William Sherlock Scott Holmes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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lostcarnival2016-12-19 12:12 pm
thevictoriandetective) wrote in lostcarnival2016-12-19 12:12 pm
Entry tags:
[Closed] He had it comin'...
Who: Sherlock, the Warden, and the Ringmaster
What: In which Sherlock tries to escape the Carnival
Where: The woods
When: Not too long after his latest change
Sherlock had enough.
He has enough of this stupid Carnival, of being in 'debt', of working a job, of living in a trailer with a giant fuzzy beast, and of being green and covered in scales.
Most of all, he was done with magic.
He was going back home where physics obeyed laws and people didn't suddenly grow moss or leaves or fur or wings and things were predictable--
Sherlock had a big canvas bag of supplies and food on his back as he trudged through the woods, his coat collar up and his scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. He was also tired of being cold. Stupid scales. He looked ridiculous. Maybe that's what finally set him off. It was undeniable proof that he was trapped here and yes, maybe he was a little vain but the mere fact he was basically kidnapped, in his opinion, was intolerable. He didn't care if he owed anyone anything. He wasn't going to stay here against his will any longer.
Someone had told him that you couldn't escape through the woods, that they'd just loop into themselves and he'd be back where he started, but he'd yet to test that theory fully. There had to be some way out. He'd gotten in, there was a way out. Maybe he'd have to wait until they got to their next stop. That was fine with him, he'd just camp out in the woods hidden until then.
What: In which Sherlock tries to escape the Carnival
Where: The woods
When: Not too long after his latest change
Sherlock had enough.
He has enough of this stupid Carnival, of being in 'debt', of working a job, of living in a trailer with a giant fuzzy beast, and of being green and covered in scales.
Most of all, he was done with magic.
He was going back home where physics obeyed laws and people didn't suddenly grow moss or leaves or fur or wings and things were predictable--
Sherlock had a big canvas bag of supplies and food on his back as he trudged through the woods, his coat collar up and his scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. He was also tired of being cold. Stupid scales. He looked ridiculous. Maybe that's what finally set him off. It was undeniable proof that he was trapped here and yes, maybe he was a little vain but the mere fact he was basically kidnapped, in his opinion, was intolerable. He didn't care if he owed anyone anything. He wasn't going to stay here against his will any longer.
Someone had told him that you couldn't escape through the woods, that they'd just loop into themselves and he'd be back where he started, but he'd yet to test that theory fully. There had to be some way out. He'd gotten in, there was a way out. Maybe he'd have to wait until they got to their next stop. That was fine with him, he'd just camp out in the woods hidden until then.
no subject
He stands up, and fished out his walkie talkie.
"I got the perp. You ready for him?"
From the other side is very clearly the Ringmaster's voice.
"Bring him in."
no subject
"London. You know, London? And quite honestly my brother would probably eat you first, he's got a massive appetite..." Yes, even in dire straits, he did just take a potshot at poor Mycroft, who actually probably was doing very well on his diet and most certainly would not eat... whatever he was.
"You really don't have to bring me in," Sherlock added hastily when he heard the voice. "I can make it worth your while!"
no subject
"And how's that?"
no subject
Your negotiating skills were very poor, Sherlock, he chided himself. He blamed panic.
no subject
He casts Sherlock a dagger glance from the side, the lights vanishing from his sockets.
"You're not in London anymore."
And with that he teleports all of them into the Ringmaster's tent. As soon as they've arrived, the dogs are quick to hop off of Sherlock, circling around Sans for attention.
The Ringmaster is seated at what probably qualifies as her desk.
"He's all yours, boss," Sans says, with a definite note of bitterness.
no subject
Sherlock blinked when he was suddenly in the "office."
"You wouldn't last three seconds in London," he sneered under his breath. A little too late, but ah well. He glared at the Ringmaster, with the air of a sullen, sulky child that got caught doing something bad.