logicals | ic inbox | LITTLE HADES

We've got a problem. Call me back when you get this, okay?

[ he does as he's told, remarkably enough, and calls as soon as he notices this text.

it might be an hour or so after it was sent, but at least he got the message eventually. ]

What kind of a problem?

[And now John's had a whole hour to wonder if he's just overreacting to some kind of Hellvian environmentalist movement, so he's feeling a bit silly about the urgency of his text.

Plus he's pretty sure the bees are dead, since they didn't move at all when he put a soup pot over the pair.]

I, um...there was something in my paper. The one I get delivered to the hotel? I fell asleep there last night trying to write next week's column and there wasn't anything at the door when I got there so it must have come sometime this morning.

Look, are you sure no one else knows about your alternate screen name here?

Edited 2016-07-31 01:01 (UTC)

_{[ The sounds of Sherlock scarpering over furniture, kicking over books and generally making a mess can be hard as John begins talking, a quiet hum being placed into the conversation whenever it's needed - it's not that he's not paying attention, it's just a bit divided.

Right up until he hears that question. He pauses, both physically and audibly - quite suddenly he's standing still and the way the silence draws out for a few too many seconds obviously speaks volumes louder than any words he cares to use.

Sherlock chooses his words very carefully, and he speaks in a measured tone. ]}

I was recently made aware of the possibility that someone may have figured out the connection between myself and my alternate username. Why?

_{[ Holding onto secrets does him no good, and yet he's slow to divulge his theories when they could be proven wrong at the drop of a hat.

Why worry John when it could be nothing? ]}

[The pause is excruciating, since John can't tell if his call suddenly went dead or Sherlock's dropped the phone into some acid or something.

Hearing a reply makes John breath a bit easier, or at least until the words catch up with him, and then he's standing with his shoulders back, a defensive position.]

Someone? Someone who?

Because there were dead bees in my newspaper and a note, and I don't especially care about the bees even though they were bloody well the size of my fist, but a note's pretty deliberate.

[ He's still quiet, his breathing edging towards being slightly quicker than his usual rhythm just in light of the information John's given him - he insists on knowing who, but Sherlock doesn't yet have an answer for him. He has theories, but it's a mistake to theorise without the solid foundations of data, so he's not entirely sure how to answer. ]

It was anonymous. I'm in the process of tracing them.

_{[ It was so much easier when he had an underground network of homeless people willing to do his dirty work for him; now it's just Sherlock, and there aren't enough hours in the day to continue working the way he is whilst pursuing the leads he has on this particular 'case'.

His mind is thankful for something to latch onto, although he can't quite shake the significant feeling of missing something blindingly obvious, and it's been bothering him for days. ]}

You... were sent dead bees.

_{[ Dead bees the size of his fist.

So, it goes further still, then. Not only does this anonymous source know Sherlock's identity behind that of 'bees', he knows his connection to John Watson.

The pieces are lining up one by one, and they're all pointing in a fairly obvious direction. He has been deliberate in keeping any and all communication between himself and John private, there is, as far as he's aware, little to no evidence of them interacting on his Scienceofdeduction account.

They've interacted out in the open with his 'bees?' account, though, although it was... still careful.

Now paranoia drags at him as he itches to go through every last conversation he's ever had on both accounts, just to see what's hidden and what isn't. He pulls one of his spare phones towards him and scrolls through the network, dragging up a username with the intention to dredge through its comment history.

Should he be looking into the symbolism of bees in general? Bees represent so much to so many different cultures - creativity, love, divinity, diligence, wisdom. Looking into the mythology and lore probably isn't even worthwhile, especially knowing that he's the reason bees were picked in the first place - but he'll likely research it all the same, because everything has to be complicated. Just how deep does all of this go, and how concerned should he really be? ]}

What does the note say?

What was anonymous? You've heard from this person before?

[And didn't tell John about it? How frustratingly typical of Sherlock to keep him in the dark about anonymous threats. To leave him out of things.

John's fingers tighten on his phone until the casing gives a warning creak.]

You know, I can't actually protect the both of us if you don't tell me what's going on.

[He takes a sharp breath in and blows it out slowly, counting in his head.]

The note says "Killer bees are bad for the environment." Unsigned. If this is someone who knows that you're 'Bees?' then why leave this at my door? Why not leave it at yours? Unless they got our rooms mixed up...

I figured it was someone phishing for information. Not necessarily something worth worrying over, especially when I have little to no information worth going on.

_{[ Sherlock hears John's phone creak underneath the weight of his grip, his eyes glancing sideways with the sound. ]}

What's to tell? I receive a lot of anonymous texts, some of which are openly hostile, but that's the nature of playing an antagonistic alias on Hell's answer to the Internet. Do you expect me to tell you of every instance in which I've received trolling attempts? Or do you want to hear about every single anonymous comment? We'd be here for hours. I didn't expect it to mean anything.

_{[ Which isn't... a lie. He had definitely hoped that it was his overactive imagination, but there are too many clues to really ignore here; the fact that John of all people has been dragged into something yet again - if it's not Moriarty, then it's at least someone that knows them, knows of their friendship and their connection.

But that doesn't help - if anything, it makes things all the more difficult, because he's been told in no uncertain terms that their lives have been documented by an author of sorts in some universes - so it could be anyone with that information. ]}

If it is the same person, they've already sent me something bee-related. By leaving something to you along the same vein, they're proving that they're not only aware of our connection as friends but they might somehow be aware that you were in on the secret from the beginning.

_{[ And then there's the bees themselves: do they mean anything?

'Killer bees are bad for the environment'. There's no mistaking the threat underlying there. He listens as John breathes a measured sigh as an attempt to steel his temper. ]}

I very much doubt they'd go to all of the trouble of procuring mutated bees without double checking the address beforehand.

_{[ They're using John to relay a message.

It all seems so startlingly familiar.

Sherlock can't really mask the way he drags in his own sharp breath that belays a quiet, tightly controlled alarm.

He can't be here. Eternity is such a long time to be caught in the middle of mindgames; there are so many ways in which Sherlock can be pulled apart and the most obvious and devastating way is through the people he associates with.

His weaknesses are so transparent now; they're no longer hidden behind impenetrable walls and clever instances of obsessively learnt mind techniques - they're here, and Sherlock has never been more aware of being so achingly human and so achingly incapable of protecting those he cares for.

His death became the catalyst as one by one his friends and family followed him down through the maw, only to be met with the possibility of Moriarty still calling all the shots. And what's worse still, is he's been dead longer. Has he always been in Little Hades, biding his time? Is there an invisible web already circling its way around him, except he's been too blind to really see what's been going on? Has he walked them all into a trap that is all-encompassing and never ending, where two minds that are frighteningly similar escalate and escalate and escalate in order to keep the boredom at bay at the behest of anyone and everyone standing in their wake?

Is it even him? Or is he just desperately wishing that it is? His mind is so scattered and his thoughts are impossible to pin down; dully, he's aware that the prospect of Moriarty being back has been one of the most engaging things he's experienced since his death.

A bit not good, that, John's voice supplies, but it's not the John he's on the phone to. ]}

I'm coming over. Don't touch the bees with your bare hands.

I want to hear about anything that threatens you, yeah. I think that'd be important to know, considering where we are.

Does Lestrade know about your bee-related message? [It's like Moriarty all over again, the games, the cryptic messages. The way John's the last to know everything and five steps behind everyone else.

Although this is a little different. Sherlock's not clapping his hands with glee, relishing every text like it's the most fun he's ever had. There's at least a little bit of concern he can hear in the clipped way Sherlock breathes and speaks. John supposes he should take that as a good sign.

'Investigating bee threats isn't getting high in a back alley,' some small part of him pipes up. 'Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. Keep him busy.'

Except that whoever this is probably isn't going to just stop at sending bees to their doors.]

I put a pot over them. So does this mean that this could be an actual threat? I mean...this isn't just someone pulling a prank? Gabriel, maybe?

ic inbox | LITTLE HADES

TEXT; UN: unconfirmed

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text > phone call

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