(no subject)

[whatofthewarts]

Irene Adler had many homes, and many more hiding places, but months after her death Sherlock was certain he'd found at least half those in the country. She had her many stolen jewels tucked away all over the apartment, and it took him the better part of the afternoon to dig them all out of their hidey holes. When he had them in his pockets, he went searching for someone else entirely.

Although they had their obvious differences, given their different environments, Sherlock found it was remarkably easy to track himself down.

"Making headway, I presume?"

Comments

[whatofthewarts]

"From Mycroft?"

Doubtful.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"Or he doesn't care."

Shrugging.

[whatofthewarts]

He can't say whether Mycroft does or not, of course. He knows that his own brother does, but Sherlock's had been...more careful. And Sherlock is not an easy person to attach to, he's sure.

"What matters, then, is if you care what he did."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"No."

Yes, so plainly.

[whatofthewarts]

He doesn't pity Sherlock. He can't pity himself, in any incarnation. But he does feel anger at Mycroft, that has nothing to do with vicarious betrayal.

"Well. We shall endeavor to turn it into an advantage."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"If my theories work, I'll be able to travel back and forth. And so would you be."

By the way.

[whatofthewarts]

Oh. While he'd wondered if that was a possible outcome, he hadn't realized that Sherlock was actually working out such an open-ended doorway.

"Then you shall have much to show me."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"All right."

Agreeing, breathlessly.

"Is there ice?"

[whatofthewarts]

"I believe I can find some shortly. Wait here."

He scrambles up--as fast as he can while limping, anyway--and goes to get dressed. He returns a half hour later wearing a disguise and carrying an ice block in a burlap sack.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

Sherlock has drifted off to sleep under his blankets, down like the dead, apparently, since his return doesn't shake him.

[whatofthewarts]

He smashes up the ice block, quiet as he can, and leaves it in an insulated container by the bed for him. Then he goes off to find Watson, to 'borrow' supplies and indulge in conversation for a while.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

He'll eventually make it back up, but still limping. Waiting for him to come back.

[whatofthewarts]

When he does, he has instruments galore. Archaic by Sherlock's standards, yes, but perfectly serviceable all the same.

"I didn't expect to see you up so soon."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"...I didn't expect to see you back."

And with help. His breath catches.

[whatofthewarts]

"Why ever not. I have many talents, but observing dimensional travel from afar is not one of them. Much more fascinating up close."

He picks up the ice bag and sets it on Sherlock's chest.

"As you requested."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"Thank you."

For the ice.

Obviously.

[whatofthewarts]

He nods.

"I assume you will need assistance in applying it to some of your...nether regions."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"I hadn't considered."

Pushing the blanket back. He's still nude underneath it, bruises coming in back up and down one leg, especially on the hip he landed on.

[whatofthewarts]

"Lie still; I shall get to these, first."

He takes off his coat and grabs the ice.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"I can."

He protests, hands lifting up to press over his mouth. Baring himself unconsciously.

[whatofthewarts]

Holmes's gaze lingers there, at Sherlock's hands, those long fingers. The way they'll stifle any sound.

He finds a red, swollen mark on his hip and lightly holds the cloth with the ice there.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

His eyes close, and he hums softly.

"You said you invented ice therapy? It isn't common?"

[whatofthewarts]

"Ice isn't common in the summertime, unless you have money. But with the right chemicals, in the right proportions..."

A very crude ice pack, sans ice. He sets it on Sherlock's poor ribs. Someday, it will be featured in First Aid kits everywhere.

"The chemicals are difficult to come by, so ice was the more prudent option. Hold that on."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"You're years ahead of your time."

He admits, holding it there, arching back.

"Maybe if we did this again, we could be more careful." He suggests, a tiny bit anxiously.

[whatofthewarts]

Holmes's eyebrow lifts. He's moderately impressed. He noticed, of course, that Sherlock had enjoyed it...but doing this again would mean giving up some control. He hadn't been sure Sherlock would find it acceptable to give it up to him.

"Certainly. I admit that what we did was...unexpected."