He would have protested wrong if it were anyone else. But he really hates contradicting himself. This was complicated, declaring Holmes wrong was practically declaring he was wrong.
He's been analyzing that possibility to rather existentialist degrees that perhaps he and this other Sherlock can be the same person. He's been told a few time repeatedly about a consulting detective in the Victorian era. Perhaps, this was him. They looked nothing alike physically. The way they danced each other's worlds proved a few things. Was he a remake? Was he as well liked? What if he wasn't the only adaptation?
Holmes was saying everything Sherlock would have said. But he saw the little places where they differed. Age was the first thing that set them apart. He was older, although not by much. Sherlock is however is fully aware he has the upper hand; he knows the value of the name.
"Just as you cannot be bothered to mend to your dog," he says dryly. He would have wanted a dog. Perhaps a bulldog; something that could guard and watch. He watched as the signs flashed before his eyes. Versed in Chemistry from the callouses. Pipe smoker from the curl of the lips. Violinist from the crook in the neck. Exhausted from the state of those eyes.
"Or mend yourself, I should think I would make wounds from dangling off a meat hook my first priority. Obvious from the way the injury scissors itself through your skin, that it was a method of torture. Considerable signs of struggle, but not desperate signs. Meaning you were tortured with a goal in mind. What could possibly be gained from getting tortured, nothing but the upper hand. Curious. Wounds were attended to by a medical physcian but done without the benefit of time; substantially redone up by a man with little to no experience in the medical field; but one observant enough and in the company of a doctor far often enough to catch on how to stitch yourself together.,"
no subject
He's been analyzing that possibility to rather existentialist degrees that perhaps he and this other Sherlock can be the same person. He's been told a few time repeatedly about a consulting detective in the Victorian era. Perhaps, this was him. They looked nothing alike physically. The way they danced each other's worlds proved a few things. Was he a remake? Was he as well liked? What if he wasn't the only adaptation?
Holmes was saying everything Sherlock would have said. But he saw the little places where they differed. Age was the first thing that set them apart. He was older, although not by much. Sherlock is however is fully aware he has the upper hand; he knows the value of the name.
"Just as you cannot be bothered to mend to your dog," he says dryly. He would have wanted a dog. Perhaps a bulldog; something that could guard and watch. He watched as the signs flashed before his eyes.
Versed in Chemistry from the callouses. Pipe smoker from the curl of the lips. Violinist from the crook in the neck. Exhausted from the state of those eyes.
"Or mend yourself, I should think I would make wounds from dangling off a meat hook my first priority. Obvious from the way the injury scissors itself through your skin, that it was a method of torture. Considerable signs of struggle, but not desperate signs. Meaning you were tortured with a goal in mind. What could possibly be gained from getting tortured, nothing but the upper hand. Curious. Wounds were attended to by a medical physcian but done without the benefit of time; substantially redone up by a man with little to no experience in the medical field; but one observant enough and in the company of a doctor far often enough to catch on how to stitch yourself together.,"