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]

[It doesn't take long to find him. The clinic is only so big, and the figuring out where he'd go, was relatively easy. The part she supposes, that mildly surprises her, is that John isn't with him.

It's more telling than he likely intended it to be, had he known there was anyone paying attention. She'd kept her distance for a reason, with the unexpected arrival of someone else from little old London. She's quiet, with the door, no use upsetting what he's doing, but she steps more deliberately on her heels as she continues her slow, trek in.

If he wasn't immediately aware of someone entering, he certainly heard her coming. She leans against the table, settles into the silence, and waits]