sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXV

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MEME LINKS
Pinboard Archive - Delicious Archive - Guide to the Archive
Filled Prompts Posts: Parts 1-23 - Parts 24+ - Spoiler Free
The Glorious FAQ - Page-A-Mod

Flat View of This Page - Newest Page in Flatview - Newest Page of the Meme

Love Post - Chatter Post - Searching Post
Concrit Post - Story Announcement Post - Orphan Post
Spoiler Free Prompt Post - Overflow Post

Links to previous prompting parts

OTHER LINKS AND AFFILIATES

sherlock_rant: A place to rant about or discuss anything with few to no restrictions.

sherlock_rpf: This is a kinkmeme for RPF about the show.

sherlockcrit: A multi-fandom betaing/concrit community, with a focus on BBC Sherlock.

sherlockbbc: A community dedicated to the BBC adaptation of Sherlock Holmes.
Useful resources for Sherlock and LiveJournal.
Sherlock screencaps.

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

When John arrives to Baker Street right after his shift and trots up the stairs, immensely worried but unsure what he’s about to say, he finds the cigarette smell in the living-room thicker, the number of saucers filled with ash multiplied, and Sherlock sitting in his chair and intermittently plucking the strings of his violin. An obnoxious sound.

“Oh, it’s just you,” Sherlock says inexpressively and lays the violin aside on the table. “I was expecting Mycroft. I thought you must have phoned him by now to keep your conscience clear. But apparently not. Damn, I could have not bothered with shaving,” he mutters to himself.

John can’t suppress a nervous snort. “Why would you shave for Mycroft?”

Sherlock’s lips twitch in a wry smile. “He tends to be tediously persistent in his concern if he suspects something is off. But if a façade is in perfect condition, he doesn’t waste his time on a closer look. He’s got much more important things to consider.”

Oh yes, Sherlock must have taken his time preparing to meet Mycroft. A crisp shirt, an immaculate grey suit, and no sign of stubble. Despite it all, John wonders if Sherlock could have fooled his brother. It’s evident even to a moron like him that Sherlock is far from being fine. There are dark circles under his eyes. He looks exhausted and listless, like some of his vitality has been drained out of him. What the hell is going on here?

“So.” Sherlock folds his hands in a matter-of-fact manner. “You might have some questions for me. Let’s go by your list. Have I been using any recreational substances since you last saw me? No, except for caffeine and nicotine, which is hardly illegal. The next one: do I intend to re-start a drug habit in the nearest future? Again, no. End of interrogation. You may go home light-hearted. There’s no need for your presence.”

“Sherlock, why do you want me out of here that much?” John enquires flatly, not frightened off by Sherlock’s hostile tone. “You once said I might come whenever I pleased.”

Sherlock contemplates his steepled hands a moment too long, then blinks as if he suddenly comes to his senses. “Working. Conducting an experiment. Might take some time. I have no desire to filter out witless babble in the process.”

“Well, whatever it is you’re doing, it doesn’t look like it’s good for you.”

“Perhaps four days of sleep deprivation does not improve one’s looks, but believe me, I’m far from my own record,” Sherlock declares testily.

“You’ve done it before? What would you need it for, not sleeping on purpose?”

This time, John gets no answer. Sherlock has curled up sideways in his armchair, apparently caring no more about the immaculacy of his suit, and now lays his head on one of the arms, staring into space. John sits down opposite him to be in his line of vision. “Sherlock. You look awful.”

There’s a plate with a fried egg and some chips on the table beside the armchair, but all of the food is untouched. The plate is surrounded by mugs with different levels of cold brown liquid in them, presumably coffee. Is it Sherlock’s main source of energy nowadays?

“Do you even eat what Mrs. Hudson brings you?” John wonders. No answer again, so John tries another approach: “Does Seb know you’re wearing yourself out like this?”

“And what business might it be of his?” Sherlock grumbles, his eyelids fluttering drowsily: he’s clearly struggling to keep his eyes open.

Prompting Part XXXV

Fill: The Light Long Gone (5a/?)