"Jim, Sherlock doesn't know..."
"What…. you told me you were going to tell him!"
Wow. You'd really skin a person for me?!
Now, Now Darling. No need to get to sentimental about it. I enjoy skinning people and you have a certain… charm that makes me want to do it.
#I;m so sorry this took so long
#things have been crazy
"The question is who." Sherlock said as he rose, glad to have seen James so relaxed about his rather morbid lifestyle. "His name was Bartholomew Ragford. Here on business when he was murdered. Head severed from the shoulders by an elongated straight blade with out serrated edges - machete most likely. The cause of death, despite the brutal physical wound, was actually food poisoning." Now that he was speaking, and on a subject with which the detective was familiar and comfortable, the tightness of his shoulders lessened.
"Through a few simple deductions based on the identification and receipts found on his body, er, the rest of it, I was able to piece together that he’d recently visited a Chinese restaurant on the south side of London." Sherlock ran a hand through his hair absently before picking up the severed head and turning it in his hands gently. "The chef that had prepared Bart’s meal left town just hours before the authorities arrived. I went back to his home, discovered the destination of his ‘trip’, and met him just outside the Birmingham airport." A smile touched itself to the raven haired man’s lips. "He was apprehended for the first degree murder of 13 victims, including Mr. Ragford."
It then occurred to him how odd he must appear, a man smiling as he speaks of murder, holding the severed head of a corpse. He pursed his lips gently before placing the item back on the shelf of his refrigerator. “Lestrade and the morgue let me keep it for research purposes, being that it was already separated from the rest of the body.”
Jim was watching Sebastian in what must have been akin to awe as he spoke. Not only was the man spilling out deductions in a way that had Jim’s skin bristling with not only a morbid fascination, but perhaps some form of arousal, too - but he was also managing to keep Jim’s attention the entire time - something that most people found impossible.
And to make matters even better, this was just proof that maybe, just maybe, the two of them could be something. Jim’s morbid fascination with death and killing could potentially compliment Sherlock’s fascination with murders and solving them… Perhaps they could even make a game of it someday.
"Poor fucker." Jim answered, humming in thought to himself as he inspected the head, looking over it himself just to make sure… to see if maybe he could spot something Sherlock hadn’t… but he gave up after a while, brushing everything off. It was just an experiment now, not a piece of evidence.
"This Lestrade fellow seems pretty… relaxed about what you can and can’t do… I’ve heard some things on the news about him… Seems like he doesn’t care what you do, so long as you get the case solved."
//Hullo. :L Um... I'm not really good with introductions. I heard about you from inside-the-mind-palace, and I was wondering if we might be able to roleplay sometime? I can only follow people with my primary, which is not a roleplay account, in case you wonder why you don't see a follower on your list with my name. (reichenbach-richard-brook)
Hey there! :) I’d love to rp, and ahh, I had that issue with my accounts so I had to make them all seperate :/ but that’s completely fine all the same :) So yeah! I’d love to rp some time :)
Jim had been a late bloomer. It wasn't until he'd turned 21 that he really realised that he could hear peoples thoughts... see into their memories. He could control people's thoughts too - a bit like the famous Professor X, but not quite the same, he supposed. He couldn't freeze scenes or people so much... it was complicated, but he spent more or less every day practicing. He found himself wondering one day whether or not his sister could do the same.. so he ended up outside her house, knocking.
It wasn’t that Jamie was busy, but she was used to pretending that she was busy when Jim called or texted. At the sound of someone at her front door, she sighed and stood up from her desk, moving through her house and to the front door, opening it and frowning at her brother. “Jim.” She spoke, “You usually call, before coming over.”
Aside from the frown, Jim of course could tell that Jamie didn’t really want him there… He was working on controlling when his powers worked, but it was a little harder than he thought smetimes. But he just brushed it off and gave her a smile.
"Thought I’d surprise you today, sis. Care to invite me in?"
#Bleh mine's worse D:
#keyboard messing up so spelling is apalling
The raven haired man absently crossed his arms behind his back. Damn. Pulse was elevated 23 counts. Slipping the sleeve of his right arm back to cover the spot he’d just tested his heart rate, the detective pursed his lips softly. Glancing at the ceiling of his flat briefly, he pondered a quick equation of probability before speaking.
"Ah… yes. Fine." He was then moving into the kitchen. Horrified at the number of unidentified limbs cluttering his counter space, Sherlock turned to his guest. "Don’t look in the refrigerator." Was all he said as the detective, nearly out of breath, came to join the other in the living room.
Even through his haste, the ever observant Sherlock Holmes noticed the interest James had taken in his violin. “I compose when I need to think. Unfortunately, the neighbors don’t believe that such stimulus is needed at 4 in the morning.” A soft, airy chuckle escaped the detective. He was still so… stiff.
Jim rose his eyebrw at the mention of the limbs, then stayed silent as he listened t othe rest of Sherlock’s words. He seemed… nervous. But why? Jim was a fan, if nothing else. Everything Sherlock did fascinated him.
"You know… you really shouldn’t tell me not to look in the fridge. " he smirked, trying to lighten the mood as he stood, moving past piles of paper towards the fridge as he looked back at Sherlock. "Because I’m almost 100% guaranteed to open it"
Proving his point, Jim opened the fridge and spun his head around to look. The smell was vile, Jim would admit that, but as his eyes scanned over the body parts - and… was that a head? He reached in, turning the thing on the plate and rose his eyebrow, before grinning and turning to Sherlock. “Wht’s this?” He asked, hoping getting him to talk about this… probably experiment would relax him enough to get conversation out of him.
st littered stair well that winded up into his flat. He tried to organize the messy piles of books and newspapers as he went. It wasn’t as if this man truly cared about the state of his apartment, but a desire deep within him that he could not explain felt the need to tidy up for James.
Upon opening the heavy wooden door into the cluttered (no, catastrophic) living room, the raven haired genius found himself instantly making excuses. The first words that came to mind were the very same that flew, unfiltered, from his lips.
"I don’t get many guests because no one quite enjoys my company." He realized how degrading it might sound in the wrong tone of mind, but to him, it was true.
Sherlock had never been an easy man to get along with, but in the years that he had developed connections within the police force and the morgue, his ego had inflated to a near suffocating state. Even Lestrade found him unbearable in most scenarios. While the detective never truly intended for his behaviour to seem this extreme, he did love showing off.
Gathering files and paperwork from around the room, the raven haired man was eventually able to clear a space for James to sit. When Sherlock had his back to the other man, he tried to evaluate the several routes this conversation could take. And then the detective realized something horrifying.
He actually cared.
He cared about the path this relationship with Moriarty would travel. He cared about what the other man thought of him. But most of all, he cared that James was now staring at him like a deer in headlights. Noticing the slight curve of his eyebrows, Sherlock deduced he’d been asked a question that he hadn’t heard over the blaring of his own thoughts.
"I’m sorry, what was that?"
Jim watched with ssome kind of fascination as Sherlock flitted around the room, clearing up as he went. As Jim paced slowly through the gaps Sherlock was making for him to move through, he looked around at everything that made up his new… well, partners life. The files, the sheet music…
Sheet music? He looked up and around before spotting the music stand in the corner and the violin set beside it - in fact, it was the cleanest and most organised area of the room… that violin was being well taken care of… Which only went to show that Sherlock really could care for things.
Maybe he’d grow to care for Jim.
Jim perched on the armchair, chewing on his ilp as he looked over at Sherlock.
"You dont have to tidy up so much… Sherlock, are you okay?" He asked, watching him intently, awaiting the answer.
When Sherlock didn’t answer, he frwned a little… then he was turning around.
Jim sighed and repeated himself, giving him the best smile he could to make Sherlock relax.
Jim hesitated at the offer, chewing his lip nervously as he sat up a bit and then stood after another few moments. He should let Sebastian know… shouldn’t he? That he’d be home late.. would he? Or… maybe just let him know where he was go- no. No, Sebastian didn’t need to know. Sebastian didn’t care, anyway.
"67%…. I can work with that" Jim answered eventually, smiling up at him. "It’s higher than I thought it might be…" He shrugged, following Sherlock out of the cafe, his fingers absently bushing over his other hand where Sherlock had touched. He’d kept a reaction more or less to himself before hand, just keeping his hand in place while Sherlock touched him… but now he was craving it just as much as Sherlock was.
He shifted to walk a little closer to Sherlock, finding that he ended u walking into him as they turned the corner and back around to the door. “I… sorry.” he blurted quickly, far more nervous than he wanted to let on.
The raven-haired man tried to hold back the overflow of emotions that poured from his soul when he saw the discomfort on Moriarty’s features. It wasn’t that he could read minds, but Sherlock was quite skilled in reading expressions. As much as he wanted to reach out to the criminal, pull him close and try to understand him, the detective refrained and kept himself at arm’s length.
It hadn’t occurred to him that this, the relationship and the meeting, could be a perfectly executed scam. James was a criminal after all, and it was highly probable that he would be using the youngest Holmes child to gain information. Or worse, the detective could simply be a pawn in order to reach the elder brother. Jim could have divulged in an elaborate plan to weave a path into Mycroft’s life, and use him and this newfound connection to crush the British government. The thought and the profound probability of it nearly made Sherlock’s heart stop.
And then Jim bumped into him.
The soft apology, the breathless way he looked at the ground… It seemed impossible for this man to have truly malicious intentions. The way his skin flushed told Sherlock everything that his calculations could not. If this man were an agent trying to corrupt the English way of life…
"It’s fine." A soft smile painted across the raven-haired man’s cheeks.
Well he had never really liked his brother anyway.
Jim licked his lip a little as he looked up at Sherlock.
A thought passed his mind briefly about how easily he’d gotten Sherlock to agree.. and wondered how easy it would be to do quite a lot… to play with this man as much as Jim’s mind would allow him to before he got bored…
But then he remembered how Sherlock had looked hearing abut Sebastian.. how he’d agreed to try something that neither of them were particularly experiences with with a boy he’d just met…
After the insistence that his clumsiness was fine, a warm smile spread across his features and he nodded a little. “I… I’ll try and be careful next time.”