bakerstreet | (no subject)

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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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[It's starting to get dark, sunset perhaps ten minutes away. Joan turns on the headlights, checks the rearview mirror again. They seem to be the only ones on the road at the moment. Other drivers are probably either home or stopping for dinner.]

Should we get a hotel room for a couple hours?

[Sherlock's sleep had been dreamless, brought on by the exhaustion and the subconscious feeling of safety having a trusted companion at his side.

The sound of Joan's voice makes him wake with a start. He looks around the car groggily, taking a moment to decide where he is. Right, he'd been captured and Joan had come to his aid. Now, they're on the run together. He sighs and brings a hand to his eyes, rubbing them so it would be easier to ignore the desire to just drift back off to sleep.]

Hotel. Yes, that sounds good.

[Maybe he should check their surroundings before making that kind of agreement. He does, then chooses not to amend his statement.]

[He's looked around and not changed his mind. Good. Joan trusts Sherlock's danger assessment, and if he thinks it's safe to stop, then it's probably safe to stop. She drives on for another hour or so before starting to look for lodging signs. The first couple are for small, independent places, and she passes them up. It would be easier for someone to remember a place like that, much harder to remember the Days Inn at exit 34 as opposed to the one at exit 43.

Which is one one she chooses.]

Sherlock, we're stopping at the hotel.

[Sherlock had taken a few sips of his Gatorade before drifting back to sleep within a few minutes of being woken up.

This time, he's alternating between a half-sleep and being awake. It's the perfect physiological state for dreaming, which he does. As with most of his dreams, they're mostly abstract with images here and there. His resting mind is filled with unending hallways with thousands of doors - each holding something he may or may not be willing to face in his waking life. Thoughts, fears, memories, and everything else in between.

He's just opening a door leading to a rather painful memory from a few months back when he hears Joan's voice. He doesn't jump this time, and instead turns to see a dream projection of Joan standing just behind him.

The hotel. Right. Time to wake up.

He stirs and stretches. He looks around the road lazily. There's more people driving around them now, but he assumes Joan would have noticed if they were being followed by any of them.]

Hotel. Yes, good.

[She has been watching, and although the dark has made it difficult, she's pretty sure no one has been following.

She pulls into the Days Inn, and parks somewhere dark.]

Stay here. I'm going to tell them I'm alone.

[Joan checking into the hotel room alone will give him enough time to fully wake up, so he just nods.]

Better that way. I'll keep a look out here.

[He will. Even if he's groggy, his observation skills are far superior to most.]

[It doesn't take her long to check in, and she returns to move the car to the other side of the building. She shuts the engine off and pops the trunk.]

Room 112. Give me a hand with the bags.

[Sherlock complies with the request and even brings his nearly empty drink bottle out of the car with him. He doesn't want to leave anything at all in the car that might be noticed, no matter how insignificant. He slips said bottle into one of the bags before picking up his share.

He's more stable on his feet than he has been so far, but Joan might notice he's favouring his right leg slightly as they walk toward their hotel room.

He scrutinises the parking lot and the walkway leading up to their room, then the door itself before gesturing for Joan to unlock it. It's unlikely, but not impossible, for someone to predict which hotel Joan would stop at. Maybe it's paranoia, but that's been the key to his survival so far and he doesn't plan on dropping it just yet. Once inside, he looks the room over much more thoroughly than he'd checked the first room they were in. He's feeling much more like his typical self now that he's gotten several hours of rest.]

You'll want to charge the phone you bought. I need to send a few texts.

[The room is small, but clean, and in a little better shape than the one they checked into and left earlier in the day. There's one queen-sized bed.

Joan digs the prepaid phone out of the bag, connects the charger and plugs it in. Then she straightens and turns to him.]

I should examine you. Make sure there aren't any injuries we should be addressing.

[She noticed that limp.]

You should take the opportunity to sleep. You've been driving all day and you didn't get very much sleep last night, either.

[Sherlock will look over his own injuries while she rests. He's gotten quite used to doing that, though he tends to only address the ones in need of immediate attention and chooses to ignore the lesser wounds for the sake of saving time. Joan could probably guess that much about him and how he treats his 'transport' in other aspects of his life.]

It won't take long. Go ahead and take off your clothes.

[She's not going to let him brush her off here. She doesn't care how he treats his body. She watched him nearly destroy it once, jumping off a roof. She's not going to rest until she's cared for it, for him, now.]

[That gets her an exaggerated sigh and a roll of his eyes.]

Fine.

[He kicks his loafers off, then proceeds to strip himself of the slacks and the shirt she'd bought for him. He decides to keep his underwear on, since he knows he doesn't have any injury that would require him to take them off.]

Let's get this over with, then you should rest. I've got a few things to take care of before I join you.

[She begins examining him, gently touching his bruises to determine how deep they are, whether they need to worry about muscle or bone damage. She's particularly thorough in examining the leg he's been guarding.]

[For the most part, Sherlock doesn't have any injuries that should cause Joan any worry. Most of those have long since healed, some of them not as well as they would have had Joan been with him sooner. One of those being the improperly-healed fibula break causing his limp. He'd set it himself while on the run, and it would most likely need resetting by a professional once he can afford being off his feet for a few weeks.]

[She feels the bone, how it's crooked, and has a strange twist of guilt. She should have been there with him. Should have been there to set his leg properly.

But she couldn't have been there if he wouldn't let her.]

You should go easy on your right shoulder for a while.

[She heads for the bed,shedding her outer clothes as she goes. She keeps her cami and underwear on. She climbs into bed, pulls the covers to her shoulders. ]

[Sherlock watches her for a moment until she starts to take off her clothes, then he averts his eyes. Nudity doesn't offend him and he's not particularly socially polite, but he'd been raised a gentleman regardless. If she insisted on talking to him like this, it would be eye-contact unless he suspected an injury.]

Fine.

[He should be easy on his entire body for a while, but he won't complain at her advice.

After a while, he sits down on the edge of the bed. It's the same position they'd shared that night when Joan had her nightmare about him. He doesn't know the extent of how much he made that nightmare come true.]

[It's been three years, and yet having him sitting there like that hits her harder than she would have expected. She has analyzed that night, that dream, looking for some evidence that her subconscious mind had picked up on clues of Sherlock's plan. So seeing him like this sends a shiver of fresh fear.

She reaches out, puts a hand on his. Assurance that he's actually there. Hope that he won't leave her again. ]

[Sherlock doesn't associate tonight with the night Joan had her nightmare. He hasn't forgotten that experience, but it's not in his immediate thoughts. He looks over his shoulder at John when she touches him. Curious.

She's probably scared he'll leave again, he decides. He turns his head away from hers before he returns the affection by working his thumb out from under her hand so he can stroke her knuckles.]

I won't go anywhere. If you wake up and I'm not here, it means I'm using the toilet. So, sleep. We've got a busy few months.

[She nods a little. She believes him, knows that it doesn't make sense for him to leave her now. It doesn't make her fear disappear, but it does help quiet it.] Don't stay up too late, okay? You need your rest, too.

Just long enough for your phone to pick up enough charge for me to exchange a few emails, then I'll sleep, too.

[He's been sleeping for hours, but his body doesn't feel like its had enough. Having a real bed to rest in will do him more than a little good.]

Good.

[She takes her hand back, and settles in, closing her eyes. She's unsettled, but she'll do her best to sleep.]

[Sherlock stays on the bed until he's certain that Joan is sleeping. Then, he crosses the room to use the phone. It's almost an hour and a half since their discussion before Sherlock climbs into the bed next to Joan. He sleeps with his back facing her, closer to the centre of the bed instead of trying to keep his distance.]

[He's warm and close, and she turns toward him, settles closer. She doesn't snuggle by any means, she just lies close enough to feel his warmth, smell his scent.]

[Sherlock feels Joan shift closer to him. He doesn't move away from her, even when he can almost feel her breath against his back. Physical closeness. Warmth. Things like this are things he typically avoids, mostly because he's very much aware that letting someone (Joan) get so close to him on a physical level will only create a chemical cocktail in his brain that will make him feel even more compromised and conflicted.

'All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage'

'But sentiment, sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.'

'I've always assumed love was a dangerous disadvantage. Thank you for the final proof.'

Those and about a hundred other warnings coming in the form of various quotes he's either heard or said go through his mind.

Move. Move away.

But, he doesn't. He stays perfectly still, training his breathing. Feigning sleep. But for what? Joan's too tired to notice anything amiss. She's barely awake enough to seek the warmth, isn't she? He's pretending so he can savour this moment. This close almost affection, because it could be the last time. Tomorrow will be dangerous. The next six months could be dangerous.

And, maybe he's missed her more than he's allowed himself to realise.]

[Joan had nightmares about Sherlock even before he "died" in front of her. Afterwards there were nights that she didn't sleep for fear of what awaited her in her dreams. Not wanting to watch him fall again, and again.

Now, though, she's walking into that warehouse, the clicks of her heels echoing off the walls. There's a chair there, in the sole pool of light in the darkness, and Sherlock is slumped in it. She runs to him in the slow, painfully slow, motion of dreams, and kneels in front of him, looking up at his face.

But he's not beaten and bloody. No. He's smashed. Blood on his face. Eyes open and sightless. He's in the coat, the coat he jumped in, in the purple shirt and blue scarf and he's dead he's really dead he's a corpse tied to a chair because she's been chasing a shadow chasing a dead man and they know they know they've found her they're here...

She jolts awake with a gasping cry.]

Psh...damn "m"...

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