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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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[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.

[John can feel his face heating up over the praise. He knew he wasn't unlovable - he'd been in relationships before, after all. But he never considered himself exceptional in any way. And now here he is, faced with the admission that Sherlock - mad, brilliant, amazing Sherlock - loves him.

He'd been agonizing over these unusual feelings for weeks. He'd told himself it was just lingering confusion, that it was just strong friendship, that he'd get over the emotions that were so powerful and so familiar, yet targeted to someone who was decidedly not female. Right now, he could say nothing. Sherlock sounds resigned, and John could exploit that and continue to doggedly refuse the very idea that he could be anything more than 100% straight. He could let Sherlock continue to believe John could never love him.

But that would be horribly unfair and, most importantly of all, untrue. And after tonight, after the fight with that creature, part of John can't bear the thought of SHerlock dying without knowing the truth.

He takes in a deep breath and steels himself.]

You've got part of that wrong.

[Sherlock looks rather confused by that before ignoring it.]

I don't think so. I have access to all of his memories after all.

[Oh Sherlock, you amazing idiot.]

Not the part about his feelings, emotions, or memories.

The part about how his feelings are totally unrequited.

That part.

[Sherlock nearly stumbles over his own feet. That's not.. how it's supposed to work.]

I thought we already established that you don't actually know him very well. What do you mean it's not unrequited? Of course it is. You like women.

And I still do like women. And for a few weeks now, I've tried very, very hard to convince myself that's all I like.

It hasn't really worked.

[Sherlock looks at him for a moment but says nothing. He's sure he should be happy that the younger, magic self has a John that loves him. But he's not really. Mostly, he'd very much like to tell him every reason why he shouldn't. So he stays quiet and concentrates on getting them out.]

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