dearsweetsoulful | (no subject)

"The other me smokes too?"

Cal lights up and draws the smoke in deep. By now he's pretty much dropped the tendency to hold the smoke in the way he would with a joint, but when he's tense or preoccupied he forgets.

Several seconds pass before he exhales.

"We'll go with that."

"The other you met one who used to do heroin."

Sherlock can untangle the pronouns there, right?

"Yes, I remember. You, I perceive, have escaped that particular vice thus far."

He - ? Whatever, it doesn't matter.

"Yeah, but I'm starting to see the appeal."

(How did his alternate self handle this? How much are any of him supposed to take?)

He smiles sadly. "Please don't."

Cal sighs.

"I won't."

"Thank you."

Cal falls silent.

It's not that there isn't anything to say. It's that there's too much.

He smokes his cigarette instead.

Sherlock picks idly at the bark of the tree. The smell of Cal's cigarette is comforting; it reminds him of nights out on the fire escape.

Eventually, he finds a way to boil everything down into one question.

"So what happened?" he asks quietly.

What a question.

"Obadiah made a miraculous return. He managed to spend an entire week not actively harming anyone, at the end of which he sent a dozen vampires to take me off the street and force blood down my throat. They did not manage to complete the process before I broke free and killed them all, but it was well enough along that it could not be averted. Bella and Jarvis convinced me they could cast a spell to restore my soul once I turned, so I concealed myself in Obadiah's apartment to ensure I would be occupied in the interim. And, as previously mentioned, I shot him the moment I got it back."

"Good for you."

There's not a trace of sarcasm to be found in the remark.

"I hope he went right back where he came from."

"Personally I hope he went somewhere even less accessible."

"Yeah, how did that happen?"

So he can make sure nobody he knows tries it.

(He'd like to think everyone he knows is too smart for that, but if it occurred to Tony . . .)

"He pretended amnesia, but the leading theory is that he made a few friends while he was down there."

"Amnesia," Cal mutters against his cigarette butt with a snort. "Bullshit."

Of course, the only one he'd have to convince would be Tony. Neither Cal nor Sherlock would believe anything he had to say. So why bother with anything plausible?

"And before any of us could decide how to point out the many things wrong with the situation..."

He shrugs.

"Hope he enjoyed his vacation."

Cal drops his cigarette butt, grinding it out a little viciously under his shoe.

"Honestly, I think I did worse to him in two and a half hours than Hell did in most of a year."

Cal answers before he can think about it.

"You're probably more creative."

He laughs.

Cal smirks.

"My dear fellow," he says, meaning it as a compliment, "sometimes you frighten me a little."

Cal's smirk turns a bit wry.

"Yeah, but I'm probably right."