fandomhigh | Library, Monday [8/30]

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Library, Monday [8/30]

Several days back in Fandom with nothing in particular to do already had Gabrielle a little (okay, a lot) antsy, so she was more than eager to get back to work at the library for her first shift. This did involve a quick walk around and good look at the stacks to make sure nothing had changed on her too much since she'd been gone (two months or six, whichever way you looked at it, was a long time) before she threw herself into the task of reshelving and straightening up with a slightly manic kind of energy.

In between rounds of that, she could be found at the collections desk, fresh parchment and a newly-cut quill from that last stop back in Athens spread out in front of her; she had a lot to write about.

Starting with the easier adventures -- she was hoping to work her way up to that big one. This was still a satisfying demand on her creative energies, though, so the aide at the desk this morning was a cheerful one. That was an auspicious start to the semester, right?

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It wasn't so much that he didn't want to disturb Gabrielle as... Sherlock hadn't noticed she was there beyond the usual: 'female, hopelessly perky, possibly useful in fetching coffee.'

Which was the kindest thing the man could do as he continued his research.

The person who eventually approached Sherlock was not female or perky.

He was, however, carrying coffee. So ... one out of three? With possibly a demerit for not being willing to share.

"Sherlock," he said in a low voice. "Do you have a minute?"

"No, but I doubt saying so would stop you," Sherlock replied, not looking up from the newspaper.

"Probably not," Henry said, taking a seat at the table. "Would you mind telling me what you and Mr. Starsmore talked about yesterday?"

His tone had some bite behind the surface politeness.

"Aside from how I appear to be a literary character of note?" Sherlock asked dryly. "His manner of speaking and how it was caused by the lack of a jaw and what appeared to be chest cavity."

No, he hadn't looked up yet.

"Mmmm." Yeah, that was about what Jono had said. Whatever else his problem was, Sherlock Holmes did not sugar-coat things.

"Help me out here," Henry continued. "I'm not exactly clear on how his physical differences came up in conversation. He was upset enough that I ended up letting him go home, so he didn't seem to think it was a friendly little chat."

Sherlock turned the page, following what appeared to be a story about alternate reality children. That might have been a shudder. "I have the tendency to garner that response. And his 'physical differences' were the entire point of the conversation. He was able to speak directly into my mind."

"And about half his vital organs are missing," Henry said calmly. "He's worked for me since January. You pick up on these things."

And Henry hadn't actually handled it all that well himself at first, come to that.

"If you're doing some kind of mutant research project, kindly don't do it on my aides while they're at work. I ask that as a favor."

Sherlock paused and actually looked at him. "Mutant research project? Should I be doing one?"

Henry was momentarily taken aback; he hadn't meant it as anything except light sarcasm.

"I --" he fumbled. "If you can find mutants who want to talk to you, I don't see why not. I wasn't making a suggestion."

There was no particular reason the topic made him a tiny bit nervous. None at all.

Cocking his head to the side, Sherlock examined poor, poor Henry carefully once more. "All I care about is uncovering the facts. There is nothing worse than dully accepting everything."

Henry could think of many worse things, topping out at being lost in time, naked and hungry in the middle of a February ice storm.

It didn't matter. He supposed if he set that aside, he wasn't a fan of moving through life like a cow either.

"You're talking philosophy," he observed. "I admire that. Genuinely. I'd still prefer you try not to uncover irrelevant personal facts in a way that upsets library employees."

"Philosophy?" Sherlock made a face. "Dribble. Pointless dribble. And if people did not want facts uncovered, they ought to hide them with more care."

Yeah, like that would work.

Henry looked incredulous. "So Jono should either shut himself in a basement and not come out, or get used to being treated as a freak show? Essentially?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. I wasn't gawking like some idiot."

"No," Henry said dryly. "I'm sure anything you said to him was said with the purest of intent, and that his reaction was him being overdramatic."

Freaking scientists. They tended to forget 'interesting cases' had feelings.

"Well, put like that... yes. I suppose it was."

"Wow, I walked right into that."

Henry leaned back in his chair, limbs splayed out as he gave Sherlock a good look. Rationality hadn't helped him. Threats ... maybe.

"I can tell you aren't going to understand my point," he said. "Do you accept library staff can ask people to leave at their discretion?"

Sherlock put the paper down, steepling his fingers in front of his chest as he sat back as well. "On the contrary, I understand perfectly. Jono is overly emotional due to the recent death of friend--possibly girlfriend, he doesn't seem the type to have a boyfriend--and unable to handle questions based on how he is different from other worlds. You see yourself in a paternal role for reasons we won't get into at the moment because I think you are perhaps a five minutes from trying to break my nose and feel the need to step in and protect him. Admirable, I'm sure. But unnecessary."

...tl;dr, thy name is Sherlock Holmes.

That fairly accurate assessment took the wind out of Henry's sails considerably. He could have explained the paternal aspect -- it was a mix of pride in the library, missing Alba, missing his younger self, and a kind of mutant brotherhood -- but he was nowhere near offering quite that much personal information.

"My days of breaking people's noses to solve conflicts are long gone," he said, a bit sulkily. "But yes, I probably would have walked you to the exit. Would it really have been unnecessary?"

"You mistake my interest as an attempt to dissect his fragile little walls," Sherlock replied, turning his attention back to the newspaper. "But if you consider yourself a freak and are ashamed of it, I suppose it will always be easy to crumble. I'm surprised there's no therapist on the island, to be honest."

if you consider yourself a freak ... It took Henry a long, startled moment to realize that was a general you, and not a specific one. At least, he hoped it was.

"Jonothon's been under a lot of stress. But I don't think you have to be ashamed of something not to be especially thrilled to discuss it on first acquaintance," Henry argued. (Probably, he realized, futilely.) "Are you an open book?"

"If you know what to look for, I'm certain I ought to be."

There really wasn't an answer to that, especially because Henry wasn't looking for anything in particular. (He got as far as not a physical threat, but he was no detective.) It felt like time to cut his losses before anyone's nasal integrity was really in danger.

"Interesting," he said vaguely, as he stood. "Well. Thank you for your time. It has been" -- about as productive as ten minutes banging your head into a cement wall -- "enlightening."

"Always happy to help my local library," Sherlock replied dryly.

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