lostcarnival | In a new light

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In a new light

Who: Sherlock and OPEN
What: New changes and video game munchies
When: Very late Day 97
Where: Cookhouse
Warnings: Mentions of drugs, suicide.

Dying made one hungry.

Sherlock was prone to being over dramatic, and would gladly tell anyone who inquired that yes, he was killed three times in the game and yes, for a second there he really thought he was going to end up nullified or actually dead. Being quite pleased that he wasn't a digital slug or dead, he found himself famished and in the mood for something dreadfully unhealthy and/or sweet.

Toby was exhausted and fell asleep back at the trailer (or was mad at him for thinking he really did die), so Sherlock was alone when he went to the Cookhouse.

He went to grab a basket of chips (fries) and a milkshake when it hit him. He'd noticed something strange with his vision when he came back, seeing faint blotches like if he'd looked in the sun for too long or something, but he assumed it had something to do with being in the game, some lingering side effect. He would only be worried if it remained for any length of time. What he didn't expect was a blast of orange and red when he looked into the kitchen.

He shut his eyes immediately, confused, and was shocked that he could still see it. He could see shapes of people, registering as different shades of red and orange, fading to yellow and green. The walls only mitigated some of it, he could see through them, too. It extended nearly as far as his natural vision, but faded into blank nothingness further on. It was heat. Obviously. He couldn't exactly see objects that didn't give off heat. But any heat residue left, was visible, like quickly fading handprints.

"Fascinating," he muttered, opening his eyes again. The effect was fainter coupled with his ordinary vision, giving a slight glow to anything that gave off heat. It was disorienting and off-putting and, quite frankly, neat.

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Weird vision was forgotten a moment, as disorienting as it was.

"Crime? What sort of crime are you interested in?"

His own food and drink seemed to be forgotten as well, his interest fully in this new person.

"I don't need to be cleared of a murder right now," he said in a dismissive way that indicated it might be necessary one day. "What's your profession?"

Edited 2017-05-19 04:45 (UTC)

Will was only a little taken aback by the sudden interest. Not very many people got that excited to hear about his job... then again, maybe this guy was just one of those crime junkies who were addicted to cop soap operas.

"Oh, well... any kind of crime, I guess. I worked for the cops for a while, and the FBI before that, but they didn't really appreciate my... unique take on the scenes I inspected. Now I'm working for a private organization, though my boss hired me more for the psychoanalyzing than the other stuff. Working for her, though, I run into more crime scenes than I expected to when I accepted the job."

He paused for a second, allowing himself to smirk a little at the offhand manner this guy was giving off. "Glad to hear you're not a murderer at the moment, though."

Hmm. Reptilian eyes studied him for a long moment, attempting to deduce what he could from his appearance.

"I would like to hear of any murders you solved recently," he said, which was probably disconcerting. Again. Sherlock was desperate, he'd not had any cases since he'd come to this Carnival. He ignored the second part of what he said. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to tell people that he had, actually, shot a man in cold blood once.

"Please present the facts to me in the way that you discovered them."

Well, that was certainly not a conventional greeting of any kind.

It might not be exactly conventional, but if Will was forced to admit it he kind of misses being able to solve the puzzles crime scenes presented, even with the crappy attitudes he had to put up with back then, so he's more than happy to talk about one... if he can think of a good one.

Will hesitates for a moment, losing his smile and shifting his stance a little in an uncertain gesture as he looks away from the lizard's gaze, moving over and down. "Recently...? Uh..." Since the last crime he had technically solved had been Magnus attacking the Big Guy, he was trying to think of one he'd feel comfortable discussing. It takes him a couple seconds, before he looks back up with a renewed smile. "Oh! Here's one, it's from when I was still working with the cops. It was one of the more interesting cases I was involved with." If you didn't count clearing your boss of a crime she actually had committed, anyway.

"Okay, so it was a cop shooting, and by the time I arrived on scene, the cops had decided that they'd solved it already. I mean, they usually want a quick conviction in cases like this anyway, but this time their job was made easier by the victim ID-ing the wrong culprit. The family living in this apartment hadn't even told the cops about the kid that had been living there, but there were clear signs--some scratches on the floor, like a hyperactive person had fidgeted during meals, a comic book hidden in an underwear drawer."

It's been years since he worked or even thought about this case, and he takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

"Not exactly iron-clad evidence, I'll grant you. But when I inspected the room where the, ah, 'shootings' had taken place, there was something pretty weird--a deadbolt, on the wrong side of the door. The blinds in this room were always down, the windows were never open. Whoever was living in there, the family had wanted to keep them hidden... and also keep them prisoner. Also, this was just a two room apartment, and five people living there. The adults all slept in the living room when this bedroom would have held at least another two beds. They were definitely scared of the kid, that was pretty clear.

"The most damning evidence was the blood spatter. That was all wrong, and I have no idea why the cops didn't catch it, other than like I said they were just trying to get a conviction. The castoff on the walls wasn't anything like what would have come from a gunshot victim. It was long, multi-directional, like castoff from a blunt object... but the cops were convinced it was a gunshot, so clearly the wound had a similar appearance to that. I wasn't able to inspect the bodies myself--not my department, and anyway I was kind of hit by a car later on so that put an end to my investigation of the scene."

Sherlock listened intently, raptly. His probably slightly disconcerting eyes just staring as he eagerly drank it all in. He was definitely case-starved.

"Those cops were incompetent morons," he said, frustrated, like he'd actually been there. He tugged at his coat, full of anxious energy. "A deadbolt on the wrong side of the door!? They should have seen that as soon as they looked in the room. Someone could have been shot in front of their faces and they'd still get it wrong. Why is this a constant in every world!?"

"Blood splatter, obvious," Sherlock repeated. "Blood splatter is one of the most telling...can they not read!? Was that department comprised of only blind children!?"

The fact that this man had been hit by a car was enough to shake him from his rant.

"Unfortunate. Did you find out what happened in the end?"

This man had at least gained Sherlock's interest. Someone who could read a crime scene properly was not something Sherlock would overlook. He tilted his head, slightly impressed.

Edited 2017-05-19 11:49 (UTC)

It's gratifying to hear someone else actually taking his conclusions seriously instead of being brushed off as unimportant as long as they crime is able to be pinned on someone even if it's not the right one.

"Yeah, I was just stunned, thankfully. Anyway, I managed to recover in time to see one of the eyewitnesses positively ID the person she fingered, but she was clearly lying. It was... subtle enough that I can't blame the cops on this one. To the untrained eye, it just looked like she was praying for strength or something like that, and when I managed to corner her she refused to admit that there was a boy. Even if she was scared of him, she was still trying to protect him. It was kind of sweet, I guess, even if I found it pretty frustrating at the time.

"After that, I was approached by my current boss, who also helped me figure out what really happened. I mean... honestly, I didn't have all the facts, and wouldn't ever have unless she helped me work them out."

He shrugs, the fact that he's not really upset about it showing in his relaxed shoulders.

"I mean, who'd have guessed it was a boy with a brain-eating limb attached to his torso who reacted badly to people being afraid of him?"

"Ugh--" Sherlock was about to comment on the unreliability and outright deception of some eyewitnesses when what Will said next caught him completely off guard.

He paused, his forked tongue flicking out and in, as if he was trying very hard to figure out if he was being made fun of or not. It wouldn't be the first time. He put his milkshake and chips down on the nearest table.

"Sorry, did you say brain-eating limb!?"

Will chuckled, amused yet understanding. Maybe it was a little mean of him to just drop that bombshell, but... well, how exactly do you say that gently? "Yeah, no, I'm not making that up. It was a defense mechanism--the more fear he could sense, the quicker the limb lashed out."

He decided to sit down at that table, he came here to eat after all. He won't actually do that yet, putting his food in front of him and looking up at the lizard man. "I guess I should back up a little and explain that in my world, there are... well, creatures that live under the radar. I didn't know about it either, until Magnus explained things to me. It was just as shocking and unbelievable to me... but well, I can't exactly deny things that are right in front of my eyes."

A slight pause. "Anyway, it matched the evidence perfectly. A limb like that would make a small, circular penetration wound, its teeth were sharp enough to cut through bone, and it would create multi-directional blood spatters. I don't think the cops ever figured it out, they probably pinned it on the wrong guy. At least I think he was a gang member or something, it's probably better he's off the street than some other, totally innocent guy."

"...how!?" Sherlock blurted out. The absurdity of a brain-eating-limb, especially one that seemed to have its own autonomy.

Regardless, his this man had his full attention, and he sat properly down in the seat across from him, absently eating chips.

"Wait, Magnus? You mean Dr. Helen Magnus?" Were they from the same world? That would make perfect sense, as Helen spoke of such things in her world.

He listened in fascination about the mad brain-eating limb, though, his brain still trying frantically to work that one out.

Lizard-guy got a slight eyebrow quirk. "You've met her already, huh." It wasn't a question, because Will wasn't even surprised. If Helen Magnus had been here for a week, of course she would start making friends with the local population of Abnormals. Whether or not they were born that way (the fact that this very reptilian fellow also has hair kind of makes Will believe he was at one more much more mammalian, possibly even a human or human-like person) doesn't matter, since Helen herself was of course an Abnormal thanks to her own experiments, and anyway she treated everyone the same.

"Yeah, Dr. Helen Magnus. She recruited me four years ago, and it's been a hell of a ride so far." Not without some rough patches along the way, but honestly he wouldn't give it up for anything.

Interesting. It had to be him, Helen's colleague.

"How did you end up here? Did you follow Helen to this carnival?" Sherlock was a tiny bit worried, as much as he missed his friends, he'd hate for them to end up here. It was dangerous and he didn't want them to see him like this.

Though, John would love the adventure.

"You're Will Zimmerman, aren't you?"

Edited 2017-05-21 11:17 (UTC)

He shook his head 'no'. "I met her just before I arrived here, but... I guess we got separated?" He definitely sounded uncertain, his brow furrowing slightly as he thought about it. "She was about to give me a tour of her... ah, new facility, and I was following her to do that, but we walked through a door and I ended up here alone. According to her she was here a full week before I showed up, despite the fact that the last thing we both remember from our world is her offering to show me around."

He was just in the process of reaching out a hand to shake and introduce himself when the lizard guy figured out who he was. He finished extending a hand anyway, and chuckled a little. "I see Magnus has been telling stories. Hopefully nothing too embarrassing... anyway. You know my name, mind telling me yours?"

Edited 2017-05-21 11:51 (UTC)

He extended his webbed, clawed hand and shook, like it wasn't a completely unusual thing to encounter. Then again, Helen had told him about Will's transformation into a lizard too, so...

A tilt of his head, as he took that information in stride. Interesting. More confirmed time...oddness...when it came to the carnival. Good, it was simply another confirmation that he would be able to get what he needed from another deal.

"Sherlock Holmes," he said.

"Well, depends what you find embarrassing." A grin.

Will... blinked, before dipping his head a little, his eyebrows going as high as they possibly can in pure disbelief. "Sherlock... Holmes?" He looked the guy over again, what he could see of him above the table. He had a British accent, but the man definitely struck him as contemporary rather than from a Victorian era. The few times he'd met James, the man had always struck him as someone ripped from the past and stuck in an era he was fascinated by but didn't quite belong in. Helen had adjusted somewhat better... anyway, this guy was completely modern. It would explain the intense interest in crime scenes, and his quick deduction of who Will was through whatever stories Magnus might have told (and he'll address that later, once this is taken care of) but...

Yeah, no.

Will leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and cocking his head a little to one side in a posture that screamed 'yeah, right'.

"As in, the Sherlock Holmes?" It wasn't exactly a common name, but a die-hard fan who was lucky enough to have that last name might have named a kid that. If they wanted their child to be bullied for the rest of their life, anyway. "Greatest detective, all that stuff?"

Don't mind the incredulous tone, Sherlock, he'll apologize later. Probably.

Edited 2017-05-21 12:45 (UTC)

Sherlock was well-known enough in his own world for him not to be too taken aback at that statement. He'd heard it before. But, it was something of note that this was coming from someone not of his world. Unless he spoke to Helen in the meantime...?

"Yes, the Sherlock Holmes," he furrowed his brows, the annoyance clearly in his tone. Just because he looked like a lizard...did he have to prove it to him, or something? He didn't like the way he said 'greatest detective,' he'd been mocked too many times to take it at face value. His eyes narrowed.

"Yes. All that stuff. I can read your history in your clothes and in your shoes, in the way you carry yourself and in your choice of words. Anything I would say could be easily brushed off if you suspect that Helen Magnus has told me, however you could easily ask her yourself. And I can assure you she will tell you that I am telling the truth." Sherlock leaned closer, his forked tongue flicking out in a slightly aggressive manner. "I am the world's greatest detective." At least, in his world.

Forgive Will for forgetting about the whole multiple universes theory at the moment, since James Watson is a little bit of a sore spot.

"I've met Sherlock Holmes, or at least the guy the books were based on. For that matter, I've read all the books. When I was just a kid. They've been around since before the turn of the 20th century. You? Are definitely from about the same era I am. The way you speak, the phrases you use, they're all from the 21st."

Despite his effort to keep calm, his voice has taken on a hurt tone as he talked, his face twisting with genuine upset. He wanted to be Sherlock Holmes, growing up, and James... his death had been such a blow to everyone, especially Helen.

"I can read people too--in fact, did you know they used to call me that behind my back at the precinct? Sherlock Holmes. And don't you dare bring Magnus into this, I am trying to protect her."

His voice raised a little during the last two words, both in pitch and tone, as he thumped one finger adamantly against the table. She'd loved James so deeply. He never wanted to see her go through that again, especially after all of their recent losses back home.

Edited 2017-05-21 14:36 (UTC)

...what.

"What books!?" Sherlock scoffed. "What are you talking about? That's impossible, if someone has written anything about me, there's no way they could have--"

This Will Zimmerman seemed actually upset about this, and that was just as baffling as his ramblings.

"How could they...call...you..." A cold chill went down his spine as his brain caught up with his confusion, that had nothing to do with his cold-bloodedness. Someone from Will and Helen's world had apparently...somehow, inspired books to be written, but with his name (and abilities)?

"Protect her? Protect her from what?" He shook his head, feeling a bit lost in a whirl of possibility and just how did this bloody multiverse thing work? He'd been to different worlds, he'd experienced it firsthand, but it seemed like now the existential horror was hitting him.

"How can you know about me in your bloody world!?"

Sherlock's own confusion and clear upset stopped Will's rage cold, and almost made him just about believe the man that he really was who he said he was. If he was a fake, he wouldn't be this upset about it.

"Magnus... didn't tell you?" Why the hell not? She must have had good reason, but he'd gone and screwed that up now... then again, if she didn't want him to say she would have told him to keep his mouth shut, and warned him that there was a Sherlock Holmes living in the Carnival. She didn't do either, and he can't help but wonder why.

Well, no hope for it now. He'll have to explain everything.

"James Watson. That was the name of the man who inspired one Sir Arthur Conan Doyle to write about a detective, the greatest detective who ever was. He could read your life's story in how you wore your watch--or your pants, probably. He would take any case, no matter how small, as long as it was interesting." He took a deep breath, folding his hands in front of him and looking down at them. "He was... Watson was a good friend to Magnus. They were... well, they did an experiment, with a few others, and Watson became so smart he was able to build himself a machine that kept him alive for more than a century. The books were written before they did the experiment, so..."

He glanced up, trying to fix Sherlock with a hard glare. "If you're half the man James Watson was, then... then I'll believe you're Sherlock Holmes."

Edited 2017-05-21 14:57 (UTC)

Sherlock wracked his memories to see if he'd missed something, and he probably had, but regardless, he certainly wasn't told straight-out.

But for the multiverse to churn out a world where somebody wrote a story, with someone in it with his exact name, his exact profession and abilities, inspired by someone named Watson--the blow to his ego stung, certainly--this was beyond impossible or improbable. Sherlock sat there a second, trying to sort this all out. It probably looked like he was just staring blankly for a good three minutes, without any reaction otherwise.

Finally, he spoke, wishing he'd paid more attention to quantum physics or such nonsense that had nothing to do with crime work but apparently would probably help him understand this better.

"So...if I'm understanding this correctly. There's a man on your world named Watson, who inspired someone to write about me, but I don't exist in your world, but this James Watson does?" There, that sounded about right. "You realize how ridiculously insane this sounds."

He tilted his head, his ego was taking multiple hits all at once. For one thing, it was actually flattering that he was actually known on another planet. And the other thing, it wasn't exactly him, and he was just a character in a book.

"Oh, that's it then? That's your criteria? I didn't realize that my existence is based on your belief. I should think you, of all people, would use your brain to deduce who I am. They called you Sherlock Holmes at your precinct, correct? They didn't like you, obviously. Deduce me, Dr. Zimmerman, and tell me if I'm lying. And if you can't, then you aren't worthy of being called me."

Sherlock leaned back, his blue reptilian eyes narrowed, his arms crossed. It wasn't like there was much to deduce other than the state of his coat and button-up shirt (all fairly expensive items, though they'd seen better days, and had been repaired multiple times), and it would probably be difficult since he didn't look human at all.

Will frowned. "Actually, they were making fun of the fact that I was trying to be Sherlock Holmes." A subtle but important difference. The first one implied that Sherlock Holmes was someone to dislike, and the second that he was someone no one could aspire to be because he was way smarter than any normal person.

He looked away a little, sorry his knee-jerk reaction brought them to this. He'd clearly insulted the other man deeply. "Look, it's not... you've been here too long, I can't get anything from the way you look, other than..."

He snuck a glance back at the man, trying to take in all the clues he can. He couldn't quite resist the challenge, despite his growing regrets. "Well, your coat was obviously given to you by someone with a decent amount of money. Probably not you, or you'd have bought a new one. Family? You wouldn't find something like that in a thrift store. What, did you have a falling out with your mom or brother or something, that's why you didn't ask for a new one when this one got damaged?"

Edited 2017-05-21 16:03 (UTC)

Sherlock was staring intently at him at the same time, deducing what he could, but that was real regret he'd sensed in his tone and in his body language. Sherlock actually had a contradictory low self-worth, despite his arrogance. All his self-worth was tied up in his intellect, and he was often proven wrong or tricked by people cleverer than him. He'd been made fun of by Scotland Yard enough that in his world it could easily be an insult as much as a compliment.

"Family, yes," he wondered just how similar were these books and this James Watson to his life. Will said brother, did Mycroft exist somehow too? "I have other coats, but this was my first."

Sherlock wasn't insulted by the fact Will couldn't read the rest of him otherwise, because of what he looked like. That would take study and serious observation.

"Sentiment," he said, his tone sounding less abrasive, now that Zimmerman wasn't challenging him. "You didn't take sentimental value into account."

Despite recognizing Sherlock's name, and assuming that Doyle probably got some things right, Will isn't actually relying on the books to tell him much. He'll actually be surprised at how factual they are. He's more thinking this Sherlock is a modern version of James, and despite how much he respected and looked up to the man he really didn't know him that well.

"Ah... yeah. I don't always take everything into account." Like the passage of time, or sentiment apparently. Will shifts a little, leaning forward so he can rest his wrists on the table. "Look... I can kind of be a dick sometimes, so... I'm sorry about that. It wasn't fair of me to say any of that, I guess you just... surprised me."

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In a new light

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/continues to have slightly unsuitable icons, i'll get more soon...

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I was so tempted to say 'who are you, Sherlock Holmes' you don't even know

ROFL

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