(no subject)

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

[Broke into your home. So what?]

Comments

[headofapin.livejournal.com]

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

[He's in one of her cupboards. Yes, really. Damn her for coming home early; it's cramped in here. Still, he has done worse things for curiosity's sake- much worse- and crouching in a cupboard while a woman summons a book is-

-what?

Sherlock's mind is instantly flicking through hows and whys. Pulley- harness- magnets- she must know he's there or she wouldn't bother. Either that or it's a practice for something. No. No, too casual, as if she were flicking on a light.

It happened. It did. He will not doubt his eyes. (Cocaine, he reminds himself, is not a hallucinogen). He will not doubt his mind. Never. She won't leave the house for a while yet, if his observations are correct, and they always are. He could wait for her to leave the room, but leaving would mean getting to the door unseen. That borders on the impossible, at least until tomorrow, and that's if he's not caught before that. The moment replays- and then he gives in, opens the doors properly and snatches her book with little other introduction and possibly more anger than the situation requires.] Explain. [Hands already feeling over the book, smoothing over the cover, rubbing the pages, taking a close look at the ink.]

[a_time_slip]

I would suggest you leave, and drop anything you've taken.

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

Haven't taken a thing. [He has his hands up and a charming (fake) smile on his face.]

Feel free to ignore but I couldn't resist!

[chesstotem]

[She walks in and bolts the door behind her before heading straight to the bed. She pulls out from under it a silver case - she's keeping it safe for Arthur for a while, and hell if she's going to turn down an opportunity to use it while he's out on business.

She opens it, deftly setting the dosage and the timer, and expertly yanking a fresh IV cord out. Lying on the bed, fully-clothed, she sticks a pair of ear buds in her ears and inserts the IV into her wrist. She's out cold in seconds, with twenty minutes on the timer.]

:D

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

[His interest is pricked the moment that the needle comes out. For a moment he thinks- assumes, actually, and he feels a little annoyed at himself for that- it has to be some kind of illegal drug.

But this is much better, really, isn't it? He notes the timer, guesses that he has twenty minutes before she wakes up. Good. He can do a lot in twenty minutes. 'A lot', in this case, meaning slinking out of his hiding place and, as gently as he can, checking her pulse, her breathing, the relaxation of her muscles, noting the flicker of her eyelids- dreaming. He had been right. Then onto the machine itself, the chemical currently flowing through her veins- he wonders how best to get a sample.]

[bravediogenes.livejournal.com]

You're not meant to be in here.

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

[Oh no, not a child. Sherlock arches an eyebrow at him, deciding not to patronise him with niceties and heading straight for sarcasm.] No. Perceptive deduction.

About to go to bed v soon, but just had to.

[imaspecialist.livejournal.com]

You know if you'd wanted to see me, you could have just asked.

BB! <333

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

[There's a quiet bang as Sherlock hops down from the window sill, and proceeds to dust off his jacket. He's got a smile on his face that's rakish in one light and chilling in another, and yes- that is a gun in his pocket.] Tedious, don't you think?

Voice testing! So sorry :@

[soconventional.livejournal.com]

[Arriving home from work later than he'd really like, Lestrade tosses his keys and the heavy folder tucked beneath his arm on to the coffee table, completely oblivious to the fact that his house has been broken into. After all, not everyone can be on top form when it's approaching one in the morning and the only things keeping you awake are a dangerous amount of caffeine and sheer strength of will.]

[Or, at least, that'll be his excuse when he finally does realize he has an unwelcome guest. For now, though, he's far too busy flopping on to the sofa and loosening the knot of his tie to notice.]

Never apologise 8D

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

[Which is when Sherlock appears from his kitchen. Cup of tea in hand. Yes- he broke in and made tea. Why wouldn't he?

The first thing his eyes are drawn to (aside from the state of Lestrade's shoes, his route home clearly written on them) is naturally the file.] The Keeley murder? It was the aunt. You didn't pay attention to the passport photos. Not terribly difficult, I only had to see the news report to know.

[headofapin.livejournal.com]

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

[He's in one of her cupboards. Yes, really. Damn her for coming home early; it's cramped in here. Still, he has done worse things for curiosity's sake- much worse- and crouching in a cupboard while a woman summons a book is-

-what?

Sherlock's mind is instantly flicking through hows and whys. Pulley- harness- magnets- she must know he's there or she wouldn't bother. Either that or it's a practice for something. No. No, too casual, as if she were flicking on a light.

It happened. It did. He will not doubt his eyes. (Cocaine, he reminds himself, is not a hallucinogen). He will not doubt his mind. Never. She won't leave the house for a while yet, if his observations are correct, and they always are. He could wait for her to leave the room, but leaving would mean getting to the door unseen. That borders on the impossible, at least until tomorrow, and that's if he's not caught before that. The moment replays- and then he gives in, opens the doors properly and snatches her book with little other introduction and possibly more anger than the situation requires.] Explain. [Hands already feeling over the book, smoothing over the cover, rubbing the pages, taking a close look at the ink.]

[a_time_slip]

I would suggest you leave, and drop anything you've taken.

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

Haven't taken a thing. [He has his hands up and a charming (fake) smile on his face.]

Feel free to ignore but I couldn't resist!

[chesstotem]

[She walks in and bolts the door behind her before heading straight to the bed. She pulls out from under it a silver case - she's keeping it safe for Arthur for a while, and hell if she's going to turn down an opportunity to use it while he's out on business.

She opens it, deftly setting the dosage and the timer, and expertly yanking a fresh IV cord out. Lying on the bed, fully-clothed, she sticks a pair of ear buds in her ears and inserts the IV into her wrist. She's out cold in seconds, with twenty minutes on the timer.]

:D

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

[His interest is pricked the moment that the needle comes out. For a moment he thinks- assumes, actually, and he feels a little annoyed at himself for that- it has to be some kind of illegal drug.

But this is much better, really, isn't it? He notes the timer, guesses that he has twenty minutes before she wakes up. Good. He can do a lot in twenty minutes. 'A lot', in this case, meaning slinking out of his hiding place and, as gently as he can, checking her pulse, her breathing, the relaxation of her muscles, noting the flicker of her eyelids- dreaming. He had been right. Then onto the machine itself, the chemical currently flowing through her veins- he wonders how best to get a sample.]

[bravediogenes.livejournal.com]

You're not meant to be in here.

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

[Oh no, not a child. Sherlock arches an eyebrow at him, deciding not to patronise him with niceties and heading straight for sarcasm.] No. Perceptive deduction.

About to go to bed v soon, but just had to.

[imaspecialist.livejournal.com]

You know if you'd wanted to see me, you could have just asked.

BB! <333

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

[There's a quiet bang as Sherlock hops down from the window sill, and proceeds to dust off his jacket. He's got a smile on his face that's rakish in one light and chilling in another, and yes- that is a gun in his pocket.] Tedious, don't you think?

Voice testing! So sorry :@

[soconventional.livejournal.com]

[Arriving home from work later than he'd really like, Lestrade tosses his keys and the heavy folder tucked beneath his arm on to the coffee table, completely oblivious to the fact that his house has been broken into. After all, not everyone can be on top form when it's approaching one in the morning and the only things keeping you awake are a dangerous amount of caffeine and sheer strength of will.]

[Or, at least, that'll be his excuse when he finally does realize he has an unwelcome guest. For now, though, he's far too busy flopping on to the sofa and loosening the knot of his tie to notice.]

Never apologise 8D

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

[Which is when Sherlock appears from his kitchen. Cup of tea in hand. Yes- he broke in and made tea. Why wouldn't he?

The first thing his eyes are drawn to (aside from the state of Lestrade's shoes, his route home clearly written on them) is naturally the file.] The Keeley murder? It was the aunt. You didn't pay attention to the passport photos. Not terribly difficult, I only had to see the news report to know.

[headofapin.livejournal.com]

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

[He's in one of her cupboards. Yes, really. Damn her for coming home early; it's cramped in here. Still, he has done worse things for curiosity's sake- much worse- and crouching in a cupboard while a woman summons a book is-

-what?

Sherlock's mind is instantly flicking through hows and whys. Pulley- harness- magnets- she must know he's there or she wouldn't bother. Either that or it's a practice for something. No. No, too casual, as if she were flicking on a light.

It happened. It did. He will not doubt his eyes. (Cocaine, he reminds himself, is not a hallucinogen). He will not doubt his mind. Never. She won't leave the house for a while yet, if his observations are correct, and they always are. He could wait for her to leave the room, but leaving would mean getting to the door unseen. That borders on the impossible, at least until tomorrow, and that's if he's not caught before that. The moment replays- and then he gives in, opens the doors properly and snatches her book with little other introduction and possibly more anger than the situation requires.] Explain. [Hands already feeling over the book, smoothing over the cover, rubbing the pages, taking a close look at the ink.]

[a_time_slip]

I would suggest you leave, and drop anything you've taken.

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

Haven't taken a thing. [He has his hands up and a charming (fake) smile on his face.]

Feel free to ignore but I couldn't resist!

[chesstotem]

[She walks in and bolts the door behind her before heading straight to the bed. She pulls out from under it a silver case - she's keeping it safe for Arthur for a while, and hell if she's going to turn down an opportunity to use it while he's out on business.

She opens it, deftly setting the dosage and the timer, and expertly yanking a fresh IV cord out. Lying on the bed, fully-clothed, she sticks a pair of ear buds in her ears and inserts the IV into her wrist. She's out cold in seconds, with twenty minutes on the timer.]

:D

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

[His interest is pricked the moment that the needle comes out. For a moment he thinks- assumes, actually, and he feels a little annoyed at himself for that- it has to be some kind of illegal drug.

But this is much better, really, isn't it? He notes the timer, guesses that he has twenty minutes before she wakes up. Good. He can do a lot in twenty minutes. 'A lot', in this case, meaning slinking out of his hiding place and, as gently as he can, checking her pulse, her breathing, the relaxation of her muscles, noting the flicker of her eyelids- dreaming. He had been right. Then onto the machine itself, the chemical currently flowing through her veins- he wonders how best to get a sample.]

[bravediogenes.livejournal.com]

You're not meant to be in here.

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

[Oh no, not a child. Sherlock arches an eyebrow at him, deciding not to patronise him with niceties and heading straight for sarcasm.] No. Perceptive deduction.

About to go to bed v soon, but just had to.

[imaspecialist.livejournal.com]

You know if you'd wanted to see me, you could have just asked.

BB! <333

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

[There's a quiet bang as Sherlock hops down from the window sill, and proceeds to dust off his jacket. He's got a smile on his face that's rakish in one light and chilling in another, and yes- that is a gun in his pocket.] Tedious, don't you think?

Voice testing! So sorry :@

[soconventional.livejournal.com]

[Arriving home from work later than he'd really like, Lestrade tosses his keys and the heavy folder tucked beneath his arm on to the coffee table, completely oblivious to the fact that his house has been broken into. After all, not everyone can be on top form when it's approaching one in the morning and the only things keeping you awake are a dangerous amount of caffeine and sheer strength of will.]

[Or, at least, that'll be his excuse when he finally does realize he has an unwelcome guest. For now, though, he's far too busy flopping on to the sofa and loosening the knot of his tie to notice.]

Never apologise 8D

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

[Which is when Sherlock appears from his kitchen. Cup of tea in hand. Yes- he broke in and made tea. Why wouldn't he?

The first thing his eyes are drawn to (aside from the state of Lestrade's shoes, his route home clearly written on them) is naturally the file.] The Keeley murder? It was the aunt. You didn't pay attention to the passport photos. Not terribly difficult, I only had to see the news report to know.

[headofapin.livejournal.com]

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

[He's in one of her cupboards. Yes, really. Damn her for coming home early; it's cramped in here. Still, he has done worse things for curiosity's sake- much worse- and crouching in a cupboard while a woman summons a book is-

-what?

Sherlock's mind is instantly flicking through hows and whys. Pulley- harness- magnets- she must know he's there or she wouldn't bother. Either that or it's a practice for something. No. No, too casual, as if she were flicking on a light.

It happened. It did. He will not doubt his eyes. (Cocaine, he reminds himself, is not a hallucinogen). He will not doubt his mind. Never. She won't leave the house for a while yet, if his observations are correct, and they always are. He could wait for her to leave the room, but leaving would mean getting to the door unseen. That borders on the impossible, at least until tomorrow, and that's if he's not caught before that. The moment replays- and then he gives in, opens the doors properly and snatches her book with little other introduction and possibly more anger than the situation requires.] Explain. [Hands already feeling over the book, smoothing over the cover, rubbing the pages, taking a close look at the ink.]

[a_time_slip]

I would suggest you leave, and drop anything you've taken.

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

Haven't taken a thing. [He has his hands up and a charming (fake) smile on his face.]

Feel free to ignore but I couldn't resist!

[chesstotem]

[She walks in and bolts the door behind her before heading straight to the bed. She pulls out from under it a silver case - she's keeping it safe for Arthur for a while, and hell if she's going to turn down an opportunity to use it while he's out on business.

She opens it, deftly setting the dosage and the timer, and expertly yanking a fresh IV cord out. Lying on the bed, fully-clothed, she sticks a pair of ear buds in her ears and inserts the IV into her wrist. She's out cold in seconds, with twenty minutes on the timer.]

:D

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

[His interest is pricked the moment that the needle comes out. For a moment he thinks- assumes, actually, and he feels a little annoyed at himself for that- it has to be some kind of illegal drug.

But this is much better, really, isn't it? He notes the timer, guesses that he has twenty minutes before she wakes up. Good. He can do a lot in twenty minutes. 'A lot', in this case, meaning slinking out of his hiding place and, as gently as he can, checking her pulse, her breathing, the relaxation of her muscles, noting the flicker of her eyelids- dreaming. He had been right. Then onto the machine itself, the chemical currently flowing through her veins- he wonders how best to get a sample.]

[bravediogenes.livejournal.com]

You're not meant to be in here.

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

[Oh no, not a child. Sherlock arches an eyebrow at him, deciding not to patronise him with niceties and heading straight for sarcasm.] No. Perceptive deduction.

About to go to bed v soon, but just had to.

[imaspecialist.livejournal.com]

You know if you'd wanted to see me, you could have just asked.

BB! <333

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

[There's a quiet bang as Sherlock hops down from the window sill, and proceeds to dust off his jacket. He's got a smile on his face that's rakish in one light and chilling in another, and yes- that is a gun in his pocket.] Tedious, don't you think?

Voice testing! So sorry :@

[soconventional.livejournal.com]

[Arriving home from work later than he'd really like, Lestrade tosses his keys and the heavy folder tucked beneath his arm on to the coffee table, completely oblivious to the fact that his house has been broken into. After all, not everyone can be on top form when it's approaching one in the morning and the only things keeping you awake are a dangerous amount of caffeine and sheer strength of will.]

[Or, at least, that'll be his excuse when he finally does realize he has an unwelcome guest. For now, though, he's far too busy flopping on to the sofa and loosening the knot of his tie to notice.]

Never apologise 8D

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

[Which is when Sherlock appears from his kitchen. Cup of tea in hand. Yes- he broke in and made tea. Why wouldn't he?

The first thing his eyes are drawn to (aside from the state of Lestrade's shoes, his route home clearly written on them) is naturally the file.] The Keeley murder? It was the aunt. You didn't pay attention to the passport photos. Not terribly difficult, I only had to see the news report to know.

[headofapin.livejournal.com]

[notapsychopath.livejournal.com]

[He's in one of her cupboards. Yes, really. Damn her for coming home early; it's cramped in here. Still, he has done worse things for curiosity's sake- much worse- and crouching in a cupboard while a woman summons a book is-

-what?

Sherlock's mind is instantly flicking through hows and whys. Pulley- harness- magnets- she must know he's there or she wouldn't bother. Either that or it's a practice for something. No. No, too casual, as if she were flicking on a light.

It happened. It did. He will not doubt his eyes. (Cocaine, he reminds himself, is not a hallucinogen). He will not doubt his mind. Never. She won't leave the house for a while yet, if his observations are correct, and they always are. He could wait for her to leave the room, but leaving would mean getting to the door unseen. That borders on the impossible, at least until tomorrow, and that's if he's not caught before that. The moment replays- and then he gives in, opens the doors properly and snatches her book with little other introduction and possibly more anger than the situation requires.] Explain. [Hands already feeling over the book, smoothing over the cover, rubbing the pages, taking a close look at the ink.]