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This is perhaps the strangest hallucination I have ever experienced. Tactile is not generally a component nor do I tend to believe I've lived two different childhoods. Can't be H.O.U.N.D. and I haven't used. Lucid dreaming, perhaps? Most likely though in that case I have rather lost control. Very odd indeed, but then I do seem to harbor the belief that this book will populate itself with responses and that I'm at a school for learning magic. It hardly does to only call one thing odd when so much is absolutely ridiculous. But I believe it. That shouldn't be possible.

I'll have to consider carefully how to move forward from here. I'm not sure how but it could be Moriarty. Makes as much sense as anything.

[ooc - replies with not_a_hero. 4th wall breaking is A-Okay]

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Get closer to the head?!

[Great idea and all but that seems to be the more dangerous end. Sherlock digs in his pocket and grabs another roll of cloth. There's really not enough time to find a suitable stick to use as a weapon but he might not need to. He grabs the tail and wraps the cloth around it, tying it in a knot best he can before grabbing another match from the box he carries.]

Once it's lit, let go!

[He strikes the match and lights the cloth which catches beautifully and burns against the beasts flesh.

It is not a happy rodent.]

Edited 2013-04-23 15:29 (UTC)

[Beset as he is by the giant rodent, John can't really see the fire Sherlock has lit. However, he does hear its hideous shrieks and smell the acrid scent of burning hair and skin. As Sherlock demanded, John lets go of the scissors and rolls away from the creature. It sends him into a thicket of underbrush and brambles, but it's far better than the alternative.

Panting and charged with adrenaline, he rips away some of the gnarled foliage in an attempt to see how Sherlock is faring and whether the rodent is finally fleeing.]

[The beast charges off into the forest to try and escape the attack, not quite clever enough to realize it can't outrun its own tail but too pained and frenzied to do anything but try.

Sherlock hardly gives time to catch his own breath before he's up, looking for John, sounding far more worried now that the attack is over than he did when they were in the thick of it.]

John?!

[He sees him and runs, sliding to his knees to check and see that everything is alright, pulling open John's jacket and inspecting his hands and arms for all signs of injury.]

Edited 2013-04-23 23:55 (UTC)

[Still humming with wild energy, John gasps with relief when he sees the beast run off and, even more importantly, Sherlock stand.]

Sherlo-

[And he's all but tackled by his friend. He tries saying Sherlock's name a few more times as he's manhandled in the attempt to check for injury, but none of it seems to be breaking through.]

Sherlock!

[He clamps his hands down on Sherlock's shoulders. Might not be great getting giant rat blood on Sherlock's nice coat, but he can worry about that later. He uses it as an opportunity to try to look for any injuries on Sherlock as well.]

I'm fine. None of the blood's mine. It's all... that thing's. I've just got a couple of scrapes from the brambles.

You? It was... it lunged at you while I was still behind, I didn't see if it scratched or bit you or anything.

Just a scratch, not worth bothering with.

[Though he does pull his coat a little further closed to hide the rips in the shirt along his right ribs. Without the torch it's rather dark and not at all easy to see if John is being honest when he says he's fine.]

Are you sure you're alright? I count ten fingers but are you sure none of this blood is yours?

[John gestures to his knees, where what little moonlight there is is just enough to show that his trousers have ripped and his skin is a little reddened and scuffed.]

I'm sure that's it, and I know I didn't get it from the rat.

[He narrows his eyes, having noticed Sherlock draw his coat closer.]

Show me. Your definition of 'just a scratch' and mine might not be the same. Hell, that thing might have even had poisoned claws! Let me see.

[Sherlock scowls at the attention. This was his idea and John nearly got killed and who in the right mind is worried about Sherlock at a time like this? Stupid doctors.]

You'll make a fuss. You said you brought bandages, yes? We should put them to better use and get another torch made. I've matches enough to get us through several more if necessary.

Unless, of course, you want to stay and explore a bit longer?

When someone you care about has been scratched by some unknown rat monster thing, of course you make a fuss!

[He removes the bandages from his pocket. Two rolls, just enough for a new torch and mild injuries.]

If the wound's not bad, I've got enough for you to light us a new torch and for me to patch you up for the time being. Now either you open your coat and show me, or I'll do what you pulled on me and look for myself.

[Sherlock pouts slightly and holds open his coat. The right side of his shirt has certainly seen better days and there's blood enough to have made a mess of it. He rips at the existing slashes in the shirt to try and show that the scratches are mostly superficial.]

It looks worse, I'm sure. I hardly feel it. Let me have a roll of bandages and I'll get us a new stick.

Shit.

[Though he may not be a Healer yet, John definitely has the instincts. He drops to his knees, managing to avoid wincing when he feels the pain of his raw knees against the forest floor. He lifts Sherlock's shirt to get a better view of the scratches. They don't look too bad, but they are bleeding slightly, so he goes about wrapping them with one of the bandage rolls.

When he's finished applying the bandages, he stands and hands Sherlock the leftover roll and a half. He brushes himself off.]

When you say you can hardly feel it, do you mean it feels numb? Any burning or itching feelings? If you start feeling anything like that, you need to tell me immediately.

[Sherlock lets his bandage him but is going to continue to be annoyed by it. He watches John intensely as he does and doesn't really look away even when he's done.]

John, I'm quite alright. You can cease the mothering. If I need any further attention, I'll ask for it.

[He gets up and finds a stick to make another torch from. The bandages burn far faster than the cloth he'd brought.]

We'll have to be quick about it. If I give you a leg up, can you climb and hold the torch?

If it's mothering to be on the lookout for the first signs of poisoning and infection, then so be it.

[He gives a quick, sharp nod.]

As for that, yeah, I definitely can. I've got good upper body strength, I'm just not tall enough to get up on my own. C'mon, let's go before we have to start burning our clothes for the torch.

I think I might just set the whole place on fire if it comes down to frolicking naked through the forest.

[Sherlock hands him the torch and makes a space with his hands for John to put his foot in to help heave him up.]

[Though he's still in action mode, that elicits a small laugh from John. He gets the boost from Sherlock and successfully climbs up the tree.]

Not ready to sign up to be a wood nymph, huh?

[He holds down a hand for Sherlock.]

[Sherlock takes John's hand though he really doesn't need it. He gets on up on the tree and takes his torch back to lead the way again.]

Not in a place that has rats the size of a large dog, no. If it's me against the elements, I'm taking them down first.

[He walks much slower, staying closer to John and mindful of his limitations when climbing, though the rest of their path is mostly in a descent.]

[John chuckles and, likewise, sticks close to Sherlock. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, leaving behind that post-rush euphoria that sometimes gets him close to fits of giggles.]

Hopefully this isn't enough to turn you into a one-man vendetta against nature, because no ecosystem in Britain is safe if so.

[It then occurs to him that he really ought to try to chastise Sherlock for this insane adventure, so he tries to be a bit more serious. It doesn't work very well.]

And just so you know this whole mad evening was a bloody idiotic idea. You've got a scratch I'm going to need to keep an eye on, I'm covered in rat blood, and somewhere out there there's a flaming rodent with a pair of scissors stuck in it.

They were really good scissors, too.

I'm sure the rat appreciates good quality.

[He doesn't really feel chastised. It's sort of the same thing every time, anyway.]

You and he will have to do this again sometime. It can be a hunt for the vengeful rat.

[John actually bursts into laughter that time.]

Right, I'll be Captain Ahab, shall I? A white whale with a harpoon in is quite a bit easier to spot than a brownish-blackish rat thing with scissors sticking out it, though, so it sounds like I've got my work cut out for me.

[Sherlock chuckles, smiling fondly at John.]

There really is no one like you, John. Except for you.

[John's laughter softens until he's just grinning. It sounds like a compliment, so he's taking it as one.]

Thanks. The same goes for you. The one and only Sherlock Holmes, and thank goodness for it, since the world probably can't support two brilliantly maddening geniuses.

I have to compete with Mycroft as it is. I don't need another one. It's hardly surprising why he loves you.

What are you talking about? 'He'? Who's he?

[Had Sherlock mentioned anyone el- oh no. Oh God no. All the color drains from John's face.]

Please tell me you're not talking about Mycroft.

[That makes Sherlock a bit disgusted as well.]

That would be hilarious if it weren't so revolting. My brain must be running faster than my mouth again.

No, no no. Not Mycroft. Mycroft loves himself, Britain, and pastries. Hardly room for much else. I meant your Sherlock.

Edited 2013-04-24 02:46 (UTC)

[Oh.

Staring at Sherlock in surprise, John nearly trips over a gnarled root. He manages to catch himself, however, and the near-trip finally seems to jostle some words out of him.]

He loves me?

Not in the way Mycroft loves cake, I take it.

I really don't want to ever get into an analogy that includes Mycroft's unsavory desires.

It's ridiculous and hopelessly one-sided but he thinks of you as the prime example of humanity. You are the redemption of all normal people and proof that he himself is not entirely unlovable, simply unloved. Consider it another universal constant. Don't worry. Nothing will come of it.

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