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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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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.//

Though, in his defense, anyone who spent more than five minutes with Sherlock had that urge.

"Keep that up and you might be able to survive," Sherlock added, picking up the paper to wander back among the stacks.

Jono just stared after Sherlock, now, wide-eyed.

What the bloody hell was that supposed to mean!?

Today... today was already one of those days.

Yes, yes it was.

Sometime later, Sherlock popped back up, book in hand. "What am I thinking?"

//Wot?//

And there went the book display that Jono had been working on, toppling to the floor.

Sorry, Canada.

//I don't know what th'bloody hell it is yer thinking!//

Sherlock frowned both at Jono and the shoddy display. "Pity."

And then wandered off once more.

Jono looked down at the books that were now scattered across the floor.

And then he seriously debated what positives and negatives there might be to taking the rest of the day off to go and hide under a rock somewhere. While kicking a hardcover book about moose halfway to the door.

Edited 2010-08-29 17:50 (UTC)

As though someone who smelled like that could hide from Sherlock.

"You don't breath," Sherlock said, looking over an article on what seemed to be a rain of pudding. Interesting. "How exactly do you function?"

Somewhere, John was despairing in him.

And... there went the halfway-reconstructed display of books that had toppled not long before. And there went Jonothon, grabbing at his hair and barely refraining from screaming.

A scream would have caused migraines throughout the library. And possibly bloody noses. It was for the best that he managed to stifle it.

//Why does it matter?!//

Sherlock blinked, looking up from the article.

"Why shouldn't it? There is no way for you to draw in air and you appear to at least be human-like." Oh, how he needed to expand definitions. "So, the question as to how you continue function must have come up at one point."

Jonothon was going to need to be silent for a few moments. More than he normally was, perhaps. His hands were shaking again, and so they were going directly into his pockets.

//Well, what do you think it is?//

That was probably a dangerous question, Jono.

"I don't know," Sherlock admitted with far too much ease. "And it's more frustrating than anything I've had to solve lately. It's like Christmas."

//Well, it's a real red-letter day for you, then, isn't it?//

Jono. Manners.

... Not comparative manners, Jonothon.

//Th'same thing that lets me speak like this. That's what keeps me alive.//

See? It was an answer! Jono had them, in fits and spurts, from time to time.

If it helped, Sherlock rarely cared when he was granted normal, polite responses.

"Are you always so defensive?" Sherlock asked, head cocked to the side as he examined how much of the bandages were visible on the boy's torso. "Or am I a special case?"

The bandages, of course, ran from just under his nose right on down to below the waistline of his trousers, and Jonothon found himself turning away and zipping up his jacket when he realized that he was being eyed like that.

//Being defensive has also kept me alive,// he intoned. //You'll have to pardon me if I'm not terribly forthcoming about everything that makes me tick.//

"Has it?" Oh, Jono. That wasn't going to make him stop. "From the East End," Sherlock said, mimicking the accent for a moment. "Your London really must be different than mine, but without any facts--"

He was stuck and curious beyond all reason.

//Well, I won't be volunteering any,// Jonothon all but growled, narrowing his eyes and kneeling down to start gathering up the fallen books once again. //So don't go getting yer hopes up, mate.//

Really, he might as well have put up a sign inviting Sherlock to poke around even more.

Essentially!

"Sherlock," he prompted, already beginning a text to John about how much he was enjoying the island.

And by island, he meant verbally dissecting the people.

Library [08/29]

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