(no subject)

[of_deduction]

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (of_deduction) and YOU (especially those there are memory plots with.)
Date: Through out the memory Event (Feb 8th-12th)
Location: Several Different Locations (Home, KPD, The University, and some other places.
Situation: Memory Sharing.
Warnings/Rating: Drugs.



{ A. The University. 8th-9th }

[ Due to the extremely dangerous nature of the drug known as 'Dust' Sherlock's opting to look at it under the microscope in the lab space he'd been provided by Tony. He's wearing a mask to be safe and hung a sign on the door mentioning dangerous chemicals were currently in use. Or there was a sign, it might have fallen down at some point. ]

[ Don't forget your lab safety folks. ]


{ B. KPD 10th }

[ Sherlock is back at the KPD, though this time his mind isn't so much on making a good impression so he strolls right to the receptionist-the same one he seemed to have offended upon first meeting her. He glances at her briefly and offers a small, half smile. ]

I have a crime to report.

[ He states confidently. ]


{ C. Not!221b 11th-12th }

[ This has been a week. He's learned more about people around him than he usually does from his observations just by standing around them. He's not complaining as he does have a rather insatiable desire to know things but he's not so keen on others knowing things about his memories. ]

[ He hasn't avoided going out as there is still plenty of work for him to be doing but at the moment he's back to reviewing his notes on the Kedanese language and sipping tea. At least he's no longer sick. ]


{ D. Provide a Starter 8th-12th }

Comments

C. Morning of the 12

[spoilsfun]

Conan was not happy. As curious as he was at some of the other memories he had witnessed, he was not happy about having shared any of his own. Already, there were people here who now knew far more about his life than he would have preferred.

He was determined not to add Sherlock to that number.

So for the last three days, Conan had put his best effort into never coming within arm's reach of Sherlock. It had been difficult, but he had succeeded so far.

The problem now was that Sherlock was in the living room between him and the front door. Conan eyes the distance and considers his options.

[of_deduction]

He hears the door open and looks up to see Conan come out of his room. He's seen very little of the boy since the whole shared memories fiasco and Sherlock is positive he knows exactly why. It was a bit annoying but the look on the kid's face told him now that he was effectively trapped.

"Good Morning." He offers cheerily, getting up and crossing over to the tea kettle which just so happens to be sitting a little closer by Conan. "Tea?" He offers as though he's completely unaware of the memory sharing that's been going on. "Or would you prefer Coffee?"

[spoilsfun]

Conan was definitely not cheery at the moment. He knew that Sherlock knew that he knew exactly what was going on.

"Pass."

He takes a step to the side in an attempt to circuit around the far side of the room and reach the door.

[of_deduction]

Unfortunately for Conan, Sherlock's legs are quite a bit longer and it only takes a quick step to the side for him to cut off the escape route.

"Oh don't be like that, we both know you tend to be a bit grumpy in the morning without it. Have a cup. You'll feel better."

[spoilsfun]

"I'll get some while I'm out."

He considers whether making a break for the door would be of any use.

[of_deduction]

"On your own? That sounds a bit dangerous, doesn't it?" He keeps the small smile on his face. It should be noted that other than requesting that list of frequented places, Sherlock didn't generally care when Conan left the flat on his own.

He can see the wheels in Conan's head turning and moves quickly, going to grab the boy by the shoulders so he can steer him in the direction of the table where there's already two cups sitting-yes he's been just waiting for you to wake up, Conan.

[spoilsfun]

From the evil look Conan was giving Sherlock, he was already fully aware of Sherlock's unusual interest in his goings and comings. He flinches back and takes an aborted step toward the door before he is intercepted by the hands on his shoulders.

The moment he is seated, he freezes as the memory starts to play through his mind.


A teenage boy with very familiar physical features presses his back up against a wall as he listens intently to his surroundings. Suddenly he hears voices speaking quietly around the corner. He quickly moves up to peer around the corner.

“Sorry for the wait. You shouldn’t have done such bad stuff.”

“Shut up! Compared to the stuff your organization does-”

“Oi! What do you know about us? Are you trying to say we won’t kill you for a mere hundred million? Move your company to another place as soon as possible. We just want to build a new lab at this land.”

Caught up with aiming the camera in his hands to record as much evidence as possible, he barely manages to hear the soft footsteps coming from behind in time. He turns, only to meet the eyes of a tall man in black with long silver hair. Frightening eyes, he notices. The eyes of a killer. He barely manages to catch the man’s words as he pulls out a bar of metal from his coat..

“This is the end of your detective games.”

He turns and tries to run, but is struck on the head before he can get more than a few steps away. His camera falls to the ground out of numb hands as he collapses to the ground. Already semi-conscious, he still manages to catch the few words exchanged as the other main in black approaches.

“This brat followed you” A gesture from the newcomer towards his coat. Most likely for a gun.

“Stop. Cops are still snooping around because of the recent fuss.”

“Then what should we do?”

“Let’s use this. This new poison developed by the Organization.” Flipping open a small box of pills, the taller man in black pulls Shinichi up by a grip in his hair, and forces a pill down his throat, followed by a vial of water. He chokes, but can’t manage to avoid swallowing. “They won’t be able to find any traces of poison.This is the stuff for the perfect crime. Although I heard this was a prototype that had not been tested on humans before.”

They push him back to the ground and turn to leave. He catches one last phrase.

“Farewell, Great Detective.”

As their footsteps disappear, he begins to cough as the pill starts to take effect. One second, two, and he convulses as pain like he had never felt before starts to overwhelm him. He screams, as steam starts to rise from his body.

His blood, his bones…. It was like they were melting.

B.

[denyamenti]

[ With the dojo closed for the rest of the month for repairs and upgrades, he has a sudden influx of spare time. It's convenient but at the same time, he's gotten used to having that occupy the majority of his day and without it, he'd bored.

But he does have wages to drop off to Valdis and so heads to the KPD. The police headquarters isn't somewhere someone like him often spends time, but when he overhears a tall man claiming to be here to report a crime, it's interesting enough to listen in. ]

[of_deduction]

[ The woman at the desk seems a bit put out by the man and he stands straight with this hands tucked neatly behind his back waiting for her to get a police detective that he insult report the crime too. When she doesn't seem to be moving in a hurry he sighs. ]

Admittedly, it's not a very pressing matter-but isn't that what the police is for. Surely your sister can wait a moment-oh don't look like that the message is reflected in your glasses. Hardly even a deduction.

[denyamenti]

[ Amused by the woman's obvious fluster at being called out, Bakura waits until she's retreated through the door to find an officer before speaking. ]

Most people who use insults to get what they want, typically do it with more finesse.

[of_deduction]

[ Sherlock just makes a face at that. ]

That wasn't an insult-that was an observation.

[ Speaking of observations-he takes a moment to look the other over. ]

D. probably starting with the 8th?

[consultantsdoctor]

[John's already had his first encounter with the strangeness of sharing memories. As such he has retreated to the room he shares with Sherlock to avoid oversharing with other people - strangers that he doesn't want seeing his entire life. At least with the other man, Sherlock already knows a great deal about John and the horrors he's seen and lived through - has even been part of a few of them.

So rather than force that on everyone, he's taking solace in their room. Sitting on the bed and pulling off his shoes so he can lay back and relax for a while before getting up to make dinner for everyone. Might even manage to get a little bit of sleep considering how he never gets through an entire night anymore.]

[of_deduction]

[ Sherlock too, is aware of the strange instances of memory sharing-he'd accidentally let a few memories of some of their more tame cases slip out while out at the police station to get updates on the cultist case. He's not exactly keen on the idea of sharing memories as, like John, he has several that are particularly private. Though unlike he's sure some of John's memories are, his aren't all particularly violent. Distressing in the case of Moriarty but not violent. ]

[ However, this does open a very rare window in that he's able to see John's memories. He wouldn't be nearly as curious if not for the fact of John's stay on that ship 'Charon.' A bit of the Doctor's past that he can't just deduce like everything else and John should be well aware of just how much Sherlock hates not knowing things. ]

[ So it shouldn't come as any surprise really, when Sherlock comes into their room with a mug of coffee. Last time he'd made John coffee he'd deliberately put sugar in it despite that he knows perfectly well that John doesn't take it. This time he's not attempting to drug the good doctor so he will find perfectly bitter and devoid of sugar. ]

Staying in today then?

[consultantsdoctor]

[He doesn't imagine a lot of people are too willing to share their memories with the entire world. Who knows how long this will even last - days, weeks. It's the first odd thing that's really happened to him in this place outside of the storm (which isn't even all that bad in his opinion). So John's staying in whenever he isn't needed anywhere else. Today just so happens to be one of those days when he isn't scheduled for the clinic or at the shelter. Not much else to occupy his time outside of that.

It would be better if they had a case, some mystery to figure out and focus on even if it would mean going out and being around other people. But of course he should have known that staying in would have its dangers of oversharing too. Should have expected it really.

Which is why John's warily looking at the cup of coffee precisely because Sherlock has only ever brought him one when he wants something. Even he can figure out what the other man has come for and it certainly isn't to drug him.]

Yes. [He holds out his hand for the coffee, accepting it as sort of an offering in what's about to happen.]

What do you want? [It isn't a general question that his tone is setting, it's asking Sherlock what memories in particular he's looking to experience.]

[of_deduction]

[ Sherlock passes the coffee over and watches John a moment, considering the question. It's not surprising that after all this time John can just tell when he wants something. Possibly because the only time Sherlock goes out of his way to do something nice there's usually an ulterior motive behind it. ]

COMPASS. [ He doesn't even try to sugarcoat it. ] I need to know more.

[ More about the company, and maybe a little more on their kid from another another universe. ]

[consultantsdoctor]

Hm, alright. Sit down. We might as well be comfortable.

[He takes the coffee and sips it before setting it down on the side table next to the bed. John doesn't want to accidentally spill it all over their bedsheet. The entire time he's already thinking back to every moment COMPASS has shown even its hand to their captives. While John might not remember all of the details consciously, he's sure they're in there somewhere and that Sherlock would be able to pick them out.]

I'll start at the beginning.

[of_deduction]

[ At the invitation, Sherlock sits down next to John on the bed. In normal circumstances he might not have sat so close but close proximity seemed to act as a trigger from everything he'd seen. ]

Take your time, I haven't anything else to do today.

[consultantsdoctor]

Lucky us. [He inhales sharply, focusing in on his very first day. The salty smell in the air mixed together with the tang of rust, the rocking of the boat on the water and the sun blinding him momentarily after opening his eyes as it rises over the watery horizon.

The entire boat looks as though it's seen better days, like it should be retired rather than out at sea and there are other people scattered about on the deck. Many of them waking up as if they'd been sleeping or even drugged. Some look rough around the edges, clothes that have seen better days and others obviously thinner than they should be. Their expressions too look weary, resigned to the events that have happened to them since their arrival.

Quite suddenly, a hatch opens up on deck.

A man steps out of it, wearing a suit, top hat, and a sinister grin. His skin has a bluish tint, and upon closer inspection, it's clear that's because his skin is made of water. In fact, all of him is made of water.

Calmly, he walks between the waking bodies and those who have come up on deck to see the new arrivals, and stops dead center on the deck. He looks around at what he imagines is his adoring public, then raises his arms, looking very much like the ringmaster of a circus.]

Welcome, everyone! Welcome to the Charon! Welcome to the game.

[He pauses to let that sink in, then lowers his arms and puts them behind his back.]

As you might have already guessed, I am your new Project Head! That means I am now in charge of you, as well as this operation. I won't bore you with my list of credentials, as it is very lengthy, but I assure you that I am highly qualified for this job! Under my guiding hand, a project has never failed. I know your... last Head was a bit of a mess... [A condescending chuckle.] Well, she certainly got what was coming to her, didn't she? Don't worry, I am far more capable.

For those of you who are new, you're probably wondering what's going on right now. The truth is, you have been selected for a great undertaking! Here, on this ship, we are performing important research, research that will enrich the lives of others for decades to come! We are all a part of this journey, partners in-

[Oh, hell no. The words trigger something primal in Palmer - clearly one of the other prisoners on board the ship.

She pushes through the crowd, an intimidating sight in her full Mjolnir kit on any good day, but seething mad on top of it like an agitated bull.]

You. Quiet. This is no great undertaking, we're not partners and I don't care what asinine crap you're spouting, we won't be brainwashed by any of it.

[The Project Head stops, freezes, looks a little like he's been shot. Slowly, he turns on his heel, staring at her from under the dark rim of his hat.]

Did you just... interrupt me?

[He no more than flicks his hand, but suddenly an orb of water is surrounding Palmer, cutting off her air instantly.]

DID YOU REALLY JUST INTERRUPT ME!?

[She stands straighter, ready and willing to defend herself without hesitation, but the sudden envelopment catches her offguard, and her issues boil down to simply surviving for the moment.

But that's difficult to do when there's nothing to brace against, or push off of, or otherwise break the flow of the water around her. She tries to hold her breath as long as she can, but eventually - inevitably - the instinctual panic kicks in and she goes from measured and precise movements to desperate struggles.

She'd been surrounded by death a thousand times over, during her tours with the UNSC, even before she became a Spartan, but this -- this was just humiliating. Her last moments she's glaring at this new head, anger and panic rolled into a fire.

But water trumps fire, and eventually she falls still, and the meaning fades from her eyes to leave them another unseeing corpse.

The Project Head regards her demise with an aggravated huff before turning his eyes back to the crowd, the water dissipating quickly. His skin is bubbling slightly, like water that's boiling, but it quickly settles back to normal.]

Interrupting while someone is speaking is very rude. [He says it like someone scolding a small child.] Now I've completely lost my train of thought.

At any rate, as those of you who are older members of our little group know, I am part of COMPASS, a research organization. We are here to learn about fear. [He smiles slightly at the rhyme.]

Your old Captain might be gone, but a new one now takes his place. He is also an employee of COMPASS, so don't try any funny business, like running off. [The grin gets wider.] I know none of you would try that, though. I'd hate to have to send any of you to solitary in the void.

Unlike your last Head, I don't intend to leave you bunch alone. As I said, we're all partners in this. There's nothing you all will go through that I won't be here to personally witness.

[He spreads his arms wide once more.] Enjoy your cruise on the Charon. I know you'll enjoy it.

[Another hatch appears at his feet, and he's down it instantly. Another opens to receive Palmer's body, and then all three hatches are gone, as though they never existed.]

B

[lostundercover]

[Costigan is still fighting joining the police force that he allegedly created in his previous time here. Pepper's encouraging it and there's definitely a need, but he's more than a little uncomfortable with the idea of trying to be a cop again after everything he's been through. He's not even entirely sure he remembers how.

After his meeting with Valdis, which doesn't end poorly but doesn't end particularly well either, the former undercover shoves his hands in his pockets and makes his way towards the exit, ignoring everyone else for the time being.

His casual collision with a man entering to apparently report a crime shouldn't have been anything of note. Any other day, the two might have passed as ships in the night, their interaction forgotten. Instead, the brief contact creates the jarring eruption of memories Costigan's been trying to forget.

'Everybody out. Move.'

That's all it takes. Costigan doesn't know who the call came from, but he knows what it means. The guy they call Mr French tells them to get out and they get out. He shoves the kilos of heroin into the duffel bag, along with the stacks of money and a couple guns. It doesn't need to be clean so much as it needs to be fast. He looks up as he zips the bag closed to see French lighting fire to the curtains. The whole place will be up in smoke in less than a minute.

Another scene. Costigan stands on a rooftop with an older police officer, Captain Queenan, the one who has been his mentor and his rock, a father figure in the fucked up situations he now finds himself in. He finishes up the incoming call from one of his mob boss's thugs, telling him to come to the address he's currently standing. He hangs up the phone and frowns at Queenan.

'You were followed by Costello's people,' he informs Queenan.

'Impossible.'

'Then one of the cops he's got on the inside tipped him off. Come on.'

Costigan leads the way towards the stairs, not yet knowing how afraid he should be. His focus is only on Costello's guys not finding him here and not realizing that he's the rat in their outfit. He and Queenan aren't even halfway down when they see Costello's guys coming up.

'Oh Christ, it's too late.' Queenan murmurs. 'You gotta get out of here. Take the fire escape.'

'What about you?'

'I'll be fine. But if you get made, I can't protect you. Now go!'

Costigan does as he's told, trusting Queenan to take care of himself long enough for the undercover to pretend he's only just arriving and to live another day. He makes it to the street level and turns the corner, filled with a sense of relief at pulling this off, when the body of Captain Queenan splatters to the ground in front of him.

Costigan freezes for a split second after the memory ends, then scowls. He shakes his head before the other man speaks and turns to leave, not wanting to dwell on this. He's not the type to get too emotional. Unless Sherlock stops him, he'll simply exit out of the station.]

[of_deduction]

[ Sherlock really hadn't expected to be shown yet another memory but so he's little caught off guard by the sudden memory and carnage that came with it. It's a little coincidental since he'd just recently spoken to Valdis about sending someone into the cult undercover. ]

[ The memory fade and he watches the man, staring blankly as he tries to decide what he should do with this new information. He has a crime to report but it's relatively minor and he is looking to make a breath through in the bigger, more pressing case. He looks back to the receptionist and watches as she's clearly not doing anything work-related and makes a noise of disgruntled annoyance before he starts after the man who'd just accidentally let that specific memory slip out. ]

Wait!

[ He calls out, hoping to catch up to the man. ]

[lostundercover]

[Costigan hesitates a moment, then continues walking, pushing his way out the front doors. He moves at a normal pace, making it easy for the man to catch up if he wants to, but isn't about to stop. In the hopes of preempting any interaction, he calls out over his shoulder.]

I don't need any sympathy.

[of_deduction]

[ It's a good thing he isn't the sympathetic type then. ]

That's nice. I didn't want to give it.

[ He catches up easily enough and looks the man over. Would he really be a good fit for this. ]

My names is Sherlock Holmes-Consulting Detective. and you have a particular brand of skill set that I think could be useful.

[lostundercover]

[Costigan stops when the man catches up to him, turning to face Sherlock with his hands still in the pockets of his jacket.

He's clearly an anxious man by nature, suffering from at least some level of Post Traumatic Stress. Understandable, having spent years undercover for the Massachusetts State Police. He's witnessed death on both sides, shot and beaten people himself, done things he wasn't sure he was capable of before. For all of it, though, his resolve never wavered. He was never found out.]

"Consulting Detective." [He echoes, noting the man has some affiliation with the police.] With all due respect, I'm all done being a cop. So if Valdis sent you out here to- to try to talk me into it, or if you think because of what you saw, I'm willing to do.. I don't know, something.. illegal, for money? I'm not the guy.

[of_deduction]

[ He listens to the man but like he does most everyone else brushes it aside-mostly because he doesn't want to convince him to join the police or do something illegal. Not for money anyway. ]

Yes. Consulting-that means while having some affiliations with the police-I operate independently of the restrictions of their regulations which allows me to better pursue justice for my clients.

What I have in mind isn't exactly police sanctioned but Valdis and I have an understanding.

[lostundercover]

[Costigan doesn't really like the idea of operating 'independently' the way Sherlock says it. It sounds like an excuse not to follow the laws to him. He, who has broken so many laws, who is in his heart of hearts so very lawful.]

Sounds illegal. [He replies lightly.]