(no subject)

[mightbeagoodone]

[OOC: Post the trail, the code, the fall. Trigger warnings for those threads and whatever may come up in new ones.]

Sherlock enters the bar through the door.

He hopes no one notices.



Quickly, he asks the Bar for something to wash his face, and takes himself to a dark corner to clean off the blood.

At home he's meant to be in hiding until it's safe to set out for Europe. For now he can take a moment and a few deep breaths, and mentally prepare himself for what has happened and what's to come.



...no, "Goodbye, My Lover" is not running through his head. The very idea.

Comments

[cottoncandypink]

Someone has noticed. The sight of someone covered in blood is not an unusual one for Wilford, but it's the first time he's seen it here.

"I hope you won," Wilford says.

His voice is odd — unable to keep a steady pitch, tone, or volume (though always on the 'loud' end of things).

The pink handlebar moustache is also kind of difficult to miss.

[mightbeagoodone]

The voice makes Sherlock wince.

The pink mustache does, too.

"I'm not sure yet, to be honest."

[cottoncandypink]

He tends to have that effect on people. Worse, he doesn't even seem to notice.

"Didn't even get a look at him?" Wilford asks.

He taps his pen absently against one of the photographs on the table in front of him. Reviewing it all is going nowhere, so he's glad for the distraction.

[mightbeagoodone]

Sherlock glances at the photos and replies, "Got a good look before shot himself in the head. Then I had to jump off a building.

"We'll see if it was worth it."

[cottoncandypink]

The photos are largely crime scene shots, in some sort of themed restaurant. Gruesome and bloody, stamped with different dates down in the corners. The notes and newspaper clippings mixed in talk about disappearances and murders at something called Freddy Fazbear's.

Wilford is more interested in what Sherlock has to say right now, though. "You certainly know how to have a good time," he says.

[mightbeagoodone]

"It was excruciating," Sherlock replies. "I don't recommend it."

And Sherlock does not shy away from crime scene photos. "May I?" he says, picking one up without waiting for permission.

[cottoncandypink]

"Sounds like a Friday night to me," Wilford says.

Lately, that's almost exactly how his Friday nights have been going.

There's a giant, robotic bear right in the centre of the frame, with blood dripping from its jaws and pooling on the floor below. Almost as if it bit somebody.

(Which is exactly what happened.)

[mightbeagoodone]

"That's not a terribly inconspicuous costume," Sherlock observes as he studies the photo.

(His world does not contain much magic and wonder. Perhaps that's for the best.)

[cottoncandypink]

"It's not a costume," Wilford says. "Animatronic endoskeleton."

He has a photo of a costume, though. He picks up one, showing a similarly-designed bunny, slumped over against a wall and... oozing.

"You can wear some of them, but I wouldn't dare."

For obvious reasons.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric notices, but also notices that Sherlock does not desire company. Instead he asks a passing rat to take Sherlock some tea, possibility with something stronger added.

{ooc: placeholder for slowtime?}

[mightbeagoodone]

Sherlock's absent expression sharpens when the rat brings him tea, and he looks around for who his benefactor might be.

He smiles, though, when he sees Sinric, and gets off the stool to join him.

"Look that bad, do I?'

[thewidewideworld]

"Yes, my friend." Sinric's expression is worried, despite Sherlock's smile. "I fear you do. Are you hurt?"

[mightbeagoodone]

"I'm unhurt, despite appearances."

He wipes his thumb on the lingering blood at his hairline.

"This isn't mine. I had to take some drastic measures at home."

[thewidewideworld]

"Drastic indeed if they left you covered in blood not your own."

He holds out a hand, offering to take the cloth. There's still some behind Sherlock's ear.

[mightbeagoodone]

Sherlock gives him the rag. "Thank you."

He's quiet a moment, then says, in a voice that says he is not quite sure what he feels about it, "Jim Moriarty is dead."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric cleans his face with care, gentle in his touch.

He bites his lip at Sherlock's words, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

[mightbeagoodone]

Sherlock nods slowly with another quiet, "Thank you.

"It was necessary for his people to believe I am also dead in order to prevent them shooting my friends. Hence--" He gestures to the blood.

"Once I leave the bar again, I may be gone for quite some time."

[onceaviking]

It's hard for a vampire not to notice blood.

So it is being noticed. And the attempts to clean it off are watched.
With interest.

[mightbeagoodone]

It's mostly matted in the back and side of his head. along the hairline.

Sherlock is too deep in his own thoughts at the moment for any attention he's attracted to sink in.

[onceaviking]

Interesting.

Interesting.

Eric shifts a little in his seat and leans forward, folding his large hands on the table.

He's seated two tables over but when it comes to blood, there really is no hiding from a vampire.

[mightbeagoodone]

Sherlock finally puts the rag down and says quietly to the Bar, "Tea, please," and slowly sips, moving like everything aches, when the cup appears.

[onceaviking]

Eric gets up and walks over, smoothly and quietly.

"I've never found out," he says, "if it's purely affectation or if you Brits really do believe that tea cures everything. "

[mightbeagoodone]

"We truly believe tea cures everything," Sherlock says and has another sip. "Also, it tastes good."

[onceaviking]

"Well, I can get behind it if it tastes good," Eric says, because that's how vampires work.

[mightbeagoodone]

Sherlock glances at him. "Doesn't human food made vampires ill?"