reach deep down within, but the pathways twist and turn;

[workaphilic]

Who: Sherlock Holmes & Irene Adler
What: Mr Holmes, Ms Adler, and their unique takes on emotions.
When: Afternoon of the 21st.
Where: One of the labs in the clinic.
Rating: PG-13 for now, but it's Irene, so I'll edit as necessary.

[He needs to know.

It's both infuriating and exhilarating, the lack of understanding. Paradisa is rife with it; hopelessly boring and astoundingly interesting all at the same time. (An annoying, intriguing paradox.) It was fun before, an incomplete jigsaw that (barely) kept him from going mad with the static. But this is different. Line crossed. (Won't tolerate this sort of game.)

He's getting complacent. That word again; really is everywhere these days. He needs to dig deeper, look closer, know more. (Another poor attempt at communication, Paradisa? A warning to keep his edges sharp?)

He doesn't have a full specimen, just incomplete samples he was able to nick here and there during the chaos. It's enough, though. More than enough, for him. So he slips into the labs during times he knows John won't catch him, sits with the equipment and works. Thinks. Understands, some. (Not enough.)

Preventative measures, let's call it.]

Comments

[chastise]

[Her lips quirk up slowly, into a soft grin. She simply applies a lot more pressure, moving her other hand to try and start to pull the slide out. She's clearly not going to deal with you not paying a proper bit of attention to her. Might as well give in]

It would repair.

[workaphilic]

[It's the slide that gets him. He doesn't actually care about the microscope (it would, after all, repair), but the sample is important, essential. He supports the microscope with one hand and reaches out to grasp her wrist with the other.

He doesn't say anything, but at least his eyes are on her now. You wanted his attention, Miss Adler, you have it.]

[chastise]

[When she has it, she slides the sample back into place with the tips of her fingers, carefully and with little fuss. She certainly wasn't going to harm it, but knowing when and how to push is a talent.

She returns his look evenly, no smug smile, no teasing laugh. There's a tightness around her eyes, she's sure he might have trouble sussing out. Or maybe, she's simply not giving him enough credit, with the gaps in time.

Irene twists her wrist enough to curl her fingers around his in turn, tugging to leave him open. She pushes off the work table and reseats herself, neatly into his lap, a soft lean against his arm. There's no flirtation, no seduction in the move, and she turns back to the microscope]

What have you learned?

[workaphilic]

[He freezes up at the sudden invasion of his personal space -- just a slight tensing of muscle, not noticeable to the average observer. (But she's not average, is she.)

He sits stubbornly still like that for a few moments.... and then the tension gradually eases out of him. His arms snake around her -- an equally innocent, nonsensual touch -- to readjust the slide in the microscope. He needs to finish his work for the day, but she's nothing if not persistent. Might as well just work around her.

(That's it, that's all. The work, the work, the work.)

When he answers, it's in a detached, clinical sort of tone; but the resistance is definitely gone for now.]

Very potent poison, obviously. Structure is uncommon, but not completely unfamiliar to me. [humorlessly:] Would probably be popular if it was lethal faster.