maskormenacelogs | Bad boys bad boys...

Entry tags:

Bad boys bad boys...

WHO: Sherlock Holmes and Dorian (and summoning John Watson for cleanup crew)
WHERE: De Chima, a hospital, and near John's place
WHEN: Now
WHAT: In which Sherlock Holmes steals several controlled substances in order to trade for fresh fingers from an immortal so he can run experiments. Yes you read that right.
WARNINGS:Gore/violence, drugs

Sherlock had gotten a better grasp of his powers, technopathy turned out to be a very convenient thing to have. It certainly made it easy to sneak into a hospital--he didn't go to the one that was near home, of course, that would be stupid--as if what he was doing wasn't stupid enough.

It was easy to mentally disable the CCTV when he walked by, and easier still to break into the digitally locked pharmacy. He was disguised as a Doctor, and no one paid him any mind when he broke into the digitally locked cabinet where the highly controlled painkillers were. Oxy, where was the--

He froze when he realized just how much he could take.

This was bad, this was very bad. His fingers trembled as he reached for a single bottle, and it took all his willpower to close it again without taking more. There was enough for Dorian's needs in the bottle and any extra just in case...

...just in case...of...

He shook his head and quickly hightailed it out of there before he fell prey to his own self-destructive tendencies.

Later that same evening he was walking towards John's place where he'd agreed to meet Dorian. He adjusted his coat and scarf as he bundled up against the cold. He was going to do everything he could to get him to do to this arrangement elsewhere. He pretty much lied when he said that it was okay to do it there, when he really had no intention of doing so.

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Dorian is operating under the allusion that Sherlock's all talk and no action. Because surprise surprise, he's met Sherlock Holmes in his world. Admittedly, Dorian knows next to nothing about the man, but surely he'd be averse to lopping off body parts?

Needless to say, Dorian's going to get a very rude awakening when Sherlock actually does cut off a finger. Whatever. At least he'll be drugged out of his mind while that happens--and really, that's the main goal of all of this. Dorian's likes drugs. It's been...Christ, at least a year since he had a really good painkiller high, he'd consider this a holiday present to himself!

Dorian's already at John's when Sherlock arrives, waiting outside as he takes a drag of his cigarette. Spotting Sherlock, he gives him a wry little smirk of a smile. "Pleasure to meet you. Now, shall we?"

Said as he gestures towards the house.

Blast, he's already there.

Sherlock gives a furtive glance to the door, and holds up the bottle in a gloved hand. There's a small custom first-aid kit in his other pocket that contains everything needed for the procedure. He'd even packed antiseptics, not because Dorian needed them, but to avoid contamination of the specimens. He's thoughtful like that.

"You know, there's an empty clinic down the street that's closed, perhaps that's a better place," he said in a casual, easy tone.

Dorian just gives Sherlock a Look at that. No, he's had too many close calls to wander off with strangers to empty clinics, especially when body parts are involved. That's a prime way to get murdered or killed again. If Sherlock really wants to do this, he can deal with them doing it here.

"Sorry mate, it's either here or we don't do this in the first place. I'm not going to break and enter somewhere just to get high." He shrugs. And then, in a voice that's way too casual, Dorian explains, "Besides, you've got all the supplies for clean-up here. Removing a finger's easy, you can do it in a kitchen."

Blast.

Sherlock gave a furitive, worried glance back and forth.

He didn't want to...but he doubted the promise of more drugs would convince him otherwise. Sherlock sighed.

"Fine. But we have to hurry."

He whirled around, his coat flapping like a cape, and led the way into John's place and to the kitchen. Sherlock clearly lived there now, there was evidence of his things here and there, and a slew of beakers and a microscope strewn about the kitchen. He hastily cleared off some counter space and laid out his kit, and set the bottle down and pushed it to the side.

Dorian just takes his leisurely time as he saunters into the house. They have to hurry? Yeah right. He's the one potentially getting fingers lopped off, he is going to take his sweet time getting ready and Sherlock can simply deal. The man looked worried--might as well keep that worry going.

(Though now Dorian's got a bit of a worrying feeling that huh, this guy seems serious about the fingers...perhaps this wasn't as much a game of chicken as he thought.)

Once they were in the kitchen, Dorian starts taking off his coat and sweater, rolling up his sleeves as he does so. It's all a bit methodical, like he's done this plenty of times before.

"You can still back out, you know."

Edited 2016-12-20 14:49 (UTC)

Sherlock tilts his head and regards him with a completely deadpan gaze.

"Why on earth would I back out?"

A shrug and he cleans the scalpels and sets out the antiseptic and some paper towels. He wasn't sure how fast Dorian healed and he really didn't want to deal with arterial spray. The way he does this is almost...cheerful as he holds up the scalpel with a grin.

And now the moment of horror sets in on Dorian. Ah. Sherlock's serious.

He's got no qualms cutting off fingers--after all, he's done stranger things with regards to organs. At at least removing body parts here is different than at home (long story). And he's getting drugs...

But then again, Sherlock is really happy about lopping off fingers.

Dorian pauses for a moment...before in a moment of wisdom decides fuck it, let's get high.

"Fuck it," he says, sticking out his hand towards Sherlock. "Give me the drugs so I can shoot up and we can get this over with."

Sherlock hands him the bottle and slides the first aid kit over. Everything Dorian would need would be in there.

"There's enough in there for multiple doses," he said. "Make it quick."

He anxiously twirled the scalpel--great safety procedures there--with his fingers.

He knew he shouldn't be watching this. It was far too tempting. He'd been so bored lately, what with no cases really on and...his mind racing like it always did. He'd just been afraid to because of his technopathy. He could only imagine the consequences if he'd accessed the internet while high. He'd nearly gone insane the first time he'd tried ordinarily. And he really didn't feel like going mad.

He twirled the scalpel again. Mad-er anyway.

Besides, John was here with him as they roomed together again. He'd be okay, as long as John was here and he didn't live alone with his spiraling thoughts.

Edited 2016-12-20 22:24 (UTC)

Grinning, Dorian took the bottle. Like a pro, he drew some of the drugs into the syringe and then, giving Sherlock a smirk, shot up.

It's obvious that this isn't Dorian's first time around illegal drugs. But then again, what a shock, Dorian Gray is a bit of a drug addict. He casts another look at the bottle--and Sherlock's right, there is enough for multiple doses. He and Toby can have some fun with that later.

"Now," he said, as he rolled down his sleeve, "we wait for a bit." After all, he didn't want body mutilation to happen while he could still feel it.

Sherlock stares a little too long. Considering he had just barely recovered from an overdose before he was pulled into this place--some part of him kept wondering this was a coma dream, as mad as this world was--it probably wasn't a good idea being around someone else shooting up. If it wasn't for the sheer fear of possibly sending his powers into a frenzy or frying his brain on the internet, he didn't think he'd last the night without breaking back into that hospital.

He still might anyway.

The detective busied himself by taking out a small saw from the kit. Properly sanitized, it was a bone saw. Wouldn't take much force to get the finger off at a joint, but it was best to be prepared.

He checked his watch, matching it against Dorian's body weight and his obvious ease with drugs, calculating how long it would take to affect him.

Edited (Autocorrect fails) 2016-12-21 22:15 (UTC)

The drugs start to take effect and soon after, Dorian's high as a kite. He's just sort of grinning at Sherlock, watching the man as he gets out...a tiny little saw? It's a tiny saw, where did people get things like that?

"Oooh, you're going to use that? How professional!" He can't help but giggle as he looks over at the bone saw. He's forgotten about the fact that he's going to get fingers lopped off by someone who he only knows in an alternate-universe sort of context, he's just so charmed by the tiny little bone saw.

"I used a kitchen cleaver the last time I did this, look at you! You're professional!"

Thankfully, he's still sitting down, but he doesn't really want to get up and move right now. So, staring it is.

Edited 2016-12-22 20:09 (UTC)

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He took the scalpel in his other hand.

"Yes. Hilarious. Now place your hand here and hold still."

He pointed to a clean area on the counter lined with a towel and paper towels. Not exactly a hospital, but it would do. Once Dorian would do so, he would immediately begin the 'procedure.' He wasn't a doctor, but it would be obvious he had some kind of training at some point in his life. Or maybe he just liked dissecting things.

"What happened the last time that necessitated the use of a cleaver?"

Edited 2016-12-22 23:18 (UTC)

Slowly, Dorian made his way to the makeshift surgery area. He's standing still but just kind of looking everywhere, his attention anywhere in Sherlock's kitchen except the counter.

Wow those lights were bright. Were they always that bright? They're sort of...blindingly bright, the sort of bright that's a bit distracting and oh wait, there's a question!

"I lopped my finger off and gave it as a present."

It's said just so causally and with such a blissful, drugged out smiiiiiile that it's not entirely sure whether Dorian's serious or not or if this is just a product of his drugged out delusions. At this point, Dorian looks down at his finger before nope nope nope nope, we're not going to watch this happen, Dorian's going to look at the ceiling so he doesn't see his finger getting sawed off.

It's a good thing that he's doped to the gills right now. This hurts, but it's a manageable pain. A pain that makes him grit his teeth in hurt, not scream in sheer agony.

"I'm sure the recipient was thankful."

Sherlock was quiet otherwise as he worked, trying to go as fast as possible. He really didn't want to be caught and he'd already had to wait for Dorian to get doped up.

A wicked thought occurred to him that he could probably get away with all five fingers. But alas. He'd probably never agree to doing this again even if it was successful.

"I don't know how fast you heal but I'm going to bandage you up like normal," he explained, as he worked on one finger, whirling gauze around as he attempted to sew up the wound. He found a plastic bag and placed the finger in there. He used an elbow to open the freezer, yanked out a plastic bag full of ice cubes and tossed it on the counter, sticking the bag O' finger on top.

"I can't thank you enough," he said as he worked on the second finger. "Your unique physiology will be a joy to study, plus all the experiments I can run."

There is one person who isn't going to be happy with this arrangement and, unfortunately for Sherlock, he is home earlier than he might have expected.

John doesn't call out when he comes in through the front door, although he does briefly pause next to the stairs, greeting the cat with a scratch between the ears, before continuing on towards the kitchen. It's been a month since he invited Sherlock to stay with him and he forgot how much milk the detective manages to get through in a week.

He opens the door to the kitchen and freezes. Coming home to find two people having a chat in the kitchen should be innocent enough, but it's anything but that when one of them is Sherlock Holmes and the other one is gazing up at the lights. He looks at the counter and... Oh, God. The plastic shopping bag slips from his fingers and lands with a loud bang on the floor.

"What the hell are you doing!?"

"No, no, no, don't do..." But it's too late, Sherlock's already sewing up the wound. Dorian can't help but frown a little. Huh. He doesn't entirely know how his immortality works with regards to stitches. He regrew an appendix out of nothing, but would the finger break the stitches when it regrew?

For all of Dorian's years of experience, there were aspects of his immortality that ~~canon didn't properly define~~ he has no idea how they'd work in the first place.

He's staring at his finger, trying to contemplate the limits of his immortality, when new person! Dorian looks over when he hears John and gives him a big, dopey grin. It's obvious just from his smile that he is drugged to high heaven. He would wave but well, there's a bonesaw going at one of his fingers. So, instead, Dorian just lolls his head to one side. It's so full of stuff. Mostly drugs.

"Hullo! Sherlock didn't tell me he had—ow, careful!" Dorian gives Sherlock a pout that's almost comical as a spasm of pain shoots through his hand. Again, it wasn't excruciating pain getting a finger sawed off, but it hurt. "He didn't tell me that he had flatmates." Turning back towards Sherlock, Dorian asked as if he's making the most reasonable request in the world, "Can you not stitch up the second one? I want to see what happens."

That classic image of a kid getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar? That was Sherlock right then. Except instead of cookies it was a bloody finger.

"John, I can explain--" the words tumbled out of his mouth the instant he was aware of John's presence in the room. Which startled him with the bang and he was lucky he didn't accidentally stab poor Dorian with the way he fumbled just then.

How could he explain? He was literally sawing through a finger, there was another finger on the counter, Dorian was obviously as high as a kite and there was blood on the counter. Honesty was literally the only thing that wasn't going to get him possibly gutted by an angry army doctor, but Sherlock's nature was to manipulate and lie his way out of this one to safety.

Which to choose?

Blast, he was dead either way. He tried to bandage up Dorian's other finger without stitching as he requested. Besides he too was curious about how it'd heal up.

"He can regrow them," he added hastily, as if it would help the matter somewhat. The detective at least had the common sense to look guilty at both Dorian and John. "Regeneration. He'll get his fingers back."

If Sherlock thought that telling John about Dorian's regenerative abilities would placate the doctor and make this horror scene he walked in on look a bit more reasonable in his eyes, he was wrong. John only has to take one look at Dorian to know he's taken something extremely potent and it doesn't take a genius to figure out where Sherlock could've gotten something like that from. After all, they only live down the road from a hospital.

"Oh, he can regrow fingers? So, that makes this all okay, then? Mm?" John asks through clenched teeth, abandoning his shopping bag and storming across the kitchen. He stops in front of the counter, glowering at the detective, hands clenched at his side. He's disappointed, but utterly furious with his friend right now. Sorry Dorian, but you're right in the middle of a domestic.

"Put the saw down and get out."

Dorian's still smiling like a doofus as he watches Sherlock and John. Even he, in his drugged up haze, can tell that there's a fight going on. Whoops. Did Sherlock not tell John about this? Whoops. That might have been a bad idea. The idea of someone being in trouble that's not him is enough for Dorian to find funny.

"You're in trouble," Dorian can't help but taunt, in a sing-song voice, as he giggles slightly. He lolls his head to one side, still grinning like an idiot, as he catches a glimpse of his hand out of one eye. "Oh look," he says, as if just noticing this for the first time, "my fingers are growing back."

And indeed they are. It's a bit macabre as Dorian's fingers slowly start to regrow, bone growing out from where Sherlock sawed them off, breaking through the stitches, with muscle then flesh growing up as well, slowly knitting everything together in something that's a bit out of a horror film. Dorian, however, is just taking this as normal. His fingers are regrowing! No biggie!

Yes? Yes it did? Sherlock studied John's face.

Nope. No, it didn't.

He casts a sullen look at Dorian as if it was his fault he was in trouble. He put the saw down and took off his bloodied gloves, but not before he hastily put the second finger in the bag and on ice.

Waste not.

Oh! They were growing back! Sherlock was mesmerized, what a brilliant phenomenon! If Dorian was wounded sometime he would have to ask for a look at the healing process because that was just utterly amazing--

"That's fascina--" he glanced over at John again, and shut up. Right. Not good probably.

"We're done," he added quickly.

John narrows his eyes, watching Sherlock's every move like a hawk and guffaws in disbelief when he bags the severed finger. He has a good mind to stroll over to the refrigerator and give Dorian's fingers back to him. That'll teach Sherlock for turning his bloody kitchen into a scene from Saw.

He only looks away when Dorian's fingers start growing back. As bone, muscle and flesh knit together, John finds himself equally as entranced by the sight. He leans forward, eyes wide, mouth agape as Dorian grows two new fingers right in front of their eyes.

"Amazi—" John forces himself to stop mid-exclamation, shooting a glare at Sherlock for making this happen in the first place. No, he won't be impressed by this. He refuses to be. It's utterly amazing and fantastic but it never should have happened. He straightens up and turns to Dorian.

"I am so, so sorry about all this. It never should've happened. If I'd known, I would've put a stop to it."

Dorian can't help but laugh a little as he looks over at John. It never should have happened? How...weirdly considerate of him. Dorian's used to all sorts of nonsense with regards to his immortality, somebody actually apologizing because they're chopping off his fingers is...weird?

"It's a fair trade," Dorian slurs as he tries to stand up. It's very wobbly, he's high as a kite and just kind of slumps to sit down on the floor after that attempt to get up. "I don't know if you can tell but I'm reeeeeally high." You don't say. "And there's more of the good stuff that I can use for ah, personal use."

He pauses before finishing with, "Still, thank you?"

Sherlock looked over at John, nodding. See? A fair trade!

Hmm, maybe...not...he quickly looked down and away again. Put a stop to it indeed. What a waste, John! Think of the science!

"He's fine, really--" Sherlock managed to say, waving a hand at Dorian. "I mean, he doesn't even need to be monitored. It's not like he can die of an overdose."

Unlike certain other people.

A wince. The cat was out of the bag again. Thanks, Dorian. He was going to die now. Will you visit his grave?

"Lingering pain could be an issue," he added hastily.

Oh great. So, not only is Sherlock using his kitchen as an operating room, but he's also offering drugs to get what he wants. This is fantastic. There's definitely going to be a cremation by the time John has finished with Sherlock.

"No actually, it completely flew over my head." He intones, watching Dorian sink down to his kitchen floor with a tilt of his head. The sarcasm hasn't just crept into his voice; it's dripping from every word. He turns away from the immortal, brushing past Sherlock, to bring a chair over to him.

"Here, let me help you up." He reaches down to help Dorian onto the chair. He is completely furious with the two of them, but he isn't going to let him sit on a hard floor.

"Is there somebody I can call for you? A girlfriend? Boyfriend?"

Can he call a boyfriend. Well, that's the problem. Dorian knows that Toby'll have his head if he hears that surprise, you traded body parts for drugs. Dorian does not want to be in the doghouse or start another fight, not a week or so before Christmas.

So there's a long, slightly suspicious pause before Dorian answers, "Nnnnnnnno?"

Nailed it? Probably not. Urrrrrgh now he's got to think of somebody that wouldn't mind his useless drugged-up ass if John wanted to shove him off on somebody.

"Really, I'm fine," says the immortal who is obviously not fine. "Just...I dunno, let me hang out here for a bit! How's that sound?"

He's still sitting on the floor, looking up at John and Sherlock with a slightly dopey smile. It also hasn't occurred to Dorian that John's reaching down the hand to help Dorian back onto the chair, he's just perfectly content hanging out on the floor.

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wanna fastfoward this until dorian's right and proper high?

Sure! And when's a good time for John? Before, during or after the chop? XD

during or after might be best for hilarity, but I'm good with whatever y'all want!

Cool! :)

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