fandomhigh | Library [09/26]

Entry tags:

library

Library [09/26]

There was music in the library today. It wasn't the same, loud, pervasive music that Jonothon normally opted to, however. Today it was almost like a whisper of music. Like a hundred little voices all joining together in song.

... Or, more accurately, the rustling of the pages of every book on the subject of music in the entire library, all rising up in glorious, but quiet, harmony.

They'd just finished Sound of Silence, and were moving on with Scarborough Fair when Jono came in, levelled that aisle with a look, and then shook his head and set to work shelving things. Occasionally, things that were singing at him.

Ah, Fandom.

[Open! And listening to Simon and Garfunkel.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"That is... a very good point," John replied. He was blinking, courtesy of said good point, eyes travelling from Sherlock to Jono and back. "Maybe the rings sort of-- slid past each other, making noise like a rattlesnake. But that wouldn't produce human sounds, so... probably not for any biological reason."

Sherlock was just going to stare at John for a moment. "No, not biological," he replied slowly.

Oh, John. You tried so hard.

"No, it was the same 'sound' as when you speak. So it had to be something else." A beat. "How do you eat?"

SHERLOCK.

//I... don't.//

Which was his answer, yes. It just took him a moment, because he was kicking himself for not seeing that question coming in the first place.

//Which isn't any of yer bloody business,// he added.

Yes. That would sure set him straight. Righto.

... Ow.

John winced quietly, and sent Sherlock a plaintative look. Lay off, please?

"What?" John, don't give him those looks! "He doesn't have a jaw or internal organs."

A beat.

"...bad thing?"

John pursed his lips.

"A little bad, yes," he said, his voice as understated as the statement itself.

Edited 2010-09-26 17:55 (UTC)

Jono had put his hands into his pockets again. Because if his hands were in his pockets, then he couldn't punch Sherlock in the nose. Or, at least, if he did, he'd end up looking bloody ridiculous while he made the attempt.

//Mm. A touch.//

At least, he supposed, John had the capacity to make Sherlock realize there was bad going on.

"Hm." Sherlock seemed to file that bit of information away before shaking his head and disappearing into the stacks, leaving poor John behind.

John sighed, casting a look after him. Lost cause, that.

"So," he began, awkwardly, as his attention returned to Jono. "At least the onions were a bit... better than the fish."

//I preferred th'fish.//

You could avoid the fish. The fish couldn't get inside. Jono had ignored the fish, because there were plenty of people on the island who were stupid enough to go after them.

//They might have had gaping mouths, but you never had to listen to them.//

"There is that," John agreed. Was that a stack of books on the counter? He gave it a prod. "I bought some earmuffs," he shared. "Thought it might be a bit-- weird, slicing them up."

//Mm, but probably delicious.// Jono's tone was dry. Dry like the Sahara. //They didn't particularly seem to mind when th'gel I'm sharing a room with stomped them flat with her foot.//

No little oniony screams of agony or anything. No guilt, either. They'd been asking for it.

//One of th'many joys of Fandom, mate.//

Much like the musical books, today.

"Different strokes, I suppose."

He was a doctor. He wasn't opposed to slicing up anything living, really, it was just that the onions had been so-- well, odd.

John peered back over through the books, attempting to catch sight of the hair on the back of Sherlock's head. "He asked the hotel manager to bring more of them up."

//I find myself wholly and completely unsurprised,// Jono shared. Because that was a huge secret.

...

//He's gone in there looking for botany books, right?//

Just making certain. What with the ones that were making music not far away, and all.

"...He's probably gotten distracted by the singing books."

If John sounded a little worried... well, he had rights to.

They were just lucky that Sherlock wandered back with a singing book in hand. "It keeps calling me baby (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kffacxfA7G4)."

//It likes you. You should keep it,// Jono replied. Flat. So very flat.

If the book had taste that terrible, then the library didn't need it. He'd replace it himself, if it came down to it.

"No!" John hastened to intervene. "No, let's not-- let's not steal books from the library."

It would sing at him all the bloody time. Singing books, and they got Justin Bieber?

Sherlock looked from one then the other before closing the book and offering it over to Jono. Helpfully.

"Your botany selection is lacking." In talking onion books.

And Jono very helpfully filed the book under 'rubbish.' Good place for it.

//I imagine nobody's written that particular book yet,// he replied, shaking his head. //I haven't seen any almanacs predicting a moody onion crop this year.//

"Perhaps the library in Baltimore has a more thorough selection?" John had an inkling they wouldn't get anything of interest out of Jono, which meant it was in everyone's interest to get Sherlock out of here quickly. "I think I saw a decent Chinese restaurant nearby as well."

Though he hoped the mafia weren't involved.

"I suppose I could do with Chinese." Yeah, not helping with the assumptions there, Sherlock.

Raven was still in the library, and once she saw Sherlock came in she of course was keeping an eye on him and Jono. At least that nicer man, Dr. Watson, was there to act as a buffer. But she was still compelled to drift over and make certain he was not harassing Jono.

"Hello again, Jono. Good morning, Dr. Watson," she said. She didn't address Sherlock, but she did incline her head in acknowledgment of him so she wouldn't be entirely rude.

//Hello again, luv,// Jono greeted, with the air of somebody who was being utterly professional while also trying to not laugh at Chinese Dinner Date plans in the making. And while also-also trying not to look too thankful that here had come one more Sherlock-buffer.

Buff, Raven. Buff.

... Let's not go for buff here, shall we?

"Good morning, Raven," said John, unconsciously pasting his Kind Professional smile on (which always looked oddly pained). "We were just heading off. Right, Sherlock?"

John? Assumptions. This is where they came from.

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!

Re: Talk to Jono!