Sherlock Holmes (Ruler) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
improbablenotimpossible) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
shinytoybox2019-05-22 10:16 pm
improbablenotimpossible) wrote in shinytoybox2019-05-22 10:16 pmEntry tags:
improbablenotimpossible) wrote in shinytoybox2019-05-22 10:16 pm
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[....Wait, was he not sure himself? And purposefully got on this topic to verify his theory?]
How wonderful. Though I suspect you still have a few secrets, I suppose I do as well.
[He cocks back his gun, clipless as it is...and then aims at Sherlock, pulling back the trigger.
Whiz-
Even without a bullet in it, he'll feel a brush of something graze his cheek...along with the thud of a dent the size of a rifle caliber bullet suddenly appear on the wall behind him.]
...Such as, That I use this kind of gun to keep causalities to a minimum.
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[He instinctively holds still as the gun cocks - barely flinching as the specks of drywall hits his cheek.
Message received loud and clear - don't try anything funny with him]
Yes, it would certainly help in that angle.
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[He pauses, for a moment.]
...Much like that one abnormality in the facility.
[The Freeshooter.
His grip tightens on his gun, as his eyes seem to tremble for just the smallest moment.
And then, he lowers it, setting it down near him.]
Well. I suppose - we should be getting some rest, again. Another busy day, after all - another day to nearly die.
[He gives a smile, but it's closed mouthed - warm, but also...not all there.]
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No, it's not the time to pry. He inclines his head at the clear dismissal, a ghost of a smile appearing.
Mystery on mystery, so he is not the only one with enigmas surrounding him.]
With any luck the calendar may change soon.
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[And yet,
There was no luck.
All there was in the end, was -
Suffering.
Over and over again, the different abnormalities breaking out. Smiling Bodies, Blue Star, Even Apocalypse Bird - it kept happening, resets over and over.
It's hard to remember how many resets this is - but this time, Moriarty doesn't even bother knocking on the door, merely waiting until Sherlock wakes and opens it, entering in without a word or prying eyes.
He doesn't even care about the books, as he just bodily flops face down on the other man's bed, letting out a low groan as he feels the pain of the Bird's teeth on the entirety of his body.]
God....damn it......
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He didn't even protest Moriarty flopping on his bed, or that he's effectively pinned]
Damn that bastard... what is he trying to do that he has to do it in one day?
[The man groans low in the back of his throat]
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[His own mind is angry - angry at their helplessness, at the continual repeated tries of their life, that the manager - the fucking manager - never seems to take into account their suffering-!
Heated words spill out of his mouth, and this time, he doesn't try stopping them.]
That man never cared about anything but his own goals, and is practically deaf and blind to anything telling him he should stop!
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Fuck that stubborn fool, there's nothing that's worth the pain and suffering, this damn sisyphean torment...
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[He doesn't stop to consider where this is coming from.]
The damned idiot - how much longer must we be forced to go through this?! How far will he go?! Ayin!!
[The moment he says that name -
[ ] never wanted his creations to be used to hurt people. The chemicals and drugs he made were meant to better mankind, not harm them.
That's why he insisted on so many rounds of clinical trials on animals, gathering data. But it wasn't fast enough, and Cognito was too much of an incredible mind-enhancing drug to not experiment on.
When he heard of Elijah and Giovanni's outcomes, he went right to the source.
And in his haste, he was confined to the lab that created the very things that took people's lives.
When Moriarty comes back to himself, he's breathing heavily, the prick of tears shocking to feel.]
...What...?
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[He whispers, sharp and low, hissing like a snake - the name meant something. Something bad - no, wrong? It's fogged up, something from the time before he found himself wandering in some unknown place.
Why is it familiar? The name causing his chest to ache with regret and anger. He hunches over, arms wrapped around himself, watching as Moriarty grew still, tears springing up]
...Is that... is that his name?
Why...
[The question dies on his lips]
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[He props himself up, wiping his eyes in a stunned fashion.]
...Did you....see that, too? Cognito....
[He's heard it's name in passing, somewhere, but...
Who was that? What was he remembering?]
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[He answers numbly. Cognito - the name suggests something of the mind]
We're seeing the same things, know the same name...
[His brows knitted, why is it? Did it involve what he cannot remember of his past?]
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And then speaks.
And when he does, it's...
in the same tone a younger man might use, his normally old tone somehow lacking.]
...Do you...not have much of a past, either?
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That's right... I don't remember anything beyond a few years past, no childhood, no family - nothing.
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[It's quiet, and in that same voice.]
But...I didn't become involved with a Fixer Group. No, I...joined a Syndicate, and became a prominent member.
[...]
Too prominent. So, they got rid of me - not through killing me, but by having me 'infiltrate' a Wing.
Of course, once I was gone...they naturally stopped asking for information a few weeks in.
But...for the sake of the 'mission', they had my body manipulated.
[He looks over at Sherlock, quietly.]
This old appearance...it's all plastic surgery and biosurgery. They even worked on my larynx when I went under, so that I would sound like an old man, but...I'm early 30's, at most.
[He runs a hand over his mustache, which flakes off a few bristles.]
But...I have no idea if it's due to the time manipulation, but it seems to be slowly undoing itself. My voice....sounds like how I remember it, now.
...'James Moriarty' is not the name I originally gave myself, but...as much as this is hell, I will be happy if I can look in the mirror and not impulsively wonder who it is that's staring back at me.
[...]
How is it...? That we are two men, with strange powers, and no memories....?
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[His voice soft, pondering - Syndicate, that would explain a few other things about how he moved, how he react to danger]
So we are roughly the same age... I believe, we both are... unusual,
[Are they connected... and what were the chances they end up meeting here, in this hellish Wing?]
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[He gives a small laugh, before running his hand through his hair.]
This place....I believed I was sent here because the standards for being hired are so incredibly low, and yet...
[...]
May I...ask you a favor? Would you...allow me to stay here with you until the morning?
...Yes, I'm aware there will be rumors. But - for whatever reason, I...feel as if I won't properly rest alone in my room.
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[Exile, a virtual death sentence for one, and the reward of being a sole survivor for the other. At the request, the pause, his eyes slowly opens again, before quietly he inclines his head]
That's fine... it does get a bit lonely in the hours in between.
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[It's an awkward, quiet next couple of hours. Of course, there are a few whispers as the day finally starts and he exits from Holmes' room, but they can ignore it.
There is another breakout - multiple, this time - before everything shifts once more.
...But this time, they're in Control, with Malkuth excitedly talking to them - just like she did on the very first day, the little boxy machine with her hairclip and notepad.
And more than that -]
Is this...?
[The voice is still that of a early 30's man, but if Sherlock looks over - he'll see Another him, but with bluish eyes instead of his green.]
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Sherlock pauses - is this the use of TimeTrack? how to explain it... he turns to the now familiar voice, to see if he's seeing it, when his breath catches in his throat, eyes widening in shock - it took all his willpower to muffle the sound that wanted to come out -
it's like looking in a mirror]