fandomhigh | Library [09/05]

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Library [09/05]

After last week's busy shift in the library, and a particularly active week besides, Jono was very much not in a state of mind to go above and beyond the call for the job, today. He was here, and he was attempting to shelve things when he saw things that needed to be shelved, and now and again he'd pick up a rag and try to dust.

But, well, he never got too far in any one task, because there were some very industrious helping hands hanging around, grabbing books and rags and anything else that he could get into before he could get into very much at all. And then patting him on the shoulder or the head or the ankle, wherever a disembodied hand happened to be able to reach from their particular vantage point, and pointing back toward the desk.

He would have decided that they were being condescending, if not for the fact that he was fairly inclined to just sit and do a whole lot of nothing in particular today anyhow.

[Open!]

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"And you have experience with it."

//Thankfully, not personally,// Jono replied, narrowing his eyes a little. //I'd prefer to keep it that way. There are some learning experiences that I can do without.//

Sherlock just rolled his eyes. "Please, I'm not about to start dissecting you to find out more. I have far more patience than that."

//... Lovely.//

See, Jonothon was thrilled. You could tell. Nothing filled his day with more joy than the revelation that one of his childhood heroes was an insufferable git who was going to follow him around poking at him.

//Really. I'm thrilled.//

This is what happened to poor, poor England.

"You're being over dramatic again."

//Well, you weren't expecting me to thank you, I hope.//

Still being overdramatic. It was a Jonothon thing.

"Oh, far from it. But it might help if you didn't fail so miserably at avoiding these things. It's distracting."

Why, Jonothon appeared to be developing a twitch in the corner of his right eye. Really, he should get that looked at.

//And what do you suggest I do to remedy that, then?//

"What does it look like beneath the bandages?" Sherlock asked, not at all helping the twitching eye. "There must be something there to keep it taunt and not sunken in."

For a split-second, Jono actually contemplated showing Sherlock first hand what was under those bandages, possibly by lighting his arse on fire.

It had been a very pleasing thought.

//That's not any of yer bloody business, now, is it?//

Sadly, Sherlock might love that far too much. And then they'd both have to deal with a put out John Watson.

"No, but that has rarely stopped me in the past."

//Mmm, yes. I've gathered as much.// See? Jono had powers of observation that he chose to utilize from time to time, too! //And if I choose not to tell you?//

"Then you choose not to tell me." And Sherlock would never stop bothering him.

... That was entirely too easy. Jono didn't much trust that, no.

//What does it matter t'you, anyhow?//

"It's interesting and so little is."

//That would make right now a first,// Jono noted. //I'm actually finding myself wanting very much to be as boring as possible, right now.//

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "A horrible thing to want. You may as well want to die."

Ooooover dramaaaaatic.

//I would settle for being left alone,// Jono replied, narrowing his eyes a bit.

Emo Jono had gotten tired of being emo all week, and was making a left-turn into grumpy territory today.

"Easily accomplished, as we both know." Yeah right. Like it really was.

Oh, absolutely. As they both knew.

//What would it take t'get you to go away?//

Sherlock just smiled.

//I hate you.//

Jono just felt as though he needed to share that. In case Sherlock didn't already know.

//I hate you a lot.//

"Yes, yes. Very good." Oh, like he cared how people thought of him.

Jonothon was trying very hard not to let himself get too annoyed, now. Good things never came of Jonothon when he was annoyed. But there was no work on his desk for him to throw himself into, and the last thing he wanted to do was read from that bloody stupid book at the moment, and so all there was for him to do was sit, direct a nasty look at the top of his desk, and simmer.

... Possibly literally, if the curl of frustrated smoke that crept up around his face was any indication. Damn you, Sherlock. Damn you.

"You're smoking," Sherlock informed him gleefully.

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