maskormenacelogs | i just want to show you what i know

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i just want to show you what i know

WHO: Sherlock Holmes & Will Graham
WHERE: Creek outside De Chima
WHEN: YESTERDAY...?
WHAT: One haunted dark haired former FBI fake agent teaches a haunted dark haired detective how to swim. With powers. Avert your eyes, Light Yagami.
WARNINGS: spoilers for both canons i am sure

Will is indeed in plaid. Plaid and jean shorts, his deck shoes battered and worn. He sports a fairly plain dark green ball cap atop a mess of curly hair. Nothing on him can't get wet, can't be taken off, can't get a little dirty. He's dressed with the idea of just that in mind. No pretense, no pretension...in his appearance, anyway. He figures he'll be able to smell Sherlock if he gets lost. But the fact that Will's parked his car far enough from himself to be spotted easily even if he isn't should help.

The creek itself is a mostly overgrown thing, water shallow enough in many places that even young children wouldn't have much issue. Where Will stands now, hands in his pockets, keeping an eye out, said cool water would barely reach past his knees, and that's just the way it needs to be at the beginning. Once one is familiar with skills, then those deep, treacherous waters can become familiar, too.

He doesn't realize a butterfly has taken perch on his hat. He doesn't move enough for the thing to be bothered.

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Sherlock still looked like he was dressed to the nines with his trench coat. He actually was wearing swimming clothes underneath his dress pants and shirt, but still. He did look out of place.

It didn't take him long to locate the plaid-wearing Will, butterfly and all, though. Despite being a city boy he'd grown up in the countryside and knew its own brooks and creeks.

That probably fed the well that--

--Sherlock stopped, a cold grip of fear grabbing his chest.

No. He had to face it.

Pushing on, each step feeling like lead, he made his way to the water's edge.

Sherlock waved a hand--ungloved, he'd stuffed them in his pockets.

"Thank you again for doing this." He was polite when he wanted to be. And he was grateful. Though he looked a bit pale at the prospect.

Edited 2017-01-26 06:18 (UTC)

Orange wings fluttered in irritation as Will moved forward, the butterfly keeping its perch despite the disruption but not liking it one bit. As long as Sherlock did not lead with a handshake, Will would't demand one. He's rather fine playing mirror, especially when that mirror didn't call for all the most mundane social niceties that few actually enjoy. Sherlock waved and Will gave a nod, a half-smile.

"I was gonna take a swim anyway," he said, aiming for something light as he stepped out of his shoes and left them behind for cool water and mud. He actually might look more grounded there than before. "Mine is. Simple. Always has been. Before, it would just. Happen. If I couldn't breathe, had a buncha water around me..."

He gestured to his neck, where one might imagine gills.

"Now I have to think about it. Same result in the end, though."

Said while wading, backwards, water now just below his knees. The luring tactic here seemed to be proving that all was fine and leading with a calm, steady voice that could put babies to sleep as much it could keep a class listening.

Sherlock actually was going to lead with a handshake, but he deduced from his body language and lack of a forward action meant he probably wasn't one for them. His calm actually was helping. Sherlock was a skittish racehorse.

Instead he shrugged off his coat and went to the nearest tree with an adequately placed branch to hang it on. He silently removed his shirt and pants, revealing a dark blue rash guard with three-quarters sleeves and swim shorts underneath. If anything, he went into battle prepared.

He removed his shoes and placed them neatly under the tree, and waded into the stream. The water was welcoming, he didn't feel cold at all. It was probably part of this whole thing.

"Mine just happens," Sherlock said finally, the water gently rushing around his knees. His abilities let him feel the water mentally, he could manipulate it at will, and just being around it was rather...invigorating. He needed it.

He really hated how it made him feel like this. He didn't want to be dependent on it. And it was still terrifying.

Edited 2017-01-27 07:13 (UTC)

Jesus Christ, this guy came prepared. Will took mental note but showed no sign this was surprising or overkill. In fact, he was reminded that he should take his hat off, and did just that, pausing to give the butterfly A Look before it flew off and Will tossed his hat to shore like it was a frisbee. Focus after that was more on Sherlock's general body language than his outfit. He'd mentioned feeling ill if he spent too much time away, Will was interested in that, if there were any visible signs of relief to be found.

He leaned down enough to run his fingertips over the water, peering in at any passing life, any plants growing at the bottom. The last thing they need is a some water snake popping out of nowhere and causing a scene. Then he started walking. Slow, easy, natural, with the water around them growing deeper very very gradually. It would be a bit before they got anywhere considerably deep.

"All the reason to find a handle on it." Ah, there was the voice of experience in that statement. "Do you know why? Sometimes our powers are connected to. Us. For better or worse. Sometimes they aren't."

He wasn't asking for the answer himself; he only wanted to know if there was a reason. Made it easier to work with if he had a grasp of that. Sherlock could have been uneasy due to the changes of his physical self as much as he could have been uneasy due to Meaning behind it.

Sherlock stared at the water for a moment after Will asked that. He looked...pained. Anxious. Worried. Though physically, his pale pallor had disappeared somewhat and he looked somehow overall healthier. When he was away from the water for too long he looked horrible. He hadn't been too bad off at the moment, but the slightly dark circles under his eyes were gone.

"I..."

It sounded rhetorical, but it needed answering. Why indeed?

Why would he admit any of this to a total stranger? As kind as Will was for doing this...

...though maybe a stranger was exactly what he needed. Someone who didn't know him.

"Water and I have a rather...poor history, it's always haunted me even when I never realized it," he said, trying not to sound like he cared. Victor had drowned. John had nearly drowned. It had been on his mind before coming here. The helplessness he felt when Eurus was in control and he had seconds to save John. He never wanted to be beholden to water ever again. And now he couldn't live without it. Well, moreso than before.

A stranger who wasn't putting any pressure on the conversation, who simply continued to wade through the creek with the same confidence of a man putting his feet on the ground. Hands stuffed in pockets and face forward, he presented himself solely as there. Nothing intimidating or impatient or ready to push...just existing.

Will nodded, letting out a huff of air through flared nostrils as he did so. Would it be acceptable to make some poor levity of the situation? Mention that most wouldn't realize it, since they were made of so much water...perhaps not. Perhaps later. When he had a better grasp of Sherlock as a person.

"You said it makes you sick now? If you're away from it for a while. You'll get ill. What kinda ill?"

From poor history to being literally dependent on it; cripes.

Will was exactly what Sherlock needed, being a calm steady rock for his excitable nature to anchor itself to. Already Sherlock was unconsciously feeling calmer and more at ease.

"Ah. Well, it feels like being dehydrated and incredibly thirsty, to the point of desperation. I feel dry, I look and feel like I haven't slept in days, I have no energy, there's malaise and nausea, dizziness...and I can't get it out of my head. I need the water." He shakes his head. "It's like needing a hit."

He didn't say what of, or that he had personal experience with being dependent on certain things. But it may have been obvious. There was a reason he mostly wore long sleeves and rarely rolled them up. There be faint marks still on his arms that can be seen below the end of his rash guard's sleeves.

Will nods, still just as steady, showing no signs of judgment or surprise that his companion has some understanding of gasp using the drugs. It happens. People do things, they stop or they don't, time keeps passing and life, as always, goes on.

"You and water have a bad history and now...you're dependent on it." He turned as he spoke, walking backwards and letting his attention linger on Sherlock. Helps make those lifted eyebrows, that bodily whoo-ee that is a doozy look come across all the better. Creek water now rises over the knee, beginning the slow crawl up thighs. "Happens. This place has a balance. Some kindnesses for some cruelties."

His hands move as he speaks, lazy gestures for scales going up and down before one runs over the back of his neck. And still he wades backwards without a second glance.

Sherlock draws further into the creek after him, focusing mostly on Will so much that he doesn't notice much they're going deeper. It's all very gentle and Sherlock, used to fighting his way through everything, including conversations, becomes far more at ease and relaxed.

"It's ridiculous," he said quietly.

What he really meant was, it wasn't fair. Childish maybe, but that's what he felt.

He knew why he was dependent on water, the porter seemed to react to lives and personalities, it made sense, but it wasn't fair. He knew what it was like to be physically dependent on things, and it was like being trapped, a ball and chain weighing him down. He'd always have to deal with it now, as long as he was here, reminding him how trapped he was here, in this world, and how not normal he was. He rubbed his neck, where the faint lines that looked like scars were. They were hardly noticeable unless one knew what they were looking for and got close.

Ridiculous was as good a word for it as any, if the way Will nodded was anything to go by. But that was that. He turned back around to walk forward like a normal person. Eventually the water began to creep further up thighs and he pulled his hands from his pockets. Then there was no "eventually"—the rise was quicker now, and Will turned back around to face Sherlock as water began to take over his waist.

Eyebrows raised, he gestured outwards in front of him.

After you.

They could talk all day, clipped and short. Nothing would prepare Sherlock more than actually doing it. Perhaps the soothing calm of cool water with sun above, with various harmless fish, and all sorts of plant life about, maybe it would cause some help. Some healing in that damaged history. Even just a little bit, even just the seed of potential healing...it had helped Will, but he'd always known that going underwater was worth it, even if the trip took a while and ended in death.

Right. Well, obviously he couldn't waffle on here forever, even though it seemed like an awful good idea.

He stared over the running water--

Victor!

A child's laugh, the bark of a dog.

Sherlock shook his head, trying to clear it. He was breathing heavily, though he was not going to let ridiculous physical reactions to fear have any bearing on things that he needed to do. No, he was going to face it. With a glance at Will, he dove under the water, his heart hammering away and begging him to stop.

SPLASH--

It was cold, but he didn't feel it. It just felt good. The sensations that he'd become accustomed to in his 'practice' in the bathtub were nothing compared to the utter comfortableness he experienced right now. It was an odd juxtaposition between the panic and the flashbacks trying to fight in his mind. The gills on his neck appeared, and he still had a hard time trying to force himself to start breathing, but it'd gotten easier than it had been before.

Just breathe.

Sherlock was more of a sinker than a floater, so even in the shallow water he hit bottom quickly. His senses and body were primed for living underwater, so there was little he missed, little he couldn't hear or see, everything was clear as day. He sat there, trying to calm his racing heart and mind, waiting for Will.

He didn't have to wait for long. Will gave him enough time to get a basic feel of things before he joined, slipping into the water a good ten or so feet away from Sherlock where a significant drop started, where there would be plenty of space to move about. Will was infinitely more comfortable in this environment; it didn't take a genius to come to that conclusion just from his body language. He sent Sherlock a wave and pointed just past his head, Will's own neck sporting gills.

Over Sherlock's shoulder, he'd find himself the subject of scrutiny from a big-mouthed fish. Dark and mottled, a good size for a family dinner, the fish opened and shut its mouth in Sherlock's direction, showing no sign that it was intimidated or worried. Just a little confused, a little offended. This was his creek, damn it, what was with these imPorts and their invasions.

Sherlock carefully watched Will, he was an observant student and he noted how comfortable Will was. Ah, gills too.

As much as his own body was comfortable, his mind was not. It still kept trying to fight. He was underwater, wasn't there danger?

But he was distracted when Will pointed to the miffed fish behind him.

Sherlock blinked, it was a little odd, he'd never swam with fish before, and it was just a bit odd and fascinating to be in their environment, or not behind a glass.

He poked a finger at the fish's face.

How rude. To invade the fish's home and point in his face! At least, the fish seems a bit indignant about the whole situation, and when it swims off, there is a fishy sort of sashay to the movement. A good start to the underwater world. At least they didn't have much to worry about predators. Not yet, anyway.

Will found the whole exchange delightful; Sherlock would see him sporting a slap happy smile when he looked back, the sort that was earnest and rare. Rather than any "real" sort of swimming, Will had one hand clasped loosely around some plant life on the bottom. The other waved Sherlock over. If he wanted to, of course, Will wouldn't impose on him just being there to start. One hand turned to two, and he easily hand-walked further along the creek bed. At least for him he'd found it helpful to be part of the environment, not just in it. To feel mud and shell beneath his fingernails. He'd always been like that, though, and hand-walked himself right to the dip. Deep enough for a proper dive, for a proper swim, a proper look around...and Will was looking, his eyes a bit of an odd color if Sherlock could spot them up close and personal, just to make sure there weren't any snakes or small gators hiding in any shadowy spots.

Hmph. That fish totally had an attitude.

Sherlock turned to look back at Will, his own eyebrows raised at his earnest smile. If he wasn't in such an anxious state he probably would be smiling too. He wanted to enjoy this, but there was this guilty voice in the back of his head that kept whispering Victor and John.

Maybe he would enjoy swimming, one day.

Sherlock wasn't actually a poor swimmer, he'd managed to learn early in life. Due to his childhood trauma, he never quite enjoyed it, even if he didn't remember the reason why, so he was a bit rusty, even though he knew the techniques.

He wasn't privy to the manner of creature to be found in this environment, if he did at one point he'd have deleted it. On second thought he probably should have done more research but he was so anxious about the whole thing he couldn't bring himself to. And besides, Will seemed like he knew what he was doing.

Sherlock kicked off of the smooth rocks and over to the edge of the dip. He balked, grabbing onto a large boulder perched there, clearly put off by the depth. There wasn't any danger, just...breathe. At this point they'd been underwater far longer than any human could so his mind had quieted some against the constant barrage of stopthisIamgoingtodrownthisismadness repeating over and over again.

The consulting detective took a deep 'breath'--inhaled water? What was even the terminology for underwater respiration, he didn't know--and waited for Will to make the first move.

There wasn't much to it. Will was as old hat at this as he could be without having been born to breathe on both land and sea. So he didn't wait. He kicked off, too, and from there spared Sherlock barely a second's glance. His clothes had not been designed for underwater travel but that was no hindrance. He moved through it without any sign of difficulty, past fish and plant life alike. When he spotted human debris, a plank with a rusted nail in it, he made for the surface. If Sherlock presumed he had thrown it out so he could pick it up later, take the trash elsewhere, he'd be right.

Will reappeared as quick as he'd left and went right back to treating this all as a very normal walk in the park. Hopefully, by doing so, and by treating Sherlock with hands off rather than anything approaching kiddie gloves, the guy would have an easier time getting acquainted with the idea that yes, his power worked, here was all the proof he needed. Of course, if Sherlock showed signs he needed more, he'd be there, but. Hands off first.

Sherlock watched him, content with observing and trying to remain calm. Will's ease underwater and his 'hands off' approach was, in fact, exactly what the skittish detective needed. Very, very slowly, he started to crawl off of the boulder, and with a wince, kicked off and into the void.

Considering he had the ability to manipulate water itself, he was in absolutely no danger if he did somehow get stuck or 'fell impossibly into the deep', or whatever illogical, unrealistic ridiculous scenario his fear-filled mind was coming up with. He kicked, wanting to swim properly instead of using his ability, knowing that it would be safest to become good at swimming regardless.

He let himself drift to the bottom, still watching Will, and began tentatively exploring, in childlike, uncertain ways. As he calmed, the scientific curiosity began to appear once again. He wondered how powerful his water ability was when he was completely submerged. Concentrating, he sat there at the deepest part he could, and attempted to shoot a column of water straight towards the surface. If it worked, it would be like a depth charge, and probably sound like it, too.

Once it felt as though Sherlock was comfortable enough with the situation, Will began to drift further away, doing his own exploration. He mostly searched for any litter that wouldn't be of use to the environment. He'd look back from time to time, just to make sure, but nothing more than that. Eventually another big-mouthed fish took great interest in Will and he was about to have a new buddy when...

Yikes. Will's attention turns immediately to the upset, fish pal quickly swimming around behind him for cover. Will looked first to the surface, then followed down to Sherlock, eyebrows knit together and head tilted as if to ask that you? without actually opening his mouth...kinda difficult to talk to anyone down here, he does what he can.

Huh.

Neat.

Finally, Sherlock had a smile on his face. And a slightly mad glint in his eye. The column of water probably would baffle any poor soul that might be unlucky to be observing that particular creek.

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, and was caught off guard by the fact that--duh, of course you couldn't talk underwater. He did know British Sign Language, if he truly did need to communicate with anyone underwater. Hm. It wasn't something he thought about, or thought about needing. He made a mental note to brush up on ASL as well.

Either way, universal signals would work well. He gave two thumbs up to Will, before trying to form a ball of swirling water over one hand. It looked like a bubble of rapidly moving water contained in a sphere. It was disconcerting, how easy it was to manipulate the very medium that one was existing in. And the sense of power it gave him.

Oh.

Well.

Huh.

This is happening. There is nothing he can do to stop it, not that he wants to. He takes this display as a compliment of sorts, a sign that Sherlock feels some sort of comfort around Will. Or maybe he's just confident in himself, or perhaps he doesn't care who knows about his water power...he's still going to take it as a bit of a compliment, no one can stop him.

He swims over slowly, a few fish following and using Will as a shield, stopping just shy of the bubble to give it an inspection. Nothing too intense, just. Curious. This is new. Of course he wants a look.

The bubble's nothing too big, though Sherlock had a few wild ideas about how to experiment a bit later, perhaps when no one was around. He didn't want to get embarrassed when it inevitably backfired. It did stand to reason one ought to test the limits of their abilities.

It spins wildly, and with a careful twist of his wrist, the bubble suddenly burst into dozens of smaller ones, which blew everywhere in a bubble explosion. Probably at the fish and Will's face.

Neat.

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