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ANGST MEME

Sometimes we all want to play some angst and see just how far our characters will fall.

- Post your characters, name and series in the subject along with any preferences.

- Go to random.org and roll.

- Play!

1. just depressed.

Things are tough, you're feeling worn out, or whatever the case, you're depressed. You need help or someone else thinks you do anyway.

2. abandoned.

You were left behind by everyone you hold dear and now you're forced to see how well they've adjusted, how happy they all are while you're screaming inside.

3. sick.

Cold, flu, or something even worse, all you can do is lay back and let someone take care of you.

4. fight.

You've been fighting nonstop with the other person and it just keep escalating.

5. break up.

You're being broken up with and they won't reconsider... Damn.

6. separated.

For some reason, you've been separated from the other person for a long time.

7. kidnapped.

You've been held captive for how long now? Maybe they've been torturing you even, using your blood to write ransom notes, threatening to cut off fingers to send next, etc. Rescue is on the way though, right?

8. beaten up.

Just because someone didn't like you or maybe they wanted something you had, whatever the case is, you're coming home sporting some nasty wounds and bruises.

9. jealousy.

You just have this undeniable jealousy suddenly and you need to let it out.

10. cheated on.This goes beyond just suspicion and you have full on proof of what your lover has done. How do you handle it?

11. apathetic.

You're not sad, you're not happy, you just... don't feel much anymore. The sparkle of life has gone right out of you and you're just going through the motions now.

12. addicted.

Drugs, alcohol, whatever your drug of choice is, you can't fight the draw and you can't draw yourself out of the hole, but the other person is going to try.

13. bad romance.

You know this isn't good for either of you, but you can't stop now.

14. fear.

Nightmares, the feeling someone is following you, etc. You can't shake the feeling.

15. insanity.

You're seeing things and hearing them, waking up only to realize you've done things you don't remember or you're in a place you weren't before. You're losing it and you don't know what to do.

16. guilt.

It's eating you up inside and you have to tell someone about it now. You want to be punished and you won't take no for an answer.

17. loss

You've lost something dear to you.

18. wild card.

Combine some options or make your own!

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Sherlock can guess what the subject of John's nightmare had been by the way his friend can't look at him for more than a moment at a time without panic crossing his face and making him turn away. He's already apologised for adding that image to the arsenal of destructive things John's mind could throw at him in a moment of weakness, so he doesn't care to repeat it now. It would only be empty words at that point and neither of them need that.

"Have some water," he tells John, focusing on the hang over instead of the nightmare for the moment. He even steps into the room, uninvited, and opens the bottle of water for him.

"You're in your bedroom at 221B Baker Street," Sherlock explains, since he's not entirely sure if John's gotten his barrings off enough to literally not know where he is. That would be a very concerning side effect of the alcohol indulgence and he'd probably suggest having a CT scan on the off-chance it would be something more serious than an ethanol-induced blackout.

Doctor, heal thyself is a phrase John ought to take note of. It takes several long seconds -- which are gracefully and graciously covered up by the swig of the water bottle -- for John to come back to himself again. Finding Sherlock in his room is certainly a bit of a shake up. They've taken so often to avoiding one another that he's only just now realized how he's missed the prowl of the grumpy house cat he has for a flatmate poking around in his things when he deems convenient.

John's face settles. He's in pain but it's nothing he's not felt before. John tilts his head back and forth before he tests his legs on their ability to hold his weight and manages to make a better go of standing this time than he did the last time Sherlock saw him.

He even tries the smallest of smiles. It only makes it's way to the left side of his mouth, however, before it's covered by a wince.

"What do you have on for today?" he asks, deciding to just get right back to it. Cases. Excitement. Clearing Sherlock's name.

Sherlock hovers over the side of John's bed for longer than he really needs to. Much like John, he's feeling stuck in the moment of things feeling both right, normal, back to how things should be and also completely off from their new routine since his return. Of course, he preferred things to go back to the way they'd been before, but it wasn't him that started the propagating pushing away back and forth they'd been caught up in.

When John starts to stand up, Sherlock steps over the drying puddle on the floor to give the smaller man room. The whole upstairs reeks enough for Sherlock to turn his nose up at it, but it's not enough to make him leave. At least not while things were still civil between him and John.

"Case. Hampshire," he starts, then remembers that he hadn't actually told John about it quite yet. "I'll give you details on the way. Train leaves at 6:15."

There's nothing in here that having the window propped open and a good use of cleaning products can't help! It's so very lucky that John is not at all opposed to cleaning up after himself unlike some of the people he happens to live with. Ahem. John doesn't feel any awkwardness by Sherlock's presence. He never has. Closeness or lack there of is all the same to him. Sherlock's a different type of creature. One that John finds quite endearing even when he's being absolutely bloody awful.

He takes another swig of the water and is about to express his sorrow over anything he might have sicked up on a few hours before when what Sherlock mentioned gets around to him finally.

Yes, John. Pay attention. There's a case on.

Surprise brightens an otherwise cloudy, hung over set of eyes and the doctor's smile forms more fully this time.

"That's-- Hampshire?" He likes the countryside quite well, most English do, but John'd been hoping for something a little closer to home. "6:15? Have you made sleeping arrangements?" Or will calling a hotel or bed and breakfast in the area be his duty?

Being in this room as long as he has is starting to feel stifling. The acid in the air is enough to make his eyes water and he puts a hand up to his nose, preferring to smell the residual hand soap off the back of his fingers instead of the sick on the floor. It wouldn't be too soon for John to clean things up. If he's in here for too much longer, he might retch himself.

In fact, Sherlock's just opening his mouth to comment that it's nice to know John's ears are working when a small ineffectual gag reaches him. Thank God he doesn't eat much on cases.

"God, John, I can taste it," he complains and turns to walk out the door and into the landing where the air might not be fresh, but it would be much more diluted than the air in the bedroom. He leans against the wall just outside the door and takes a moment to breathe and settle his stomach before going through John's question, though quite delayed in doing so.

He knew he'd been forgetting something. "No, I haven't made any arrangements. You don't mind," he says as a statement when it's really the unspoken request: John, will you make the sleeping arrangements?

John scrunches up his face. It's obvious he has a stronger stomach. And it's really not that bad. He'll blame sherlocks supposedly extra sensitive nose. Most likely, it's just Sherlock being a ruddy pain in the arse. Just as he's always meant to be. "Yes I-- Oh just go downstairs. I'll clean up and be down after a shower to book us a pair of rooms."

Such a finicky thing. And such a selective genius! Honestly, where did he hope to stay? And at such short notice! At least he booked the train. He'd not want to have to ride in a car for the two hour journey it would take otherwise. He's still unsure about Sherlock's driving capabilities.

Or his propensity to find every single bump in the road. And god forbid they hit traffic leaving London!

John shoos his flatmate down the stairs and starts the cleaning up process. It requires a shower after and he defends the stairs himself, headache full blown, in a dressing gown an hour later.

A pair of rooms. The real reason he'd been letting John make the sleeping arrangements was because he wanted to know exactly where he stood with the other man after all of that. There were two logical choices for John to choose from, those being a pair of rooms or a room with a pair of beds. It might not have made much difference to the other man, but it made a world of difference to someone who has a habit of overanalysing things to the point of coming across as OCD.

Apparently, they were back to square one. Back before their first direct contact with Jim Moriarty when they were still 'Sherlock' and 'John' as two separate entities instead of 'Sherlock and John' as the assumed set.

Satisfied (but not pleased) with the answer, he walks down the stairs without another word to let John take care of what he needs to do.

When John comes downstairs, he'll find Sherlock is also freshly showered. He's currently hunched over his new dissecting microscope while blindly taking notes on a small pad of paper next to him. Every few seconds, he alternates the angle he's holding his specimen.

"I've ordered that polarised light microscope," he tells John off-handedly and without looking up, specifically meaning the slightly large and expensive one he'd been looking at in a catalogue a week and a half ago. Without being able to use the resources of Scotland Yard and Molly no longer feeling quite as infatuated with him after living with him for a week and a half, he needs another way to access the proper equipment.

Pair of rooms. John fully expects Sherlock to just his own but it is mostly for appearance's sake to get the two. Why? Well John feels somewhat vulnerable. His last girlfriend made it rather clear that she didn't date men with attachments to other men. That hadn't been John's fault. It hadn't been his fault that she didn't believe his best friend could come back from the dead and he really... He just needed to be with him.

"Oh? Oh right then, we'll move the toaster." He scratches his head and ruffles up his hair before slumping down at the table opposite of Sherlock with water from the electric kettle and a tea bed. He yawns. Yawns against the back of his hand and then into his half steeped tea.

An attempt to be accomdating on both the room and the kitchen equipment and space situation does not stop John from being inquisitive. The headache, however, does. He leans against his palm as Sherlock does his calculations and then goes back upstairs to fetch his laptop. As expected, he can only get one room at such short notice. At less there are double beds. It still makes him sigh.

Sherlock glances up at John, feeling legitimately surprised that his purchase is going over so well. When he'd brought it up the first time, it had led to a rather unpleasant argument that ended with Mrs. Hudson asking them if anything was wrong and him going to sulk in his room until the whole thing blew over. That had been before their mutual agreement last night, however. It seems to him that things are finally starting to settle and he couldn't be more pleased with it.

When John leaves to fetch his laptop, Sherlock collects his specimen back into storage and goes to make himself a tea with the water John had put on. He hasn't had breakfast and since it would be several hours before getting back to work, it seems to be a good time to eat something. When John comes back down, he'll find Sherlock standing in front of the fridge with the door wide open while he takes his time deciding what he wants.

There's been no less than four arguments stemming from Sherlock's flagrant use of the refrigerator electricity in the last few weeks but John forced himself to hold his tongue now. That's likely because he's still on the phone as he jogs back down the stairs and Sherlock can not see the eye roll as he rounds the corner to sit in the living room.

"Yes, two beds. Not one child sized bed and one full. Listen, if we can't manage two rooms-- Right, yes, very last minute--" John rolls his eyes. "All right, if all you can do is a bed and a pull out sofa, that's fine. Right, yes, same card I'd given before when you assured me there were two rooms-- Right, oh, actually, yes, that'd be lovely. Good. See you this evening then."

At least he's managed to get them a meal when they get in.

John can always eat.

He pushes himself back up and sits again in the chair he'd left, laptop still powered up and a country bed and breakfast's website left on the screen. John's done well. He's gotten them quite close to Sherlock's target.

Sherlock hears John come back downstairs and he listens to the phone conversation while pawing around at things in the refrigerator. He has to push a test tube rack out of the way before he sees the carton of eggs that gives him an idea of what he wants to eat. Omelettes. He removes all of the ingredients from their various locations in the kitchen - Eggs, milk, and cheese from the refrigerator; green pepper and onion from the cupboard - and sets them on the counter top.

Contrary to what some people would believe, cooking comes naturally to Sherlock. He doesn't do it often; but, once he's learned a recipe, he has flawless execution in reproducing the desired results. It's hardly different than any other series of chemical reactions.

"You'll find my written notes and two correspondences from Miss Hunter in that black book next to your left hand," Sherlock tells John without looking over at him as he starts to chop the onion.

Sherlock doesn't feel the need to comment on their room situation since he doubts he'll be getting much sleep while they're there. The case shouldn't take more than a couple of days to plan out and execute which will keep him within the confines of his roughly 60 hour case-fuelled lack of need for sleep.

John ends up doing most of the sleeping on their cases, true. Usually that's at a table, standing upright against a wall, or after he's been left by an overzealous detective having a eureka moment and forgetting all about telling him he's about to rush off. It doesn't bother John, especially since they'll be getting a lovely tea upon arrival. He'll likely eat for both of them because Sherlock will absolutely be gunning to start the moment they arrive.

In a way, John's excited just to be included again. Even if it's just--

He glances over the notebook. Sherlock's writing is small and precise and John's hung over headache is making it hard to focus. Even so, he's a little surprised to see that Sherlock thinks this case is mundane.

A nanny feeling threatened, or at least asked to perform strange tasks with the incentive of a raised salary is something intriguing. Even if it's just the case of a dirty old man wanting an in with his kids' live in sitter.

"He's asked her to cut her hair? That's strange." But not too threatening, really. John shrugs and sips at his own tea, now perfectly steeped, thank you. "I suppose it could be stranger."

Sherlock can hear John picking up the items he'd pointed out. Good. He would have much preferred John had been working with him during the whole case, but when Violet Hunter had contacted him for the first time, the two of them had been in the midst of another of their tiffs. He'd of course advised Miss Hunter on the spot - as is written in his notes (that he had only written out in case this situation would arise) - that she should decline the employment offer even with the promising sum of 50,000 pound/year pay.

"He didn't ask," Sherlock points out as he starts to heat olive oil in a pan. "He practically demanded it or there'd be no job for her," he points out. He looks over at his flatmate, curious to know if John sees the significance in that fact.

"Why didn't she just-- Oh, yes, well that's quite a bit of money," John muses. He'd become a fairly rich man in the three years Sherlock had been off playing dead and wiping the world of... Well, John doesn't know. He's never really asked or sat down with Sherlock to discuss their time apart. It's not that he hadn't wanted to know, but there'd been too many emotions. And quite a lot of drama with his then-girlfriend as well.

John doesn't understand how the women in his life seem to despise his friend. He also has always neglected to see just how much he gives everything up completely for Sherlock.

It's one of his less charming foibles for everyone but Sherlock. And perhaps Mrs. Hudson.

Even so, John remembers being poor. And in remembering, he thinks of the things he might have done. Dressing a certain way and wearing his hair a certain way for a decent salary seems...well, not terrible.

"Don't suppose he's got some fetishes?"

"I'd hope not," Sherlock says, feeling vaguely disappointed, but not at all surprised. Things would become clear as time goes by and it's always nicer when he gets to be the one that points everything out in the end, anyway. He tosses the onions into the heated pan, preferring to have them caramelised before he'll eat them. The green peppers would be next to follow for a bit of heating.

It's probably for the best that John's never brought up that three year gap. Sherlock would rather dust it under the rug and pretend it had never happened, really. He'd done some things that he's not entirely proud of and he'd taken a bit more damage than he's willing to admit. There's a reason that he's developed slightly more 'modest' habits - such as not walking about completely nude on Sunday mornings. Even his episodes of partial nudity deliberately covered certain areas of his body that might indicate less than savoury bouts with dangerous circumstances. All of that he could handle quite simply. It's the blood on his hands and the lives he'd personally ended that he doesn't care to mention.

"We'll be meeting Miss Hunter shortly after we arrive. I've been reliably informed that the Rucastles will be out of town until Monday afternoon, so there's no need to wait."

They both would rather the case be more intriguing, though it must be something hidden and interesting for Sherlock to even bother. He can't be that hard up on cases that he'll take even this one. John frowns. What is he missing? Where are the details? He tries to pour over the tight, careful writing again, but the smell of sauted vegetables is actually turning his stomach and John excuses himself to have another little evacuating festival in the bathroom.

A little toothpaste and time enough for Sherlock to add the eggs incidentally has his stomach feeling much better and John better for it. The headache will fade but for now he doesn't mind it. He's suffered through and ignored worse.

Popping some bread that's seen better days into the toaster he's already given Sherlock clearance to discard, and therefore, likely for the last time without the oven, John makes himself some toast.

The remains of the afternoon should be fairly mild. John will pack in a little while. Getting out of the house might be nice. But Something is bothering him.

"When you said Rucastles will be out of town... Are we snooping through someone's home?"

Sherlock makes enough food for both of them, even though he's very well aware of the the fact that smelling it cooking has caused John's hang over to become violently productive. He doesn't mention it and simply leaves half of the eggs in the skillet for John to serve himself if he chooses to. If not, they'd end up in the bin and Sherlock isn't the type to mourn the waste of food.

Now that John is no longer intoxicated, he's feeling less bristled about the whole thing. Perhaps if he continues to keep John under his supervision, he can keep him from reaching for the bottle again. He can already anticipate the fighting, which says a lot since Sherlock doesn't usually think of social situations in advance unless it's pertinent to a case.

"Something like that. Later tonight after the maid and groundskeeper are in bed," he explains as he steps around John to carry his plate and tea over toward the table.

Sue him for being excited about a B and E. He should be more careful, more willing to be careful, but he's not wet his chops in Sherlock's antics in a very long time. If they're caught-- Well, perhaps that'd be even better.

John does help himself to some eggs. The grease is helpful to settling his stomach and his eyes are much brighter now, denoting that his affinity for eating has once more returned. John scoots up to the table and watches Sherlock's precise was of cutting his breakfast -- more like lunch now -- before palming his hand and digging in.

He's less birdlike in his own eating habits.

"You client will just let us in then?" Less breaking and more entering. But that's all right. Less chance for trouble. "Good. Very good. Overnight bag sufficient then? I'm sure you'll it solved by the time we get there."

Pandering is something John never does. The adventure might be meager but Sherlock's brain never disappoints him.

Sherlock pays considerably less attention to John eating their breakfast than the other way around. His observations simply end with him taking note that the worst moments of John's hang over might have passed. He'll feel better for about an hour until it crawls back into the open.

"I've got most of it worked out already," Sherlock admits with his usual lack of humility. He doesn't plan on telling John his half-formed deductions, even though he would have rambled his ear off with them had John been working the case with him from the beginning. Since he's had the time to sit and think about them, he'd rather refrain from settling into any false trail that could potentially bias either his (not likely) or John's observations later on.

There's just a few things he needs to check in person. There's also the worry that he has regarding the safety of a certain innocent party. If it weren't for that factor, he would have told Miss Hunter to leave the manor until he could arrive.

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Our angst accidentaly became Hurt/Comfort xD

Comfort seems all right pre and post angst!

Too true, that. XD Though 'pre' angst there is foreboding

As it should be! Sorry for pack of icons. I never named them. ><. The phone makes it hard to see.

No need to apologise

I am giving up iphone tagging. My last tag was a nightmare of bad grammar and typos.

iPhones have minds of their own.

Oooh. See you reserved at the Box. I waited too long and most of my muses are reserved. XD

Yeah, haven't been in a game for a while. I love the horror types and it looks interesting

It does! I need to figure out someone to play!

You said all your active muses are taken? D:

Yeeeep. All but some old Heroes characters. I dunno if I wanna canon review!

Sad day. D: Maybe someone won't put in their app?

Fingers still crossed on Banner or Watson not apping.

The Watson's my IRL BFF and I'm pretty sure she's already finished the app ._. Don't know about Hulk