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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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.

Jono dropped the book that he was holding and stood up so quickly that his head hit the bottom of the table that the display was on. Which resulted, unfortunately, in not only a nasty headache, but also a shower of books down upon him, and Jonothon was going to detest all things Canadian by the end of the day.

//Wot!?//

What was with this island and attracting people that he'd idolized in books while growing up?

It was out to torment him. Really.

"Are you having a seizure?"

//I might bloody well start,// Jonothon grumbled, rubbing at his head. Now that was going to be a nice goose-egg or three, right there. //Sherlock as in 'Holmes?'//

It would explain so very much.

... Except for the texting addiction.

Once John had been informed that he hadn't broken a student, Sherlock put the phone away to look at the lump as well.

"That would be correct," Sherlock replied dryly. "Is there a reason why my name, as terrifying as it must be to the criminal underworld, caused you to nearly give yourself a concussion?"

He had an idea, but these parallel worlds were throwing him off.

//Heard it before somewhere, is all,// Jonothon replied, vaguely. He was painfully aware that Sherlock had returned that awkward place that was somewhere directly within his personal bubble of space, and crawling under the table wasn't exactly his preferred method of escape. And so he settled for bunching his shoulders forward and trying for the life of himself to maybe fold into himself.

It wasn't working.

"Lying is so tedious," Sherlock remarked, using this opportunity to make sure he wasn't cold to the touch like a corpse.

Because Sherlock was the worst teacher ever.

Oh God it was touching him make it stop.

Fortunately, Jono wasn't cold to the touch. Possibly unfortunate for Jonothon was the fact that he was pretty definitely what most people would consider to be feverish. Which was generally a common side-effect of being on fire, yes.

//I've read about you. Or somebody with yer name,// Jono replied, because it was entirely possible that this guy's parents just had a sense of humour about them. Or else maybe Sherlock here was delusional. Yes. Delusional would be reassuring. Except for the touching parts.

That taken care of, Sherlock moved away, lips pursed as he considered things. "Who else did you read about?"

Maybe he could just humour the man and make him go away. Maybe?

//Watson, Moriarty... Yer in a bloody library, we've got th'book.//

"John?" Ah, but more importantly. "Moriarty."

JONO, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

IT WAS THE FIRST NAME HE THOUGHT OF.

... Or, well, the third, after Holmes and Watson, but...

//Biography, written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,// and now Jono was waving his arm about in that general direction, yes. //Go, go, go.//

Edited 2010-08-29 21:02 (UTC)

Jono was so damned lucky that Sherlock's curiosity as to who Moriarty was exceeded what he had for him.

So, so lucky.

Becuase Sherlock was already rushing off to find it.

And Jonothon, in turn, was scrambling up and away... To hide behind his desk.

His shift wasn't over yet. But at least this meant that there was a desk between himself and the crazy man.

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Library [08/29]

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