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You both like sheriarty, and johnlock.
Stranger: Sherlock sat in the chair, his wrists attached to the armrests by handcuffs. He fidgeted, the lights in the cell room too bright and making him have to squint slightly. It had been three entire days since he had been arrested, and he had seen plenty of officers. He hadn’t talked though, giving them no information, and therefore was presumed guilty. The door beside the one way mirror opened, and Sherlock sighed, looking upwards at the ceiling and figuring it was time they had sent some kind of doctor in. [19, dark!Sherlock]
You: ”How long do you think he’ll last out?” Jim was looking at a fuzzy image of sherlock on a small computer monitor. He turned to face his second in command, Sebastian Moran. “He’s done well so far, but I think they’re sending in a doctor. He won’t enjoy this next bit.” Jim’s voice was singsong and a smile played at his lips. He’d been wanting to contact the genius for months but had held off, knowing the time was not yet right. “This should be fun.”
Stranger: Sherlock didn’t turn his head to look at the doctor as they entered the room, but once they were in sight, his light eyes tracked them carefully. Staying silent, he narrowed his eyes, looking over them and making judgements. “Are you here to ask me more questions?” he said coldly, an indifferent mask set over his face, betraying none of his emotions and just looking bored.
You: Jim sat forward slightly in his chair. He bit his lip, studying the details of the man. He tilted his head to the side as he saw the words form, no sound coming from the screen. He turned to the man stood by his side and held up a piece of paper from his pocket. It was sealed, inside reading only “We shall be meeting soon. James.” He said, “Go to the station. Get him this note. I don’t care how, I trust you’ll find a way.” The other man walked out of the room and closed the door, leaving Jim alone to watch the scene unfold in front of him.
Stranger: Sherlock stared at the man, assuming that he must be a doctor. He gaze was calculating, and he curled his right hand around. The handcuffs gave him almost no movement, just enough that his slender fingers could curl around and press against his palm, fingernails causing the flesh to sting. Inside, he was weary, locking away deep inside him exactly why he had killed Victor Trevor. Being locked in the cell with different officers always interviewing him had made him wish they would just sentence him.
You: Sebastian Moran stood in a police man’s uniform. It was easy to get one if you knew who to manipulate. He walked along to the cell holding Sherlock Holmes, nodding at the guard who’s place he was taking. He stood with his back to the wall and hands clasped behind him. It would be a while before he could make a move, but this was the closest opportunity he had, fitting in with the timetable of the station. He listened carefully to anything he could pick up through the door, hearing very little at all happening. When whoever was in there came out he would have a chance to slip the note in, whatever it said. He’d have to then wait for the next opportunity to leave, but it was Jim’s orders.
Jim himself sat back in his chair, smiling to himself. He’d watched sherlock for a while, watched his movements, his intentions, his murder. He was interested by the other man, not something that happened often. Jim wanted Sherlock, and he always got what he wanted.
Stranger: The doctor was an idiot, Sherlock had decided fairly early on. He had come closer, standing uncomfortably close to him. “You can check my bruises from over there,” he hissed, leaning back in the chair as far away as he could. The doctor insisted on a basic medical examination, and firmly grabbed his wrist to try and take Sherlock’s pulse.
"Don’t touch me, don’t fucking- get off get off nononono!" He screamed, panicking at the touch against his skin, pulling away and tugging roughly at the handcuffs, enough the break the soft skin of his wrists. Sherlock kicked, panicking, as memories he didn’t want to have to think about resurfaced, and the chair scraped against the metal floor. The doctor pulled back away from Sherlock, standing across the room, muttering that he was psychotic, and left the room. Sherlock panted heavily, his entire body shaking as he slumped in the chair.
You: Jim watched with a maniac grin. The other man was so fragile, so on the edge. It would be easy to bring him over. Jim could see the genius behind the madness, just as he was himself, and he grinned at the other man’s screaming. “Don’t break just yet darling.” He cooed at the screen “I need you in one piece.”
As the doctor left the room it was Sebastian’s cue to move in. Sherlock still looked ready to fight back, a good excuse to get close to him. Sebastian moved to him, gripping his shoulder to stop him from moving. He cast a minute glance up to the security camera that Jim would be watching him through. He managed to press the small piece of paper into sherlock’s hand, years of experience making the move seamless as he pretended to be detaining the other man. He quickly left again, making the whole process look natural. He closed the door and resumed his post as guard.
Stranger: Sherlock flinched, trying to tug away from the touch of the officer, but his grip was strong, and Sherlock was exhausted from his outburst already. His brow creased as a piece of paper was pressed into his palm, but he didn’t visibly react to it. Turning his head, he only caught a glimpse of the back of the officer’s head, but nothing that would help identify who he was later. Sherlock still had his head bent down, his hair falling down over his forehead, and he decided if he should read the note. He couldn’t even guess who it would be from. Curiousity got the better of him eventually, and he used his fingers to open it up with just one hand, reading the simple note. Frowning, he lifted his head and looked around, his eyes catching the security camera for just a second.
You: Jim smiled as Sherlock looked up into his eyes. “Soon, love, you’ll see me soon.” He said softly. He stood up and moved to the counter, pouring himself a glass of brandy from the decanter sat there. Sebastian would make his own way back, the ever obedient guard dog. The phone rang as he brought the glass to his lips. He sighed and put it down again, moving instead to pick up the phone.
"This better be important." He said, an irritated tone in his voice.
"The first target has been identified. Should we detain her?"
"Not yet, just watch her. She’ll be ready for you, she knows what she did."
"Yes sir, we’ll wait for your signal."
"Good." Jim said before hanging up. He made his way back to the seat in front of the screen, bringing his glass of brandy. He swirled it gently as he watched the man.
Stranger: Sherlock sat in the cell room, alone, staring down at the note in his hand and trying to figure out what it meant and who exactly it was from. Was it a threat? A friend of Victor’s? He had certainly been well liked, everybody enjoyed his company, which is why they were so surprised when he had moved in with Sherlock and had made their relationship very public. Who would want to go out with the Holmes’ kid anyways? Sherlock sniffed, closing his hand into a fist and scrunching up the note, letting it drop onto the floor. He figured he should be more concerned, but there wasn’t anything that he could do where he was.
You: Jim spent the rest of the day dealing with clients. Several deals set up to move none discreetly, a few death warrants, even one wonderfully complicated plot to infiltrate the american government that was going very to plan. Between phone calls and meetings he would return to the screen. He would watch the man sat still, occasionally a small show of emotion but mostly simply a stoic figure of a man, no indication of the mind that lay within it. After a few hours Sebastian had returned, only to be sent out again on another mission. Jim had several targets plotted around whom he was keeping an eye on, and sebastian was often a great asset in making sure no one got lost.
Stranger: Sherlock sat there for an immeasurable amount of time. There was no clock. The only way he knew whether it was night or day was at six pm every day the officers would come into his room, take him out of the handcuffs on the chair just to pull his arms behind his back and handcuff him again. They would then lead him out of the interview cell and down underground to an actual cell where he would spend the night. After the first three times of this procedure, and Sherlock being sent into a wild panic everytime, they had learnt to bring a doctor or a nurse in to mildly sedate him first, then lead him out. The same process happened again tonight, and he was sent to his cell room for the night.
You: Jim put on his suit. He looked at himself in the mirror. He hadn’t bothered with disguise, just a fake police id and some papers declaring his intent. He walked out of the room, Sebastian meeting him at the door and following him wordlessly. He headed to the police station. At the reception, he approached as if he was familiar with the room. “PC Penhale, here from North London division. You’re expecting me I believe.” His accent was simple, born and bred in northern london, and he smiled at the woman behind the desk. She had a look on the computer and smiled back, nodding. “Yeah, you’re here for the holmes case.” Jim smiled and nodded. “That’s it, we’ve got some questions up in our division, i’m sure it’s not going to be much more effective but someone had to give it a shot.” The woman nodded and told him where to go, Jim pretending to take in the instructions although he already knew where he was heading. He gestured for sebastian to stay in the waiting area as he was allowed through the locked door to the cells. He headed towards the one that was housing sherlock holmes for the night, swiping the card he had been given over the lock and hearing the door open.
Stranger: Sherlock had laid down on his back on his bare bed, looking up into the darkness. The entire floor was empty at the moment, the last person being kept here was moved out only yesterday. He blinked slowly, the sedatives taking at least two hours to properly wear off. The handcuffs were off while he was locked into the cell, and he gingerly touched his fingers to his wrists, the skin there swollen and broken, dried blood where he had tugged to hard against them earlier when he had tried to get away from the doctor. Almost falling asleep, Sherlock was startled back into wakefulness when he heard the door unlock and open, and he sat up in the bed. It was impossible to see anything in the cell while the lights were out, and he blinked, trying to make out a form. “…James, I am assuming?” he said softly after a few moments.
You: Jim flipped the light on with the switch outside before moving into the room and closing the cell door behind him. There was no security watching inside the cell, privacy laws and all that, and he didn’t want any cameras of the hallway catching sight of him. “Clever boy.” He crooned, flattening his suit. “Although you can call me Jim.” His eyes raked over the man in front of him, picking up on every detail his clothing and body offered. “I’ve been watching you, you’ve been very bad.”
Stranger: Sherlock could feel the hairs on his arms raise up with goosebumps as the older man came into the cell with him. Instinctively, he pulled his legs up and tucked them close to his chest, leaning back in the opposite direction. “If you have been watching me, then you would know what really happened,” he replied, his voice quiet. The young man’s eyes scanned over the stranger, seeing the uniform but it was obviously just a good disguise. His eyes narrowed, wary of him.
You: Jim shrugged gently, putting his hands in his pockets. “I know what happened, I know what they think happened, but it’s not all that interesting really. If this was a simple killing I would be stood here, believe me.” The other man was wary, Jim was used to that. He was used to dealing with people who were very angry and very scared. “You’re more than you’re letting on.”
Stranger: Sherlock breathed quietly, his eyes locking onto Jim’s face and watching his every move. “Of course,” he said, “I don’t know who you are. Are you here to kill me?” he asked, not entirely convinced that that might be true, but he asked anyways. The sedative gave his voice a slight lisp, a slur, and he blinked slowly at the other man. “What’s the point of watching me?”