(I've got 16k rough draft for this thing, am maybe 2/3 done and hope to finish it in another couple weeks, but I wanted to drop a little something (very rough!) here to keep your interest thank you for your patience with me, OP. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧)
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Sherlock comes to a halt just beyond the threshold of the lounge. Magnussen cuts his eyes in Sherlock’s direction with a glimmer of cold, amused knowing, before returning his attention to John.
"I just love your little soldier face. I’d like to punch it."
John stares back, clearly thrown.
"But what I love even more is Sherlock’s arrogant little detective face--watching him swan in here with big brother’s computer, thinking that he will be the hero to single-handedly bring the cruel Mr. Magnussen to justice."
Sherlock flinches at the reminder of Mycroft’s words. "Not a dragon for you to slay."
"Ah, that is the face." Magnussen chuckles. "Bring it over here a minute," he tells Sherlock.
Sherlock steps across the room reluctantly. Whatever indignity Magnussen has planned, it can hardly be worse than anything endured during the two years of his 'death.' The important thing was to remain level-headed, unaffected, and give John no cause at any time to decide drawing his gun was a more acceptable alternative to letting Magnussen play his twisted power games.
A grin tugs at Magnussen’s lips, as if in reaction to a private joke. His eyes bore into Sherlock, though his words are directed at John. "Now this...this is the fun part." He gestures at Sherlock with his glass. "Sherlock Holmes will do anything for John Watson. John Watson will do anything for Mary Watson. So when I tell Sherlock to lean forward a bit...go on, stick your face out. Please?"
Sherlock holds his arms behind his back, his right hand clenched tightly around the other wrist, and does so. He looks straight ahead, his gaze unfocused as he waits for Magnussen to make his heavy-handed point.
"And when I tell you, John, to flick it..."
John scoffs, huffs a humorless laugh. Sherlock can feel John's questioning gaze on him and forces himself to nod, once.
"Flick his face. Come on. For Mary," Magnussen insists. "Just pull back your finger." He demonstrates, lifting his hand with the palm toward himself, tucks the tip of his middle finger beneath his thumb.
John shakes his head, snorts, shakes his head again, but eventually brings his hand to Sherlock's face, flicks his finger sharply against Sherlock's cheek. They've dealt much worse to one another--hell, John's overreaction to Sherlock's 'resurrection' comes quickly to mind--but that was always between the two of them, their business alone. The addition of Magnussen, with an expression of smug anticipation and his scotch in hand, spectating, however, adds an element of voyeurism which makes Sherlock uneasy.
"Again."
John flicks him again; Sherlock struggles not to flinch.
"I just love doing this. I could do it all day." Magnussen smiles at the two of them indulgently. "It works like this, John. I know who Mary hurt and killed; you do not want Mary to come to any harm, naturally, so you will flick Sherlock when I tell you to. Sherlock does not want you to come to any harm, so he will let you." Gesturing pointedly to John's raised hand, Magnussen waits for him to flick Sherlock before continuing.
"As for Mary, I know where to find people who hate her." Another loaded pause, until John flicks him--"Again,"--and again. "I know where they live; I know their phone numbers." Flick, flick. "All in my Mind Palace--all of it."
Sherlock's eyes burn into Magnussen.
"I could phone them right now and tear your whole life down--and I will..."
Sherlock clenches his jaw so hard, his teeth ache.
"...Unless you flick Sherlock’s face." Flick. "This is what I do to people. This is what I do to whole countries..." At Magnussen's look, John scowls, flicks Sherlock once more. "...just because I know."
Magnussen sips his scotch. "Do you understand now, John? I hardly need proof when knowledge of a thing is sufficient to have anyone I wish squirming in the palm of my hand, at the mercy of my will."
FILL TEASER (spoilers for HLV) pt. 1
keep your interestthank you for your patience with me, OP. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧)~ ~ ~
Sherlock comes to a halt just beyond the threshold of the lounge. Magnussen cuts his eyes in Sherlock’s direction with a glimmer of cold, amused knowing, before returning his attention to John.
"I just love your little soldier face. I’d like to punch it."
John stares back, clearly thrown.
"But what I love even more is Sherlock’s arrogant little detective face--watching him swan in here with big brother’s computer, thinking that he will be the hero to single-handedly bring the cruel Mr. Magnussen to justice."
Sherlock flinches at the reminder of Mycroft’s words. "Not a dragon for you to slay."
"Ah, that is the face." Magnussen chuckles. "Bring it over here a minute," he tells Sherlock.
Sherlock steps across the room reluctantly. Whatever indignity Magnussen has planned, it can hardly be worse than anything endured during the two years of his 'death.' The important thing was to remain level-headed, unaffected, and give John no cause at any time to decide drawing his gun was a more acceptable alternative to letting Magnussen play his twisted power games.
A grin tugs at Magnussen’s lips, as if in reaction to a private joke. His eyes bore into Sherlock, though his words are directed at John. "Now this...this is the fun part." He gestures at Sherlock with his glass. "Sherlock Holmes will do anything for John Watson. John Watson will do anything for Mary Watson. So when I tell Sherlock to lean forward a bit...go on, stick your face out. Please?"
Sherlock holds his arms behind his back, his right hand clenched tightly around the other wrist, and does so. He looks straight ahead, his gaze unfocused as he waits for Magnussen to make his heavy-handed point.
"And when I tell you, John, to flick it..."
John scoffs, huffs a humorless laugh. Sherlock can feel John's questioning gaze on him and forces himself to nod, once.
"Flick his face. Come on. For Mary," Magnussen insists. "Just pull back your finger." He demonstrates, lifting his hand with the palm toward himself, tucks the tip of his middle finger beneath his thumb.
John shakes his head, snorts, shakes his head again, but eventually brings his hand to Sherlock's face, flicks his finger sharply against Sherlock's cheek. They've dealt much worse to one another--hell, John's overreaction to Sherlock's 'resurrection' comes quickly to mind--but that was always between the two of them, their business alone. The addition of Magnussen, with an expression of smug anticipation and his scotch in hand, spectating, however, adds an element of voyeurism which makes Sherlock uneasy.
"Again."
John flicks him again; Sherlock struggles not to flinch.
"I just love doing this. I could do it all day." Magnussen smiles at the two of them indulgently. "It works like this, John. I know who Mary hurt and killed; you do not want Mary to come to any harm, naturally, so you will flick Sherlock when I tell you to. Sherlock does not want you to come to any harm, so he will let you." Gesturing pointedly to John's raised hand, Magnussen waits for him to flick Sherlock before continuing.
"As for Mary, I know where to find people who hate her." Another loaded pause, until John flicks him--"Again,"--and again. "I know where they live; I know their phone numbers." Flick, flick. "All in my Mind Palace--all of it."
Sherlock's eyes burn into Magnussen.
"I could phone them right now and tear your whole life down--and I will..."
Sherlock clenches his jaw so hard, his teeth ache.
"...Unless you flick Sherlock’s face." Flick. "This is what I do to people. This is what I do to whole countries..." At Magnussen's look, John scowls, flicks Sherlock once more. "...just because I know."
Magnussen sips his scotch. "Do you understand now, John? I hardly need proof when knowledge of a thing is sufficient to have anyone I wish squirming in the palm of my hand, at the mercy of my will."