sixwordstories | (no subject)

Current Mood: curious
Current Music: for headofapin but OTA because he would do it to anyone

(no subject)

[Broke into your home. So what?]

[Sherlock's not planning on waking her. But for the Somnacin problem- luckily for him, he's in the habit of carrying around air-tight, water-tight specimen bottles. They never fail to come in handy, as they do now. His gloved fingers work swiftly, decanting a tiny amount from each bottle so their contents remains equal and only very slightly depleted- it's not much, but it will do. Into the pocket with that, then, and the vials are carefully arranged back in their places.

He considers leaving. Honestly does. But he's sure he could question her just fine like this- and study the after-affects of the drug. If she's woozy or disorientated, then so much the better.

To that end, then, he leans against her wall with his arms folded and waits, excitement running in jolts up his spine but his body perfectly still.]

[What's only twenty minutes for Sherlock is four hours for Ariadne, running around in her own mind, building tricks and mazes, trying to create things even she could get lost in.

Building her fortress, in an unassuming apartment building on an unassuming street in the Quartier Latin in Paris.

Eventually, though, the timer hits ten seconds, and Sherlock might hear the faint sounds of Edith Piaf's warbling in the earbuds she'd stuck in her ears. She only uses the musical countdown like this to make sure she has enough time to wrap things up before she wakes.

She wakes almost instantly when the timer hits zero, eyes a little bleary with sleep (or maybe the drug, but she's pretty used to it by now).

Of course, seeing a man in her apartment, not Arthur (who has a key), when she expected to be alone makes her yell in surprise, yanking the IV out of her wrist and scrambling for her bag on the floor.] What the hell?

Interesting. Very interesting. [He pushes away from the wall and rests a hand on the PASIV, flashing her a brittle, cold smile.] Tell me. Drugs? [Though he knows it's not.] How disappointing. I find them terribly boring. [An utter lie.] Really, I'd thought you were cleverer than that. [He's banking on her wanting to correct him so much that she lets some of the real truth slip.]

Yeah, I'm such a junkie. [Her impulse to grab for the can of mace in her satchel is quelled, and she just pulls the bag up onto the bed, then flashes him her wrist - there's a tiny little welt of blood from where she'd just been hooked up, but otherwise it's basically clear of any marks.] You wanna tell me why the hell you broke into my apartment? [Frankly, he's lucky Arthur isn't here. Arthur would've shot first and asked questions later, especially after his hotel room had been broken into last week.]

Curiosity. Alright, let's be straight with eachother, shall we?

[He crosses the room to lay a hand on the PASIV device.] Lucid dreaming. A whole new crime that's not even exactly illegal, a whole new underworld, a whole new subject to explore. Give me the details. Name your price. I'm not asking anything untoward.

[She purses her lips, then checks her watch.] Fine, but I don't need your money. [She tosses him a vial of the drug.] It's Somnacin. The real stuff, not cut with anything else or an off-label knockoff. It enables the shared dream state, through the device. [She indicates the PASIV.]

Look, I don't know everything about it, I just design the dreams. I know it was originally developed for military use, but like everything else the military tries to keep to itself, it got out onto the black market.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only