you know what I'm sayin'?

[growing_pains]

( the test drive meme )

This is for anyone wanting to test out their characters in the setting before applying, and to see if things "click". Multiples will be allowed for this post, and you can generally assume any threads are a self-contained continuity unless you feel like getting creative.

Just post a thread with your CHARACTER NAME and CANON NAME in the title with a prompt and others will reply. Prompts and threads can be action spam or prose or whatever. These threads can be used on the sample section of your application, as well. Go out and have fun! Feel free to consult the institute tour and dorm guide for setting info.

Comments

[holmesisnowhere]

"Sorry," Sherlock mutters to the back of John's head, strong fingers obeying his directions. He grunts faintly. "Oh, I see what you mean." The detective's intentions seem bent upon the rather coiled knot near the exit wound. Still, he's careful, only applying force when he's absolutely sure he'll need it and that he won't hurt John. Sherlock works fairly tirelessly, though there's a faint, subtle tremor in his hands and arms after about forty minutes. At that point his touch is more methodical, thoughtful, spinning slow circles on the doctor's back meant to soothe and to relax him mentally as much as physically.

Sherlock's using the last vestiges of wakefulness to gently send thoughts of sleep, of being home, the sound of quietly playing violin in the middle of the night somewhere off in the distance. (He hasn't neglected to bring the instrument with him. It sits propped up against John's nightstand, and as far as Sherlock's concerned, that's the safest place in the world it could be. There's a funny noise coming from Sherlock's throat - he's humming along softly with the tune the violin plays (though an octave or so lower). Sherlock can sing - fairly well, in fact. It's unclear if John will know, but Sherlock hums something of Schubert's work to him.

Once Sherlock's convinced that John's back is in better shape than he's left it today, then, and only then, does Sherlock settle in on the very edge of the bed. The detective gives John plenty of space, though his fingers settle somewhere on John's skin, faint telepathic contact giving into mental static, and then nothing as Sherlock finally, mercifully falls completely asleep.

[drjhwatson]

It's quite early on that John begins to fall asleep, though it's a light sleep he's sometimes pulled out of by a touch here or there. Sherlock's influence sends him off into a much deeper slumber soon after.

At some point in the night, he shifts and the break of contact wakes him, though he doesn't quite realise that's the reason. He jolts a little, not afraid, and it's such a rare pleasure to wake without a sense of fear or depression.

Rolling over, he watches Sherlock at the edge of the bed and pulls him closer, half on top of himself but too tired to do much about it. He holds him there, feeling sleep heavy, and mutters, "Thank you for coming back. I needed you. Still do".

[holmesisnowhere]

Sherlock is instantly awake. John's touch is something Sherlock was not expecting and after the weeks catching brief naps in strange places, any change in his environment is enough to rouse him fully. The alcohol has mostly drained out of him. His mind comes to life immediately, rolling through possibilities of his environment - John's bed, a dorm room, America. John is here, and they're both safe. Relief cycles through the tight, alert feeling in his chest. Not wanting to disturb the doctor, Sherlock lets John pull him over, subtly assisting by moving himself along carefully. He doesn't dare open his eyes, keeping his breathing in the rhythm of 'asleep.' His coat hangs off of his mostly-naked form, Sherlock in boxers alone (that's how he sleeps, don't panic, John.)

Keeping his movements clumsy and slow, Sherlock nestles closer into John's side, arm arcing over the doctor's chest to hold him, fingers splayed on the smaller man's chest. The detective's hair is a mess, curls flat on one side and absurdly wild on the other. His head ends up on John's shoulder, and Sherlock buries his nose in the crook of the doctor's neck so that all he can smell is the remnant of John's aftershave, whatever cologne he might use.

It doesn't take long for sleep to reclaim Sherlock. He's still exhausted. The contact is just spare enough, that Sherlock's emotions echo faintly at John. Just the singular, quiet concept, safe before Sherlock is asleep again.

[drjhwatson]

When alone, John often sleeps on his back, thrashing about during nightmares and occasionally waking in foetal position. When there is a warm body nearby, he has a habit of gravitating towards it. And so, in the morning, Sherlock can find John tangled up against him like a weed. Despite the moments of waking, it's the best sleep he's had in a very long time, cheek planted against Sherlock, crust forming at the corners of his mouth.

[holmesisnowhere]

Sherlock has managed to wrap himself around John, long arms securely holding the smaller, stockier man close to his chest. One of his legs has wrapped around John's at the back joint of his knee, and then around his ankle. John will probably find his face resting against Sherlock's chest, the detective's nose and chin planted into his hair, his breathing steady and quiet with the obliviousness that comes from incredibly deep sleep. John waking does not rouse Sherlock, but there's no chance in the world that John will be able to untangle from his friend without waking him immediately.

Shifting slightly in his sleep, his arms tighten around John unconsciously. Sherlock mutters something, eyebrows furrowing tightly in toward one another. John gets squished a little more firmly, and Sherlock's entire body stretches out for a moment, and then goes back into pretzel up with John's once more.

[drjhwatson]

Before John's fully conscious, his hands run over smooth, warm skin, trailing patterns and caressing softly. It's nice to wake up with somebody. But then he begins to remember who that somebody is when a sound escapes them. He stiffens a little and tries to pull away, gently. It's not working.

For a moment, Sherlock stretches and John sees his chance, but he's not quick enough and gets trapped in the claw that is Sherlock's ridiculously lanky body once more.

"Sherlock," he says, "Uh, hm... Sherlock." It is nice though, he thinks, as he tries to extract himself. "Shit, I really need to get laid."

[holmesisnowhere]

John's touch rouses Sherlock, his blue eyes snapping open, wide and horribly alert, only to shut again when the detective realizes exactly who's next to him, and ... Sherlock's mind halts a little as John's hands run over his skin, throwing his mind into total chaos. One hand reaches for John's, to stop him, though not with any real intent or protest. John struggling against chest really does pull Sherlock into consciousness, and blue eyes land on John's face in a mixture of sleepy bewilderment and irritation.

"Oh, hold still," Sherlock's peevishness is the only word that escapes his mouth. "You've been like that all night, it's not like five minutes of being conscious changes it."

[drjhwatson]

Sherlock really doesn't know everything there is to know. Like morning glory. Not that John HAS any, but, still. What if his mind wandered and he remained too comfortable to...stop things.

"Sherlock, we're grown men. We.... don't need to cuddle. You can only cuddle when your life's in danger. It's just the way of the world."

He says all this, but he's long since stopped struggling.

[holmesisnowhere]

Sherlock stretches in place, an expansion and tension of muscle beneath John's arms, the movement lazy. One hand unpins from John to collect the covers to throw them back over the two of them - warding off the natural chill of the room.

"Do you think an arbitrary rule set devised by homophobic army men in life-threatening situations has anything relevant to offer this situation, John?"

Not really anyway, but Sherlock's quite comfortable and warm for the first time in awhile, and he'll be a bit put out if John decides to bolt from the bed. Sherlock lets his chin rest on top of John's head, one hand going to check the tension in John's back with medical precision (he's learned, in fact, rather quickly, where John seems to store it.)

[drjhwatson]

"It's not homophobic," he huffs, tugging the covers up once Sherlock puts them within reach. "Nobody wants to rub their bits on their friends, regardless of gender or sexuality. It's just not done."

He highs softly under the pretence of accepting the contact grudgingly. In truth, it's welcome.

"I should train you up to be my nurse."

updating from phone sorry for slow!

[holmesisnowhere]

"You'd know if I was... Rubbing my bits on you, John. Thankfully that is not an issue at the moment." Sherlock grabs John, yanking him into a brief and awkward embrace. "I am glad you are alive and safe. I am very glad to see you. Judging on the effects of post traumatic stress syndrome, I will not deal well with sleeping on my own for a week or so. After that, flashbacks and nightmares, time scope unlimited... any erratic behavior should be treated as the psychological effects of having Jim Moriarty shoot himself in front of me."

Sherlock pauses for breath, curling closer to John. "I am not myself. Apologies."

[drjhwatson]

"Accidents happen, Sherlock, even with you."

John is still stubbornly pretending he doesn't appreciate the closeness. But he's been in Sherlock's shoes before (never his bed, though) and he can understand completely the desire to have somebody close to ground him. All the better that it's a friend who understands.

Sleeping with a girl you've just met and screaming your lungs off in the middle of a night, ranting and raving at her is never a good idea. And had happened more than once to John in the beginning before he'd shut himself off.

"Probably would have been better if it was me shooting that time, eh?" he frowns, rubbing Sherlock's back. "It gets easier."

He never thought it would until that Taxi chase. Never thought it'd be quite as easy to laugh and feel normal, even if the situation was far from it.

"I'd joke it's a nice break having you not acting like yourself. But... it's good to have you back in any shape or form."

He could also argue Sherlock at least knew he was alive and had hardly seen his best friend committing suicide. But now's not the time to split hairs.

[holmesisnowhere]

Sherlock doesn't say much of anything for a bit, blue grey eyes focused on the ceiling. His expression is deeply thoughtful, though one of his slender white hands is kept in contact with John's skin, though the detective isn't transmitting at the moment. His other hand has been gently checking John's back for renewed signs of tension, but it almost seems automatic for Sherlock. After a few minutes in silence, Sherlock unhands John, turning around in the bed to put his back up against him. It is a strangely trusting gesture, as Sherlock hasn't turned his back to an entrance since arriving at the Institute.

"I'm to be a chemistry substitute when needed. Librarian when I'm not," his voice is soft, thoughtful. "I'm no use teaching anyone how to fight and my mental abilities aren't strong enough to be considered remarkable." Sherlock's voice turns a bit bitter. "So, library it is." The sheets are run through the fingers on one of his hands, Sherlock testing the make and material, running an inner process to determine thread count and manufacturer. Also, how difficult it would be to get blood out of them.

"It is my deduction that the major players in Moriarty's ring have been dealt with, though there will always be more to the web then we realized. To everyone save our immediate colleagues I'm still quite dead. For their own safety and for the lack of domestics. I've made sure Mrs. Hudson is being well cared for. Mycroft has constant watch on her residence."

[drjhwatson]

John looks at Sherlock's back when it's offered and closes his eyes, silently thanking god his friend it okay. That he's back.

He rubs his friends arm and slides it round with a half sigh, saying, "I'll give you a check up later, okay? Unless anything's hurting now? You know.... I might finally get to use you as my guinea pig."

He's not sure Sherlock belongs in a library with other people. It'll be interesting, though. Entertaining, even. And, as he said, he was no teaching anyone to fight. John would be out on the field alone.

"And.... what about me?" he asked.

[holmesisnowhere]

"All of me is hurting, John. I haven't slept in a real bed since the last time you saw me." Sherlock's voice is a little muffled by pillow, regaining its usual controlled stiffness. "If you need a test subject, I'm more than willing. I have an exceptional pain tolerance."

Sherlock's skin raises in gooseflesh at John's touch, but it's involuntary, and the detective, lanky as he is (and underfed, he's lost a bit of weight) certainly seems more cold than anything else. He's quiet at the last question, rolling over abruptly so that his face isn't more than about four inches away.

"What about you, John? We'll still work together?" There's a faintly hopeful note to his tone.

[drjhwatson]

John slides his hands over Sherlock's back, trying to sense at first, but he feels silly. He's not sure his 'trick' works like that, so he begins a little more of a proper examination, fingers pressing in here and there.

"Not that, you know the answer to that, smartarse. Who was following me? If Mycroft's been through the Dr's files again, I swear to god...."

[holmesisnowhere]

Even if John passes his hands over Sherlock's back, he'll be able to mark the knots compounded upon older tension. He bites back a grunt of discomfort as John prods at him, stiffening slightly.

"What about you? No one went rummaging through your files, if that's what you're asking." There's a brief, shameful pause, Sherlock bowing his head. "...Molly kept an eye on you for me. I told her not... to get too involved. I didn't want her of all people getting caught up in this any more than she already had. Mycroft's men kept a distant, but keen eye on 221B. No one entered or left without him knowing. I... I watched occasionally. You looked miserable."

[drjhwatson]

John goes back to the spot that made Sherlock grunt and focusses his attention, sending a healing warmth through his hands to fix it as best as he can. He stays quiet as he listens to Sherlock and licks his lip, before biting back as much sadness as he can.

"I was pretty miserable, yes. Good, nice deduction."

[holmesisnowhere]

Sherlock practically collapses in on himself as the healing heat from John's hands, unable to disguise the noise that escapes him. God, that's good, and he has no trouble in letting John know whatever he's doing is working quite well. Turning his head over his shoulder, he looks over at his friend thoughtfully.

"Sarcasm isn't helping."

[drjhwatson]

"It's helping me a little," he smiles, wryly.

Moving his hands lower, he smiles to himself. "You know, I used to do this to women. Well, I was a little more subtle, but it worked."

He sits up and gives Sherlock's shoulder a light tap. "On your back, I want to see the front, maybe finish fixing that pretty face of yours."

[holmesisnowhere]

Sherlock rolls over obligingly, looking up at John out of a stupor of not hurting. At least that part of him. His ribs are still a bit out of kilter and he's beginning to realize the shiner that John imparted to him yesterday still aches a bit [though the medical man will note that Sherlock has healed a two days worth in a night.] He still looks fairly abysmal, skinnier, if possible. His chest and side are still covered in fading bruises, but it's better than yesterday. Sherlock shuts his eyes to the world, smirking.

"Are you trying to get it to work on me, John?" Sherlock's voice is a playful rumble, and he stretches carefully in place - laying on his back is a little less comfortable than on his uninjured side. He flicks open an eye to watch John's reaction.

[drjhwatson]

John again begins to feel about, gently, finding the worst spots and laying his hands over them, healing. It's curious though....

"I didn't do this much healing last night.... but you seem much better than you should. You weren't kidding before, were you?" Still, he helps with the finishing touches on Sherlock's ribs and moves to look at his face, hand on his cheek and moving towards the eye.

"You'd be in love with me if I was."

[holmesisnowhere]

Sherlock just smirks over at John, reaching up one arm to playfully muss the doctor's hair. It's a sweet, teasingly boyish gesture.

"Maybe my actual ability is to mirror other people's powers?" Sherlock raises an eyebrow and instantly regrets it, his face screwing up into regret. "Not kidding." He flinches a little as John goes in for his face, grimacing back into the pillow a little. "Just... hold on." He goes to shove at John's hands gently, emitting a little noise of protest.

Sherlock apparently doesn't like anything near his eyes.

[drjhwatson]

John pulls back and waits.

"It's alright. Just the same as before, hardly any pressure.... what are you worried about?" he asks, a little worried himself.

[holmesisnowhere]

"Eyes," mutters Sherlock. "Don't like anything in the eyes. Or near them. Just... be gentle."

Not that he ever thought John was capable of being anything else with his face. Except when the soldier gets angry enough to rearrange it. Sherlock forces his hands back down to his sides, though fingertips find contact with John again, perhaps the side of his leg or a toe.