99problemsandmore

[99problemsandmore]

Definitely needed rest, yes. Jim cleared his throat once he was laying down on the sofa, managing to pull out the small present in his pocket before holding it out to Sherlock.

“This is late, but I figure you might want it before you take your cure. If you want to go out early today to see people.” Cryptic but when did the master criminal ever give straight answers?

You are a smol. You and John are smols.

Lupins is also a smol. Everyone is a smol.

But he has more important things to be thinking about now. Things that light up his face for the first time in a long time. But he slowed down enough to take Jim to the sofa. Setting him down. Not doubting the need for rest.

He was very happy.

And suddenly also very tired, the stress he put himself through hitting, as usual, like a megaton brick after the fact. So he at down on the floor in a heap. And stayed there. Smiling faintly.

#boredmachine

[99problemsandmore]

Well if that wasn’t disorienting, he didn’t know what else could be. Jim hissed faintly at the movements, feeling exhausted and sore in every place imaginable. Lightheaded and maybe a little nauseous. “Knock it off, you’ll wrinkle the suit.” 

And he was certainly not fond of being picked up, thank you. Do not remind him he is smol, you arse.

Sherlock supported the weight without complaint. Free arm bracing around Jim to keep him upright. Doubting Jim would much appreciate the dust on the floor on his suit even in death.

He is otherwise only attentive to vitals. He didn’t need fingers on his neck to know when he would breathe and when he would have a heartbeat. But he wanted the tactile-ness of that pulse when it started to bang in his ears. A slow to form smug grin building across his face. Until vitals were appearing stable if rushed and stressed.

He picked Jim up then and hopped around in a little circle. Over excited. He made a cure! He made a cure!

And Jim was not dead!

[99problemsandmore]

Jim stared ahead for a long, seemingly endless moment when the pain started up. Sherlock was right about one thing, Jim had a talent for withstanding great amounts of pain by strength of mind. He could escape the brunt of it, a distant throb.

The only thing that would truly hurt would be the return of his pulse. The mere thought of being alive again. He’d been half living before. Death still lingered overhead, however. The memory of their deal imprinted on his soul. If he truly died now, that would be the end.

Eleven minutes to decide whether Jim really wanted it all to end. 

He remained silent, though his body convulsed and gave out through the pain and weakness while leaning against Sherlock. He had made a promise, though, he remembered.

Jim didn’t break promises. Not willingly. So he’d fight until then. 

He’d give life one more chance. 

Sherlock made no response to the instruction to ‘keep strong and carry on’. Rubbish that.

Rubbish as their relationship. Sherlock did not entertain the idea that it might ever be completely sane or healthy.

The detective was silent in drawing needle back out of arm and loosening tubing. A thumb pad pressing over the injection sight to keep it from bleeding while the unnatural healing sealed it in a moment.

But maybe they could learn to be what they had been meant to be. Back to chasing games rather than cravings.

He wasn’t concerned with that at the moment. That deep damage had made Sherlock more aware of his own emotions in the constant undertow of his pristine mechanics of logic. Learned that some of them were valid. Some of them were…okay to feel. Or to at least acknowledge the existence of while carefully boxing them away. One of those emotions was fear and trepidation.

The point of this was to lessen the pain of future losses. For all he said about cold and sunlight. To cause it, after all his tireless focused toil, might break him. To lose Jim would be like losing half his brain. The bleeding, burnt, beating bits of his metal heart.

He reached up and pressed a couple of fingers to the jugular of Jim’s throat after a light subtle brush along jaw. And waited.

Waited for the results of his bad decisions this time.

Unaware of what might be the beginning of a blood boiling pain brewing in Jim’s entire body. A warm pain throughout from point of injection radiating outward to every limb. Sherlock was aware of how the serum worked—reversing and destroying the parasitic DNA attached to the cells of the body in question. He was also aware there was what could be catastrophic pain, all of the lab mice tests had resulted in death from shock from this pain, but he was taking one of his asinine calculated risks. A risk he hoped would be counteracted by the fact that Jim and himself larger and more sentient than mice. And that Jim and himself were more resilient to extreme pain—by discipline of mind alone.

If Jim survived that critical eight to eleven minutes of pain, then the cure would work and the heart would beat. The dead mice had been genetically restored and the strain removed, or at least partially so. Even if they had not survived long enough to live again.

[99problemsandmore]

Jim rested his free hand over Sherlock’s head, barely so much as flinching when the needle went into his arm. Was all to familiar with the feeling to mind. The contents, however, may not be so kind. But he was ready for the worst to come. 

“Well, keep trying even if this fails, Sherlock.” 

He still remembered the time he had sired the detective. It had been, largely, his fault the other had attempted to end his own life. There’s was a poisonous affair. That never changed, even when Jim had sought to fix it. Damage ran deep.

Perhaps this was the only way to really fix things.

He would assert that it wasn’t their fault. He was a terrible untamed man. Uncooperative and unkind.

Took the time to tie rubber tubing from nearby table around the upper arm. Feeling out long inactive veins with fingers. Finding a spot not ravaged from over use.

“It is the cold. I am dead. I am trapped. In this body. In this flat. Suicide was a mistake.” First he had admitted that outloud.

He laid the needle in and set forehead on Jim’s shoulder tiredly. Pressing plunger under thumb. “Never did like the blood very much.”

Don’t dare leave.

#boredmachine

[99problemsandmore]

Jim narrowed his eyes a bit at Sherlock’s current state. Didn’t know what he expected during his absence, really, but he had hoped John or even Lupin would have helped keep him from drowning so much in his work like this.

Disappointed.

The vampire eyed the syringe, thinking back at another time before he quirked an eyebrow and slowly tilted his head at Sherlock. “I’m in no hurry to leave.” He offered up his arm, however. Might as well go out via bad habits. One way or another, if this outcome became yet another failure. 

“I do have to wonder why you’re so eager to seek humanity again. Is it because you wish to only live as long as your friends? But it’s only John who’s life expectancy is shorter. Do you miss the sunlight that much? I do have to admit the blood sucking bit is less than favorable. I won’t miss that.”

Sherlock was looking more than the usual amount of dour. Guant and eyes no more than pastel. He had sunk into cure work and despair. Because this was important. More important, impressively, than cases.

He may as well have been a wraith. Though John tried, sometimes the man couldn’t firce miracle work.

He brought the syringe over, filled with an unknown rusty orange liquid. Gesturing with free hand, neck or arm.

“Always in such a rush to leave.”

Trying not to fold under preasure about the possibility of…losing…Jim. And still being trapped here himself. With a large…hole. He frowned slightly to himself.

#boredmachine

[99problemsandmore]

@boredmachine

Jim was there before long, letting himself in through the door. He wasn’t about to mention that he had something for the detective. Not after their little chat earlier. The gifts seemed pointless now, if what Sherlock had planned actually worked.

But he would see about that. The vampire hardly feared death. Met it head on more than once. If this experiment failed, so be it. He’d been waiting for something to come along and interest him again. Sherlock certainly piqued his interest now.

“Shall we skip the formalities and get on with it?”

#boredmachine

[99problemsandmore]

#this part was pretty #spoilers #ooc

[99problemsandmore]

#spoilers #the only good part in this scene #the rest is a fucking parody #ooc

[99problemsandmore]

I just said I wasn’t planning on it.

But now that you’re trying to order me around, I might change my mind, dear.

I don’t know. It’s more of an issue of endurance. No one really has the power to do anything more about this other than some very strong beings.

Suck it up and wash your hands when you’re done.

#murderbynecessity

[99problemsandmore]

I think I’ll just sit back and wait it out then.

I doubt they taste very good. Certainly not worth my time.

So who’s going to get rid of this pest problem, anyway?

I’d rather not have to get my hands dirty.

#murderbynecessity

[99problemsandmore]

#spoilers #ooc

[99problemsandmore]

So who’s going to get rid of this pest problem, anyway?

I’d rather not have to get my hands dirty.

#ic

[99problemsandmore]

[Jim didn't give much of a verbal response, just a look back at her before he entered the front seat and let the driver take them close to the clinic.]

[When Devang was off of her back, she could shake herself off. Concentrate well enough to get herself back down to size with some painful difficulty. The cold was hell on her bones and it was especially bad when said bones were actively shifting and changing. 

Up on two feet again and she was adjusting her tie and her hair. Snuffled and climbed in after Devang. Situated her properly with her head in Charlie’s lap before offering Jim another sideways glance. Didn’t inherently trust him. But she would acknowledge his help.]

Thank you.

[It was only meant partially sincerely.] 

[99problemsandmore]

[The car was on its way soon enough and Jim was glad Charlie cooperated, lest he'd have to take things in his own hands and no one wanted their senses fucked with by him of all people.

In about ten minutes time, a shady vehicle pulled up and Jim pocketed his mobile. At least most of his men were familiar with supernaturals these days, otherwise a giant lizard thing by their car might have freaked them out.

Jim was going to have to burn this outfit when he got home. Sigh. He went to lift Devang off of Charlie's back to help her into the backseat. Despite his size, his strength was fairly above normal.]

[Charlie gave Jim another trademark lizard-glare, but inwardly acknowledged his point. She’d been too eager to get Devang home to really focus on much else. Didn’t want to wait for anything and the way she shifted on her toes said as much.

Still. For Devang’s sake, she’d wait. Hopefully she’d be able to shrink back down to a manageable size once the woman was safely in the car. Charlie wouldn’t fit in there without a struggle.] 

[99problemsandmore]

PSA: if somebody likes a problematic/unhealthy ship but doesn’t try to defend the problematic elements of that ship and simply enjoys it in a fictional/narrative context with all of it’s fucked up ness and you attack them and bring their personal morality into question for shipping it,  you are the asshole in that situation. 

[99problemsandmore]

[Jim had eyed the gun without fear, or even an ounce of pheromones to defend himself even if Devang had fired. No, his eyes were narrowed on the muzzle, already having seen the bodies as he'd walked in.

Disgusting, all of it. He was going to have to throw these shoes out. Nevertheless, he let Charlie do whatever, but he did frown distastefully as the reptile carried Devang out. ]

What, you plan on flying her back to Newark? Wait while I call a car. She'd freeze to death on the way over if you're not careful.

No, he didn't have a shred of kindness in his body. Devang was a mere asset to things he worked on and having her dead would be an annoyance, and he couldn't ask her questions on what happened and why. So he took off his coat and draped it over her as he pulled out his mobile to call. 

He was a vampire. The cold didn't bother him any.]

[The gratification of this little adventure to Save Devang was that they were indeed in the right place. She was there.

The disappointment of the evening was more obviously viewed once these two rag-tag individuals entered and their eyes adjusted to the lightening change.

Congrats, Devang found.

Devang is a mess. Really dirty, smelling worse, missing a metal arm, with metal foot just fucking gone—Where the fuck did that go? Nobody knows, but the ankle is bittzing out electricity from wires every so often. She’s conscious. The bang of the door opening got her utterly exhausted attention. She had a stolen pistol in hand and had it soon focused on Moriarty. There’s all of two bodies in a heap on the ground by where she’d clearly collapsed onto her back and taken a break, now upright. There’s probably more the further into the building one went.

One the ones next to her still had a heartbeat.

She’s got a gun on Jim out of initial mistrust—he might be here to finish off what got started. Wouldn’t put it past him. He didn’t make a move on her after a second or two so she put the safety back on the safety and threw her hands—hand—upward. Mumbling through the muzzle, but it was hard to decipher through the thick leather. Sounded as exasperated as the gesture with her hand.

And then she tipped backwards onto her back again. Passing right back out. She was past Empty and on fumes. Goodnight.

Technically, still going to save Devang. Just not from the dead people on the floor.]

[99problemsandmore]

[Jim checked his mobile to be sure he was at the right place, and once at the door, locked or not, he forced it open. Helped to have vampire strength. Time to find the exact spot Devang was in. And let the monster behind him do any physical work at least on the violent end.

The most he could do was use pheromones to harm the strangers inside, and she could get caught in that crossfire if not careful.]

[There was a snicker and a little grin on her end. Baring sharp teeth but her expression turned serious enough as she started to follow. Keeping her head down to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Difficult, given what she was. But hopefully her coloration blended in decently with their surroundings. She was dark, at least.

She didn’t exactly have any clue where they were. The surroundings were relatively foreign, and as they neared their destination, she felt a creeping sense of tension begin to seep through her scales and into her body. Like a spring-loaded trap ready to snap.

Kept eyes and ears open. 

Where was Devang.]