chippedsoul | The Journal (Inbox

[Things sure have been a mess all around. What with the hectics of Londeva and the Aspects' attempts to save it, followed by an uneasiness in the Index, which was then followed by an outright attack from the Story Eater, Sherlock feels as if he hasn't had a moment's peace in months. Has it been months? No, surely not.

Rosalia took him to see a doctor in the midst of the attack, so his left arm has now recovered for the most part. It still twinges a bit when he moves it or wiggles his fingers, but it's better than walking around with a sling! Either way, it's gotten him to thinking on what broke his arm in the first place. Or perhaps 'who' is more apt, but 'what' seems to describe Hyde better in the overall. Kazuma has been very absent, even after their return from Londeva, and Holmes thinks it's unacceptable.

So naturally, that means he's breaking into Asougi's house a day after the Story Eater's invasion was resolved. He tried the windows first, but none of them were open, so he picked the lock on the back door instead. And really, all of this could have been avoided if Asougi had just answered the front door when Holmes knocked, but he didn't. So really, this is on him. Now Holmes is in the house either way, with a healthy smidge of worry to boot.]

Hellooo? Mr. Asooougiii?

[Asougi is no where near the front door, or even downstairs of his home to bother answering. He is in his bedroom, sprawled out in bed beneath the blankets. The days have started to mesh together for him and he's barely keeping it together. The amount of stress his body went through during Londeva, the mental and physical horrors he committed, all of it came crashing down on him and being able to function has been a struggle.

Whenever the covers are pulled, he was almost skin and bones, almost aged a few years. A side effect from lack of nourishment, and from Hyde having taken so much control over him. It may come to a point that he would have to switch to Hyde just to survive, if help doesn't arrive.]

[It takes a little while for Sherlock to actually reach upstairs. He spent some time going through most of downstairs, peeking into every room to be sure he hadn't missed anything. It's possible that Asougi isn't home, he knows, but then... The house key is inside the house. It minimizes the chances that Asougi's gone out.

Eventually, Sherlock goes up the stairs and into the bedroom. He spots the silhouette of Asougi's outline beneath the covers, but doesn't receive a response when he calls out. Almost two years ago (time's kind of a mess for him), Sherlock walked into a ship's cabin to find Asougi sprawled out on the floor. This feels eerily similar to that day. So yes, Sherlock wastes no time with pulling the covers back. The next thing he does is feel for a pulse by pressing his fingertips against the side of Asougi's neck, just beneath the jawbone.

He hasn't failed to protect a life again, has he?]

[His brows twitch, a sound comes from the fallen lawyer. The detective's hand is uncomfortably close to a sensitive spot of his neck. Though the wound has long healed, he still reacts as if the pain's still there. The detective will get a heartbeat, though it's very weak.

Mustering what strength he still had, he manages to get a grip on the detective's arm. Still ever defensive even in his current state.]

[The faint heartbeat is reassuring, but the sudden hold on Sherlock's arm even more so. It means Asougi is still conscious. Sherlock releases a quiet breath, almost a sigh, then moves his other hand to cup Asougi's. It's not at all an attempt to pry the fingers off, rather, it's a gentle squeeze meant to comfort.]

Mr. Asougi? [It's not at all Sherlock's usual loud voice. Instead, it's a discreet whisper.]

[Sherlock's voice came in muffled, unable to decipher what's being said, or who's talking to him. He can register someone holding his hand though, leading him to squeeze his arm even harder, or try to. His hands shakes instead, too weak to squeeze and just clings to that arm.]

[Hm. This is the point where Sherlock carefully takes Asougi's hand off him, moving it back towards the mattress. He makes sure to feel the young man's forehead while he's at it, because a fever will complicate things.]

It's alright. Everything will be fine.

[His brows furrow when the hand moves to his head. Unfortunately the worse has been inflicted on the lawyer, his head was burning up. His hands lightly grip the bedsheets as he tries to open his eyes. They were half open, normal non-yellow eyes staring up in a daze, unfocused. He could see an outline of someone standing over him. His head turns slightly, be it to see if he could make out who it was, or move away from their hand.]

[Alright. Complicated situation it is, then. Sherlock dropped his hat and coat downstairs (over the couch, even), but he brought his bag upstairs with him and that's for the best. He takes a moment to rummage through it, his hand moving through a wide assortment of knick-knacks and vials. Finally, he takes out a single little bottle. It's the last healing potion he still has and he doesn't know what sort of effect it'll have on a fever. If there's even the smallest chance it'll work, though...

He sets the bottle down on the nightstand for now, instead reaching towards Asougi's shoulders with both hands.]

Come now, let's have you sit up for a moment, shall we?

[Oh dear, he's being moved. He has no strength to resist and thus sits up when forced. He probably feels lighter to Holmes. His eyes still follow the detective beside him.]

[He needs a moment to fluff the pillow up, wedging it between Asougi's back and the headboard so that it can support Asougi's weight in a nice, comfy manner. Once that's done, he uncorks the little bottle and sits down on the edge of the bed, turning his upper body to face Asougi.]

Now, let's give this a try. Do drink as much as possible, alright? It should help.

[With that, he carefully moves the bottle towards Asougi's lips. Don't have it spill all over you, friendo!]

-!! [Yea, he's not about to just drink some mystery liquid. He turns his head away from the bottle as he gets close to his lips. If he leans any further, he's going to fall right on over and maybe knock the bottle out of Holmes' hand]

[The first thing Sherlock does when he notices the situation going awry is to cover the bottle's opening with his thumb. He's had enough experience with spilling precious liquids to know how to prevent it.]

Ah. Hey. No, come on. It's a healing potion! And I know what you're thinking: medicine is disgusting. But this doesn't even taste half bad. It's almost nice, really.

[Holding onto Asougi with one hand to make sure the guy doesn't squirm so far away he slumps over, he once again tries to move the bottle towards its intended destination.]

[Poison. It's definitely poison. Those lips of his are staying shut tight, not convinced by Holmes' words, whatever he could pick out at least. He's glancing in Holmes' direction. If he could glare, he would be doing so right now.]

[Sherlock spends a few seconds waving the potion around in front of Asougi's mouth, then sighs and admits defeat. It feels familiar, somehow. Why is that, again? ... Iris. When she was very young, Iris would also refuse to eat whatever Sherlock offered her. How did he solve that, again? The memories are so faded, they're basically gone, and Sherlock ends up smacking the heel of his palm against his forehead a few times.

Think. Think!

And then, at last, he remembers. He slips the cork back into the bottle and puts it on the nightstand, out of Asougi's reach. Then he disappears from the room for a minute. Asougi might think he's safe, but Holmes returns in due time, holding a book. He sure did raid Asougi's library! Reading to Iris always did the trick. Granted, he didn't really read stories to her. He read research reports, the newspaper, letters sent from across the sea... But this is the Index and there are storybooks aplenty.

He sits himself down on the edge of the bed and opens the book, starting on the first page.]

Once upon a time, there lived in a certain village a little country girl, the prettiest creature who was ever seen. Her mother was excessively fond of her, and her grandmother doted on her still more. This good woman had a little red riding hood made for her. It suited the girl so extremely well that everybody started calling her... Little Red Riding Hood.

[Enjoy the drone of Sherlock's voice, Asougi!]

..................

[He can't be serious. He's just going to keep giving that look of disbelief at the detective. At least pick an interesting story! The words just go through one ear and other the other, his attention on the man who was clearly just trying to distract him.]

[Excuse you, an innocent little girl and a grandmother are gobbled up by a wolf. How is that not interesting? Holmes doesn't notice the look that's being shot his way. His attention is on the story now.]

-As she was going through the wood, she met with a wolf, who had a very great mind to eat her up, but he dared not, because of some woodcutters working nearby in the forest. He asked her where she was going. The poor child, who did not know that it was dangerous to stay and talk to a wolf, said to him, "I'm going to see my grandmother, and bring her a cake and a little pot of butter from my mother."

[Yes, he did do the little girl voice. You're welcome.]

[He might have visibly wince at that "girl" voice. He's being tortured isn't he? Trying to get him to break, so he could take that poison. Maybe if he could just lean over, muster up enough energy to kick the book, or him.]

[If Asougi thinks the little girl voice is bad, just wait till Holmes gets to the grandmother. He makes sure to really emphasize that old, sickly croak. What're ya gonna do about it, Asougi?]

[Partially fall off the bed. He couldn't quite reach Holmes to kick him and thus he's fallen off the bed instead.]

[The moment Sherlock spots that toppling movement from the corner of his eye, one of his arms shoots outward to try and catch Asougi.]

Whoah! Oh dear, careful now!

[He groans, not from the fall, but the body aches he's starting to feel after he forced himself to move so much. He's relying on Holmes to not fall as he breathes heavily. At this rate, he'll just tire himself out without Sherlock's "help".]

[Don't worry Asougi, Sherlock's got you. Once he's got a good, gentle hold with both hands, he carefully sits Asougi up again.]

There we are. Take it easy, now. I know it's an intense story, but it's still only a story.

[He made a scowling sound after being put back on the bed. This man is so loud and-

...

He must have gotten his eyesight back for a moment, cause he can just pick out that poofy hair of the detective, that ever so optimistic grin of his. He sighs heavily, flopping back onto the bed, raising an arm to rest over his head.]

[The flopping is good! Sort of. It means Asougi won't slide back off the bed so easily. He still needs to stay somewhat upright for that healing potion, though. Sherlock reaches for the bottle again, uncorking it.]

Let's try this one more time, shall we? Bottoms up. [Here comes the hot air balloon, moving towards Asougi's mouth for a landing! Vroom vroom- or whatever sound a hot air balloon made in 1900.]

[Action]

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