#worldsconsultingdetective

[softirishwhispers]

Tabula Rasa

Tabula Rasa: Give my character false memories, or the memories of another while removing the normal memories.

Jim, at least he was told that was his name, sat patiently in the small cafe in the states. He blankly stared out the window and watched the cars and people go by. For some reason, he found it all so irritating. Perhaps that was simply because he couldn't remember anything that had happened before two months ago.

All he remembered was waking up in a very private hospital and being told that he had be severely injured. The man that told him was familiar. That was almost distressing because of his cold dead eyes.

He had finally been allowed to go out and explore the surrounding area. He wanted to remember what his life had been. What had he done before he'd been found on that rooftop? Why was he there at all? It was rather difficult to do when he was rather certain he had never been in this place.

As he watched, a familiar men exited a cab outside of the cafe. He seemed to grab and hold Jim's attention. He was tall with black curls and a thin, angular face. He knew him. He knew what the man's voice would sould like if he spoke to him. He could feel his mind trying to remember. Flashes came to him, but nothing useful.

This was the first moment he had had where he had recogised someone. He couldn't simply let his lead go.

He darted outside the cafe and ran up to the man. It was foolish to charge towards someone who could be a stranger, but he couldn't stop himself. The man turned and saw him. "Wait, wait, please!" Jim called out. The man stopped and prompted backed away from Jim, his eyes cold, hard and shocked.

"How did you... this is impossible..."

Jim stopped and panted. A hat covered the healing wound on his head, but it seemed that this man already knew about it. "You do know? You know? You know what happened to me?"

The man frowned. "You don't? No, no you could. The brain damaged that would be sustained from that injury would have-"

"Just tell me what happened!" Jim snapped. He grabbed the man's jacket at his shoulders and almost shook him. "Tell me who I am! You're the only one that seems to know."

The man shook his head honestly. "I don't. We weren't friends."

Jim let him go and backed up a couple of steps. "Did... Where you the one who did this to me?"

"No," the man said and Jim knew that he was being perfectly honest. "You did this to yourself."

[stoleatimelord-andranaway-blog]

We're out of milk!

The TARDIS skidded to a halt outside the room that the Doctor had given to one Sherlock Holmes.  She hadn't met the man yet, as all of her attention had been focused on performing repairs to some of the machinery down in the power stacks, after an overloaded fluid link had left them temporarily stranded in what would be London in about half a million years.  She'd been abruptly startled out of her work when she felt a sudden burst of pain.  She'd started running towards the source before it even registered in her conscious mind that the pain was in her old ship's body, not her current one.

"What are you doing?"  She honestly hadn't been aware that her voice could hit the octave it reached when she pulled Sherlock's door open and found him laying half across a chair, a smoking gun in his hand.  "That hurts!"

At the responding cry of "Bored!" the TARDIS threw her hands up in the air in exasperation.  "Then go...look at cave men, or help me do repairs.  Just don't go around shooting at my walls!"  She stomped off in a huff.  Honestly, humans.

[mourn-not-the-morning-blog]

We're out of milk!

((Answering this with Mammon))

Physical sensation meant very little to demons, even when cased into their vessels. Warped, twisted monstrosities of souls didn't tend to care much about the texture of the sofa or the softness of a pillow. Still, having the barrel of a gun pressed into one's temple was quite uncomfortable.

"Don't move," Sherlock demanded calmly, his voice not betraying any of the tension in his body. His left hand shook ever so slightly, though the finger on the trigger didn't move at all.

"What?" John started, leaning back, away from the gun, his eyes wide. "Sherlock what the hell do you think you are doing?"

"Don't," Sherlock said. "You aren't John, so don't pretend to be. Why are you here?"

The thing inside John blinked, studying Sherlock, before dropping the frightened expression and assuming a more businesslike one. Its eyes flicked to a warped design of green. "Very well, Mr. Holmes. Your roommate is, for the most part, safe within this body. I wouldn't recommend firing that gun unless you also wish him dead."

Sherlock paused, running his thumb along the back of the gun, and lowered it. "You haven't said why you're here."

"Call it information gathering," the demon said. "You're on the radar now, Mr. Holmes."

[softirishwhispers]

Hiya, neighbor!

Mrs. Hudson had been so very happy to give him the key to 221C Baker Street. She had been sure to worn him about the mold and the damp of the basement apartment, but he assured her that it wouldn't bother him.

She had also been sure to warn him about his new neighbor. She said that Sherlock was a very nice young man, but he was a bit restless and did some very odd things that seemed to make sense in his funny old head. Jim patted the hand that she had wrapped around his arm and once again assured him that he wouldn't mind it. 

"A-actually," he said, "I think I would like to meet my neighbors. Do you know if they are in?"

"Well! We can go check. Don't you worry. Sherlock is a bit rough, but he is a nice young man," she assured him again as she lead him up the stairs to 221B.

"Sherlock! I finally have a tenant for 221C. He said he would like to meet you. Is John here?" she asked, opening the door.

"John is at the hospital. Unless your new tenant has something interesting for me I don't understand why you've bothered to-" Sherlock finally entered the room and turned to see Jim Moriarty standing in his flat. He knew that Sherlock would also be quick to notice that Mrs. Hudson still had her hand wrapped around his arm and they were rather close to the stairs.

Best play nice, Sherlock...

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he finally straightened up a bit. "Forgive me, Mrs. Hudson," he said almost off-handedly. "That was rude of me," he took a step forward and offered a hand to Moriarty. "Sherlock Holmes," he said as if he didn't know.

He took his hand anyway and the hand a small war to grip the other's hand harder. "You can just call me Jim. It's nice to see you. I'm sure we will be seeing more of each other soon enough, what with us being neighbors and all."

They finally released hands and Jim smiled. "Well, I'd best be off," he said with a sly smile. He knew that Sherlock would recognise the echoing of his words. He turned with Mrs. Hudson and they made their way down the stairs. He couldn't help but smile as Sherlock felt the urge to get the last word.

"Catch. You. Later."

[softirishwhispers]

AU. Definitely.