fandomhigh | Library [08/29]

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Library [08/29]

Jonothon had been in desperate need of the familiar today, and waking up this morning to realize that the person who was sleeping in Jak's bed was most definitely not Jak had been jolt enough to spur him into actually getting to his feet of his own accord, pulling on his cleanest dirty clothing, and making his way down to the library today for his shift.

That he was now moving through the stacks like a man possessed, looking over the course calendar for the semester and setting out displays of books that he thought other students might find topical to each and every class... That was something else. Now that he'd immersed himself in the familiar, he was hell-bent on not letting himself think too hard about why he'd needed it so badly.

The library was open, and was possibly almost too ready to face students new and old.

[The library, it is open.]

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Today would possibly go down in history as the day Jonothon's shift got actual visitors that were in the library to do things that libraries were intended for. He'd mark it on the calendar, perhaps.

He was on his way back from straightening up a display on fine art and theatre when he noticed the individual standing there.

//Can I help you?//

Sherlock blinked the once, looking over at him as if to catalog every little detail. Which, you know, was the case.

"You're not talking." Sherlock, please contain that glee. It was unnerving to anyone who actually knew you.

That was something of an unholy amount of glee that had Jonothon pulling a double-take while a shiver crept along his spine.

//Yer... observant.//

Jono wasn't certain what to make of that fact. Not with the way the man was looking him over, like that. Bolting for the stacks, he reminded himself, probably wasn't an option, here.

"How is it you are?" Sherlock asked, leaning into personal space like it didn't exist.

Jonothon and his personal space were now backing up a step, and Jono was going to just stare at the man, wide-eyed.

//Telepathy,// he managed, because that seemed about as good a word as any.

This individual certainly didn't seem to have trouble communicating. If anything, he seemed to be so much the opposite that he didn't realize that there were points in time when perhaps it would be more acceptable to stop doing so.

Oh, like that would put Sherlock off. Bluntness was what he responded best to. Or someone named John Watson dragging him away before he got decked.

Where was his replacement John when you needed him?

"Was that before or after you lost your jaw?"

Jonothon was now a special sort of taken aback, his hands moving up to cover the lower half of his face as though it would make any difference at all to the flow of this particular conversation.

//At... th'same time... roughly.//

Sherlock hummed thoughtfully, leaning to the side to catch sight of the careful wrap of bandages. He glanced up as though just noticing Jono was, you know, there.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" Not that he moved away. Sherlock.

//Yes,// Jono replied without hesitation. //Decidedly so.//

And that? That would be another step backwards.

There was another faint hum as Sherlock finally pulled away, taking out his phone to type something in. "I need everything you can get me about the island."

//Everything.//

Jonothon looked at the book cart, and then back at the madman with the phone. At least, he supposed, texting was not as unnerving as breathing down his neck. He'd take it.

//Periodicals, as well?//

Considering the newspaper's run, among other things, he was going to be in need of several book carts.

"If only the hardcopies exist, yes. If they're online, then you can give me the address."

Business with the phone completed, he looked back at Jono. "What is the range on that? Unlimited?"

Jonothon was finding himself about two seconds away from projecting some sort of psionic equivalent to a keysmash and running the opposite direction, now. This man's interest was... decidedly alarming. It had him wondering when the men with white coats and scalpels would decide to arrive.

//No... Not very far. I don't know.//

Farther when he was yelling? When he was paying more attention to what he was doing? He hadn't put any of this to the test. Why should he?

He had no idea if there was a website, but you better believe that he'd grabbed one of the newspapers and was desperately looking it over for one. If there was something online, maybe it would get this man out of here faster?

Jonothon liked to dream big.

"How can you not know?" Sherlock asked, as if Jono had just admitted that he couldn't recall how to blink.

//I... don't know?//

He was asking all the difficult questions! Like what did he know and how did he not know what he didn't know and why didn't he know what he should have known in the first place!

It was a little dizzying, to say the least.

//I try not to think about this.//

It should be noted that he failed at doing so. Miserably.

"Why? It's fascinating."

//It's not.// Yes, it was. Shut up. //It's trouble. It always has been.//

Sherlock rolled his eyes, sighing in annoyance. "Don't be so pedestrian."

Did that man just roll his eyes at him?!

Jono found himself staring at him, completely agog.

//Pedestrian!? It's practically a bloody survival tactic!//

"It's ignoring potential," Sherlock shot back, either ignorant of Jono's staring or just not one to care. "How can you claim to be interested in survival when you're not even using what's at hand?"

... Bloody hell. He couldn't even argue that point. Emma or Sean or even Monet or Everett would have pointed out the exact same thing, back home. Some of them more smugly than others.

//I use it as much as I need to,// he attempted, lamely.

Sherlock just stared. "Dear god, I had hoped the students here held something like a brain within their skulls, but I've been proven wrong. A red letter day."

One of Jono's eyebrows twitched a little, and he slapped the newspaper down on the book cart, pointing at a web address that had been hidden away around the bottom corner.

//There. There's yer bloody web address.//

He was trying not to snap. He was failing. Snapping was an interesting achievement for someone who didn't have a mouth, but Jono was resourceful that way.

"Good, you're trying now," Sherlock remarked with an overly pleased smile.

The fists that Jonothon's hands were being balled into were going into his jacket pockets. That was a good place for them. Far better than taking a swing at the faculty could possibly be.

//I have my moments on occasion, yes.//

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