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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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

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

ROFL

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