Like the fella once said, ain't that a kick in the head?

[tigers]

CHARACTERS: Sebastian Moran, Jim Moriarty, Brendan Frye, Sherlock Holmes (AU), John Watson, the other Sherlock Holmes
LOCATION: Various parts of the ship, then to the medbay.
WARNINGS: Violence
SUMMARY: Moran is out of the brig and ERRYONE WANTS TO PUNCH HIM, followed immediately by a trip to the medbay.
NOTES: Running the gauntlet of punches here. He does deserve it.

This is a catch-all log post for several things, and given that this is catch-all log, you'll have to find your place in the sun in the comments.

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Sherlock Holmes (AU)

[tigers]

[ With a bruise gradually blooming across the side of his face, Sebastian's plans have changed. His jaw aches like hell, and while he knows he can grin and bear it, he's had his jaw dislocated too many times to risk it when medical help is available.

Surely a third punch isn't in his future, right? Right? God, his head is pounding too much to even think about it. ]

[logicals]

<sub>[ Sherlock doesn't walk the length of this ship often enough - and when he does, it's to get out of the room that suffocates and strangles him more often than anything else. Generally speaking, he never meets anyone on these travels - he wants to be alone, and just because he's out of his room, it doesn't mean he's feeling particularly social. No, it's because he needs 'fresh air', as fresh as air can be when on a spaceship.

It's infuriating, really. He hasn't felt the wind on his face for months, and it always feels as though it's been longer; he feels trapped and caged like an animal, knowing that the only time he'll be set free is either when he's dead or he's sent home.

Neither prospect sounds particularly inviting.

For some reason, his legs have begun taking him towards medbay - it's not something Sherlock agreed nor actively planned, and he honestly refuses to look further into why he'd be going that way. It's complex, and Sherlock doesn't want to deal with complex right now, not when it's about any and all Johns. Really, things would have been simpler if he'd stayed on that horrible island, but that's a thought he regrets having already. Nothing is better on that island, it's just more complicated, which in turn, lead to things being incredibly intricate and layered in ways Sherlock had never previously considered.

He really should be looking where he's going, but it's come to the point of sleep deprivation in which Sherlock is seeing without actually seeing; he's walking forwards, absolutely lost within his own head at the prospect of - well, everything. ]</sub>

[tigers]

[ Walking the length of the ship is much more Moran's past-time. He isn't an expert on the massive area yet, but he's walked the basic hallways and beyond more than enough to know where the important areas are. Even when he's terribly disoriented, muscle memory allows him adequate navigation of the corridors.

But that doesn't mean he's paying attention. A great deal of his walk is being spent just trying to calm down and not fly into a rage. That would be a mistake, after all. He's been shamed by having earned Moriarty's scorn. Back home, he has the Professor's trust and--dare he say it?--respect, but with Jim, he has none of that. It's utterly frustrating: one step up and two steps back every time he even speaks to the man, and now he's been pushed right back to the beginning again. Then there's the shiner given to him by Brendan. He's just plain angry about that. There's no way he should have allowed himself to be roughed up by a teenager half his size and more than half his age, but it all boils right back down to Moriarty. He's out of chances. Shooting Wichita had been his last strike. One more flub and (Jim's made it clear) he's dead.

It takes Sebastian an embarrassingly long moment to realize who is wandering in his direction. It doesn't even really hit him until he's collided shoulders with the other gentleman, and he's still so angry with himself that he doesn't particularly care right now. Dead or alive, Sherlock Holmes is Jim's business. Not his, not the Professor's, not worth an apology. ]

[logicals]

<sub>[ Sherlock has Jim's respect, and honestly, it's not something Moran should so actively seek out. Being on that list isn't enough for him any more; they're locked into a fight of the ages and Sherlock has to make sure he doesn't let anything slip, needs to make sure he's not high when he's around Jim because it would end in disaster and he knows it. So he's pushed the drugs away and forced himself to sober up, allowing his mind to slowly catalogue every corridor he slips down in order to build up a complete map, but it's slow work and incredibly time consuming. He needs to be left alone, to be allowed to drag in the data he's making sure to categorise with each step.

This means, unfortunately, that he's incredibly on edge and absolutely wired - with no drugs calming him down, he's frustrated and he's jittery. Considering Sherlock's moods as of late, Moran bumping into him isn't a particularly clever decision (he should have seen him coming, that's why he needs to be more careful, needs to walk these halls with John - he's so used to being told when something's happening, so used to John walking beside him and warning him long before it happens that he's grown compliant. Alone is what he has, and alone is what protects him indeed. It's time to take his own advice). Sherlock isn't as well adjusted as usual, it's been months of goddesses and forced intercourse coupled by curses, and now he's here, he's in space, and everything happens to quickly here - from strange worlds made of mist and snipers all the way to genuine hallucinations that scare him far more than he'd ever like to admit.

He's jumpy, and he has been ever since he arrived here. He can't help it, he's tried to control it, but it's difficult when he's not sure how to make it stop, when it's always dislodging the very way he thinks and moves - it's too much, and yet, there's nothing he can do.

It's Moran's unlucky day, because the moment their shoulders collide, Sherlock leans back to put every ounce of force into the punch he intends to deliver to his 'attackers' face - it's automatic, a genuine moment of an unsure man lashing out against someone who's too close, will always be too close, he can feel him breathing and it's too much, get away. ]</sub>

[tigers]

[ Oh--good god, really? Sherlock's puch isn't quite within the same gauge of surprise that Moriarty's slap, but there is no way Moran could have expected it. While he hasn't exactly steered clear of any of the Sherlocks, he feels he hasn't done anything to any of them to deserve that punch. Not quite as much as the punch from Brendan, at least. Already dazed and slightly off guard, he had been bothering no one. ]

What the deuce, man?!

[ His voice comes out in a growl and for once in his life, he's too surprised to retaliate in his same Basher Moran manner. He makes a few feeble swings in what he thinks is Sherlock's direction, but in the end, he really just has to calm down and clutch his pounding head in his hands. ]

[logicals]

<sub>[ He'd apologise if it were anyone else, he really would. It takes him a moment, a quiet, steadying drag of breath that he hopes works, because god, he's didn't ask for any of these hang ups, he really didn't. He bites down on his tongue and forces himself to pay attention, to dodge every lazy hit aimed his way, to deflect and to shift out of the firing line (it's fine, Moran is clumsy as he tries to attack, pain radiating from his head and making it impossible for him to concentrate. Today is not the first time he's been physically hit, and for a moment, Sherlock hesitates before he sticks his chin up, before he forces himself to act as arrogant as it's possible to act when he feels the exact opposite. God, it feels like he's shaking, but he's not, he refuses to look put out by this, refuses to be anything other than a cold calculating mask that's sneering at the mere idea of hurting Moran when he deserves it, because he does, he does.

Control has always been so easy, but it takes so much effort to reign his temper in this time - he's shocked, he's angry and he's so close to punching him again, just to make sure he's nowhere near his personal space, because Sherlock can't cope with that right now, hasn't been able to cope with it for months. He's a wreck, an absolute wreck, and he hates it. Just how weak has he become over these past few months? Apparently weak enough to feel genuine fear whenever someone's close enough to touch him, the type where his pulse is pounding and his blood is running cold; but he holds it in and swallows it down.

He may be weak, but he's not stupid.

Thankfully, when he talks, his voice is steady and low - just the right amount of threatening and coldness, just enough to keep any questions aimed his way, just enough to push everything back and look at it through a pointedly scientific viewpoint. ]</sub>

Your presence has evidently been pissing off a few people today.

_{[ He pauses, looks up towards the ceiling and oh, his voice is so cold when he next speaks. ]} Good.

[tigers]

[ Moran fights to scrape together some semblance of dignity through the pain. He forces himself upright, blinks away stars forming before his eyes, and stops swinging without hitting his target like an idiot. Self control. It's always been difficult for him, but he desperately needs to maintain it. He's already walking on paper thin ice with Moriarty, so even when the worst of the pain has subsided and he can see straight again and Sherlock is right there within his reach, he knows he can't strike him. It would just cause another scene.

God, just hearing the man speak tries his patience. His hands curl into fists at his sides and he clenches his teeth, but he makes no move. This is going to be difficult. ]

It seems I can add you to that list, Mr. Holmes.