lyssa a very tense, false smile.

"He's on Oa."